The next morning, the kings and knights and lords met to discuss the assault upon Tusked Skull Citadel, and Ridmark laid out his plan.
“Let me see if I understand,” said King Aristotle, pacing back and forth. Three of his concubines stood with him, along with a monk with a notebook, recording the glorious deeds and wise words of King Aristotle for future generations. Ridmark suspected the monk had to embellish often. “Lady Selene possesses the power to make herself look like anyone, and Lady Third can transport herself several hundred yards in the blink of an eye. Come nightfall, Selene will scale the wall and assume the guise of an orcish captain. She will let down a rope, and you and Lady Third will climb up. Then you will open the gates, and we will storm the citadel and put the garrison to the sword. Do I have the right of it?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “You object, lord King?”
Aristotle opened his mouth, closed it, frowned.
“Actually,” he said. “I can’t think of anything wrong with it.”
King Kyrian the Pious let out a snort. “Truly, the age of God’s miracles has not yet passed from the earth.”
Aristotle scowled at him and then gave his monk a significant look. No doubt the monk was supposed to put down that the plan had been a product of Aristotle’s genius.
“Can you truly assume the guise of anyone?” said Brasidas.
“Oh, yes,” said Selene. She made a sweeping gesture. “Pick anyone. I’ll make a little demonstration right now.”
“Very well,” said Brasidas. “Master Nicion.”
Nicion scowled at that.
Selene grinned, and silver light flashed around her. When it cleared, she looked like a perfect duplicate of Nicion Amphilus. She had the same height, the same balding gray hair, the same bronze plate armor of an Arcanius Knight, and the same perpetually suspicious, sour expression. A murmur of surprise went through the kings and knights. For his part, Nicion looked startled. He took a few steps forward, peering at Selene.
“Do I really look like that?” said Nicion.
“You do, I’m afraid,” said Selene.
“She’s even got the voice right,” said King Brasidas.
“Good God,” said Nicion. “Clearly I need to scowl more. I look too cheerful.”
Ridmark shared a glance with Calliande, who shrugged.
“So you see,” said Selene, her voice and appearance returning to normal. “Masquerading as a captain of the Confessor’s orcs will be no great challenge. I can even masquerade as the Confessor himself if necessary, though no doubt the orcs will be confused why he’s at Tusked Skull Citadel.”
“Can anyone pierce your illusions?” said Hektor.
“Oh, certainly,” said Selene. “The Keeper can do it, but she has the Sight. Probably the Confessor himself or another dark elf could see through the illusion. I’m not certain, but I think the Maledicti could probably sense the illusion. The seven who serve the New God and the Masked One are the most powerful and the cleverest of all the old Maledicti priests, and they’re powerful enough that I don’t think illusions work on them.”
“Nevertheless,” said Warlord Obhalzak. The big orc seemed excited by the potential battlefield application of Selene’s abilities. “The Confessor is but one man, and there are only a few dark elves and the Maledictus of Water within Urd Maelwyn. The Confessor has many thousands of soldiers…and all of them will be vulnerable to Lady Selene’s power.”
“I think so, too,” said Selene. “I’m confident I can make the orcs open the gates for us. When I do, we’ll send Third to tell you to attack. Lord Ridmark will unlock the power of the Shield Knight, and we’ll hold the gatehouse until you arrive to take the fortress.”
Hektor looked at Third. “It was my understanding that you could not use your power to travel within a hundred yards of one of the Seven Swords.”
“That was correct, lord King,” said Third. “However, the events at Cathair Caedyn removed that limitation from me. I can quickly travel from Tusked Skull Citadel to alert you.”
“Keeper?” said Hektor. “What do you think of this plan?”
Calliande gazed the kings with the calm mask of the Keeper in place. Ridmark knew his wife well enough to tell that she was not happy with the plan, not happy with the thought of him going into danger. She also knew that the plan was the best choice, their best chance of taking Cathair Caedyn swiftly and without great loss of life. She also knew that Ridmark, Third, and Selene had the best hope of carrying out that plan without getting killed.
But that didn’t mean she had to like it. War had its own logic, but so did the heart.
“I think this is our best option for taking Tusked Skull Citadel without an extended siege,” said Calliande. “And in the chaos, after the citadel falls, we’ll have a better chance of getting to Basilisks’ Run undetected.”
“But,” said Zenobia, “I do not think Lord Ridmark, Lady Third, and Lady Selene should go alone. That leaves too much to chance.”
“I volunteer, King Hektor,” said Calem, stepping forward. “My tasks from the Masked One gave me a great deal of practice infiltrating strongholds through stealth. Additionally, my wraithcloak will allow me to cover a large amount of ground quickly if necessary. If Lady Third is unable to carry word to you, I can deliver the message in her stead.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Ridmark. Calem could do everything he claimed. And Ridmark would have to hold the gatehouse of the citadel until Hektor’s forces arrived. Ridmark had just barely fought Calem to a standstill on three separate occasions, so he knew how formidable the young knight was with the Sword of Air in hand. Especially now that he was Swordborn and could wield the magic of elemental air.
“Very well,” said Hektor. “We shall wait until nightfall, and then carry out this plan. If God is with us, then Tusked Skull Citadel should be ours by the time the sun comes up.”
“We should take care not to damage the citadel during the fighting,” said King Brasidas. “If the siege of Urd Maelwyn goes ill, we may need the citadel as a fallback point.”
“I agree,” said King Aristotle. “We will have to array our hoplites to storm the gate as soon as it is opened, of course, but we must be cautious about the movement. It would be obvious from the walls of the citadel. I suggest that we…”
Ridmark listened with half an ear as Aristotle and Brasidas and the other kings argued about how to place their men for the coming battle. They would bicker for a while, maybe come up with some good suggestions, and then Hektor would make the final decision. Probably Warlord Obhalzak would insist that his Mholorasti warriors be the vanguard of any attack into the courtyard of Tusked Skull Citadel. That was a good idea, actually – the berserker orcs would tear into their foes and throw them into chaos, and the more disciplined hoplites could come after.
He turned his head and caught Calliande’s gaze.
“You’re sure about this?” she said, voice soft. “It would be a horrible thing to have come all this way only to see you killed here.”
“It would,” agreed Ridmark. “I will do my best to stay alive.”
She smiled a little. “I suppose that’s different from the old days. You’d try to do something reckless to get yourself killed, I would try to talk you out of it, and then you’d do it anyway and win the fight.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “I’m older now.” And he didn’t want to get himself killed. He wanted to take Calliande and the children and go back to Andomhaim. But the only way home to Andomhaim led through Tusked Skull Citadel and Urd Maelwyn. “And I wouldn’t be doing this unless I thought it was the best way to win.”
Calliande sighed. “Didn’t we have this exact conversation at Castra Chaeldon?”
“We did,” said Ridmark. “And we won at Castra Chaeldon. Third, Selene, and Calem hadn’t even joined us yet. We…”
He trailed off, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” said Calliande, and she turned and followed his gaze.
Selene had gone motionless, staring fixedly to the east.
###
The discussion between the kings continued, and Selene ignored it.
She already knew what they would decide. They would form up their men to attack Tusked Skull Citadel once she and the others had gotten the gate open, and they would do it in such a way to disguise their intent. Selene didn’t particularly care. Hektor would see it done, though she suspected that each one of his allied kings had to have their long-winded say before anything could get done. Selene supposed it reflected well on Hektor’s patience that he simply didn’t kill them all and take control of their cities. It was what the Sovereign would have done…
Wait. This was one of those moral questions, wasn’t it? Selene was getting used to the idea of free will and having a conscience, and slaughtering people because they talked too much was immoral.
Well, probably. Selene was just glad she didn’t have to deal with the allied kings. Third had said her sister Mara was Queen over the Anathgrimm orcs in Andomhaim, and that sounded like an interminable headache. Perhaps Selene could…
The song echoed inside her skull.
Her gaze snapped to the east, to the walls of Tusked Skull Citadel and the Vale of Urd Maelwyn beyond, the mountains rising on either side. She didn’t see anything yet, but the song pressed against the inside of her head.
No. Two songs. One of them was the Confessor’s aura, overwhelming and mighty, and it was approaching fast. Probably the Confessor was riding on that golden dragon. Of course, the Confessor would choose the largest dragon for himself, the arrogant gasbag. The second aura was approaching as well, but not nearly as quickly. Another dark elven noble, one not as powerful as the Confessor. Another one of the Sovereign’s former lieutenants who now served the Confessor. Selene had felt that aura before, though it took her a moment to recognize it now that she was no longer an urdhracos.
“Oh, hell,” she muttered. “The Chanter.”
Third ran to her side. “You feel them?”
“Yes,” said Selene, and Ridmark and Calliande joined them. “Two of them, the Confessor and the Chanter.”
“The Chanter?” said Calliande.
“Another dark elven noble,” said Selene. “He likes to sing.”
“We must warn the men of Owyllain,” said Third.
“You’re right,” said Selene, and she stepped forward. “Hey! Hey! Kings of Owyllain! Stop talking and pay attention to me!”
The kings stared at her in surprise and more than a little offense. She had interrupted Aristotle Tempus, who glared at her with affronted pride. The monk with the notebook gaped at her. Evidently one did not interrupt the King of Echion. Fortunately, Selene didn’t care.
“The Confessor’s coming,” said Selene. “Right now. I think he’s flying on the back of his dragon again, and the Chanter’s coming up behind him.”
Several of the kings and knights swore.
“How do you know this?” said Brasidas.
Selene tapped her right temple. “Used to be an urdhracos. I can feel it when dark elven nobles are approaching. And my father is coming here right now.” She grinned at Aristotle. “Maybe I’ll get to prove my faith to you when I bury my axe in his stupid ugly head.”
“That…would be an interesting sight,” said Aristotle.
“She’s right, my lords,” said Calliande. “I can see the alien magic of the dragons. The Confessor’s dragon, and one other. Probably the Maledictus of Water, if Selene senses one other dark elven noble hanging back to…”
The booming roar of a dragon echoed over the Vale of Urd Maelwyn, faint but noticeable.
“My lords!” said Hektor, his voice rising with command. “Sound the alarm! The host is to prepare for battle. All Arcanius Knights with skill at air and water magic are to hasten to the front. Ballista crews are to attend to their engines. If the Confessor means to attack us from above, we shall be ready for him. Make haste! The foe comes!”
For all that they liked to talk, the kings and knights of Owyllain knew their business when it came to battle, and they rushed to make ready for the foe.
###
Ridmark drew Oathshield and waited, Aegisikon shifting into its shield configuration on his left arm. A soulblade would be of no use against a dragon, not unless the Confessor was foolish enough to let the beast land. Yet he knew Oathshield would protect him from the blast of the dragon’s fire if it came to that.
And he also knew that the Confessor would not attack with just the dragon.
A dragon was a potent and deadly weapon, but it was not invincible. They had hurt the three dragons during the battle on the River Morwynial. The massive bronze bolt of a ballista could pierce a dragon’s wing, and if it tore enough of a hole, that would force the dragon to the ground. If the impact didn’t kill the creature, a mob of hoplites with spears and swords would. Or Calem or Tamlin or Krastikon would use their Swords to simply lop off the creature’s head.
But the Confessor would not risk his mighty weapon for no reason. There was another major attack coming, Ridmark was certain of it. But the road to Urd Maelwyn and the path to Tusked Skull Citadel both looked empty. It would be impossible for a large force to move through the pass to the vale without detection. That was why Hektor’s army had to take Tusked Skull Citadel before advancing to Urd Maelwyn – there was no way for the host of Owyllain to pass the fortress otherwise.
The Confessor would have more forces coming than just the dragon, Ridmark was sure of it.
But what? Urvaalgs using their stealth abilities? Flying urdhracosi? Urhaalgars that swarmed through the underbrush? Ridmark didn’t know. He did know that Calliande’s Sight could detect any creatures of dark magic that drew too close, but the Confessor almost certainly knew that as well.
Behind him, the army of Owyllain scrambled into position to deal with the dragons. Since the Confessor’s first attack with the dragons, Hektor had given a great deal of thought on how to deal with the mighty beasts, and his ideas were good ones. The army poured out of its tents, leaving the vulnerable structures, and scattered into their companies, preventing the dragons from killing hundreds of men with a single blast of fiery breath as they flew overhead. Arcanius Knights skilled in water and air magic gathered in groups, ready to cast wards against the dragons’ breath. Men rushed to small ballistae mounted in two-wheeled carts, preparing to fire on the dragons. Ridmark approved of the tactics. The armies of Andomhaim had done something similar to deal with the frost drakes of the Frostborn, and while the frost drakes had remained deadly, the tactics had kept the drakes from achieving total supremacy.
Most of the kings of Owyllain had dispersed to their men. Hektor remained before the camps, and he had drawn the Sword of Fire, flames crackling around its red-gold blade. Ridmark’s friends had gathered around him and Calliande, and white fire shone from the Keeper’s staff as she held her magic ready to strike. Thanks to Selene and Third and Calliande, the Confessor would not be able to take them unawares, and they were ready to face the dark elven lord.
“Here they come,” said Third.
A roar boomed off the mountains, and two dragons came into sight over the horizon.
The first was the great golden dragon that the Confessor rode, and Ridmark spotted the dark elven lord’s crimson armor, a spot of red against the golden scales. The second was one of the smaller red dragons, and Ridmark just glimpsed a blue spot on the dragon’s back.
“The Maledictus of Water is riding the second one,” said Calliande.
“Then where’s the Chanter?” said Ridmark.
“Farther back,” said Third. “Maybe about a half mile. He’s on the ground.”
“That sounds like him,” said Selene. “He never likes to get his hands dirty. Not the way the Blademaster does.” She chortled, silver eyes glittering. “Or the way the Blademaster likes to get his one remaining hand dirty, anyway.”
The two dragons flew over Tusked Skull Citadel, and Ridmark heard a roar from within the fortress. The orcish soldiers manning the citadel cheered as their lord flew overhead. The crimson dragon began to spiral higher, flying in circles over the citadel. The golden dragon circled once more and then landed on the curtain wall, perched there on its clawed limbs. Ridmark wondered if the Confessor had just crushed some of his own soldiers. The dragon roared and loosed a long gout of searing flame into the air but did nothing else.
“That was pointless,” said Tamlin, frowning at the golden dragon. The beast howled a thunderous roar and sent another lance of flame spraying into the sky. “Is he trying to rally his soldiers?”
“Then the gate would open for a sortie,” said Krastikon.
“No, he wishes to hold our attention,” said Magatai, shading his eyes as he sat in Northwind’s saddle. “It is the ruse of a clever hunter. Make a flashy distraction to draw the eyes of the prey, and then let the main thrust come from another direction.”
“Then you believe we are the prey?” said Hektor.
“Almost certainly,” said Magatai with good cheer, drawing an arrow and setting it to his bow. “Or you are, King Hektor. Fortunately, prey has teeth and claws as well. And should the Confessor draw close, he shall find that our claws and teeth are just as sharp as those of his pet dragon.”
“This might be more than a ruse,” said Calliande. “Look.”
The Confessor raised the blue Sword of Water over his head, and a mirrored sphere appeared in the air above his dragons. Once again, he was summoning a colossal sphere of water, one getting bigger and bigger with every moment.
“Does he think to drown us?” said Tamlin.
Tamara shook his head. “That wouldn’t work. The ground here is pitched wrong. It slopes back towards the plains, away from the Tower Mountains. If he dropped that sphere of water on our heads, it would wash away some of our supplies, maybe kill a few hoplites. But it would do no lasting harm to the army. He must have another attack coming.”
Yet Ridmark saw nothing else moving in the Vale of Urd Maelwyn, nor any forces issuing from the citadel.
“If that distraction is intended to harm us,” said Hektor, “then I will act to stop it.”
He lifted the Sword of Fire over his head, and the blade crackled with intense fire. A sphere of smoking flame fell from the sky like a comet and slammed into the Confessor’s globe of water. There was a flash and an explosion, and a hot wind that gusted out in all directions, flattening the tall grasses that grew in the pass. A plume of steam rose from Tusked Skull Citadel, and as it cleared Ridmark saw that both the sphere of water and the globe of fire had vanished, canceling each other out.
“King Hektor!” said Calliande. “He’s attacking again!”
It was at least a third of a mile from where they were standing to where the golden dragon perched atop the curtain wall of Tusked Skull Citadel, but Ridmark nevertheless saw the Confessor point the Sword of Water at them. Silver-blue light flashed around the dark elven lord, and suddenly a score of glittering razor-edged shards of ice, each as long as a horse, hurtled from the wall and towards Hektor. The King slashed the Sword of Fire before him and Calliande cast a spell. A volley of fireballs tore from the Sword of Fire and hurtled towards the Confessor’s barrage, while Calliande raised a wall of shimmering translucent light before them. Hektor’s flames tore apart most of the frozen shards, while Calliande’s ward blocked the rest.
Both Hektor and the Confessor had unleashed volleys of magic capable of killing thousands of men. It reminded Ridmark of the initial moments of the Battle of the Plains when Hektor and Justin had thrown the full power of their Swords at each other. Yet both kings had refrained from using the full might of their Swords until the final desperate moments of the battle. Hektor and Justin had wanted to reign over a reunified Owyllain, not a realm of corpses, and the Swords of Fire and Earth had possessed the power to slaughter every single hoplite in the host of Owyllain.
Yet the Confessor would feel no such restraint. Neither would Hektor when battling the Confessor’s soldiers, but unlike the Confessor, Hektor cared about his men. He would have to devote the Sword’s power to deflecting the Confessor’s fury, allowing his soldiers to come to grips with the Confessor’s orcish warriors.
And yet…
“This seems pointless,” murmured Third to Ridmark.
“Aye,” said Ridmark, watching as the Confessor unleashed another barrage of icy shards and Hektor blasted them out of the sky with the Sword of Fire. Calliande didn’t even need to cast a ward that time. The duel was spectacular, but it was accomplishing nothing for the Confessor. Terzhalkar’s dragon kept circling over Tusked Skull Citadel, and the Sword of Fire and the Sword of Water canceled each other out. “But it’s not. The Confessor isn’t doing this for no reason. It…”
The song rolled over the pass.
For an instant, Ridmark wondered if he was hearing the aura of a dark elven lord the way Selene and Third did. But the two former urdhracosi didn’t hear the auras, their minds interpreted it as a song, and Ridmark definitely heard this song with his ears. It was a male voice of inhuman beauty and power, singing harsh words in a language he did not know. The voice was so powerful that Ridmark almost seemed to hear a drumbeat in the words, like a booming war drum driving soldiers to battle.
“What the devil is that?” said Kalussa.
Oathshield shivered in Ridmark’s hand, the blade starting to flicker with white fire.
“The Chanter,” said Selene, scowling at the golden dragon. “He’s not much good in a fight, but he can use his dark magic to imbue his voice with power. His song drives the Confessor’s soldiers to a frenzy, makes them ignore fear and pain and wounds.”
“Which mean there have to be soldiers coming,” said Ridmark, looking around. What did the Confessor plan? Ridmark had the overwhelming feeling that a trap was closing around Hektor’s army, but for the life of him, he could not see the jaws.
Then he noticed the grass.
The blast of hot wind rushing down from the walls had flattened much of the grass in the pass, but Ridmark saw strange ripples. Were urvaalgs approaching? No, the ripples looked wrong for that. Rather, it looked as if something unseen was forcing its way through the grass.
Hundreds of unseen things.
“A spell!” said Ridmark, pointing Oathshield at the strange distortions in the grass. “If you can cast a spell, aim at that!”
Tamara responded first. She thrust the golden staff before her, and elemental fire blazed up its length. The flames flowed into a whirling sphere of fire the size of Ridmark’s fist, and leaped forward, landing a hundred yards away amid the rippling grass.
The sphere exploded, and Ridmark saw the dark outlines in the flames.
Then, all at once, the creatures appeared as they abandoned their powers of stealth.
“What the hell are those?” said Tamlin, stunned.
Ridmark was just as surprised, though he had seen creatures like this before.
“Koballats,” he said, his voice grim.
The creatures were a hideous hybrid of human, orc, and troll fused together through malefic sorcery. They were vaguely human-shaped but far more muscular than humans or even orcs, and their long arms meant they could run on all fours if they wished. They had the dark, scaly hides of trolls, and the scales could change color to match their surroundings. Yet they also had the tusks of orcs, and claws on their fingers and toes that looked like daggers. They had the red-glowing black eyes of orcs, yet the eyes were behind some sort of crystalline lenses that grew from the skin. And unlike trolls, they wore clothing and armor and carried weapons. The koballats were barefoot, likely because their claws would have shredded boots, but they wore bronze hauberks. Some of the creatures carried axes, and others spears and swords.
Ridmark wondered where the Confessor had managed to find koballats. The only time Ridmark had ever encountered them had been in Andomhaim, where they were the soldiers of a dark elven lord who called himself the Sculptor. But, then, Tamlin had spoken of the breeding pits for urhaalgars beneath Urd Maelwyn, hadn’t he? Selene and Calem had both talked about the arcane laboratories in the catacombs below Urd Maelwyn, places where the Confessor could carry out sorcerous experiments. If the Confessor could breed his own urhaalgars, why couldn’t he have worked out the way to create koballats?
And now hundreds of the damned things were rushing towards King Hektor.
Even as Ridmark looked, the Confessor’s dragon roared and took to the air, wings flapping, and the Maledictus of Water brought his dragon out of its spiral, sending the beast falling like an arrow towards the army.
The jaws of the trap were indeed closing around them, and if Calliande could not block the dragons’ fire, the Confessor could kill his chief enemies all in one blow.
“Keep them away from the Keeper and the King!” shouted Ridmark, and he rushed to attack the closing koballats.
###
Calliande threw her full power into a warding spell, raising a dome of translucent white light over their heads.
She did it just in time.
The Confessor’s dragon unleashed a searing lance of brilliant flame, and the fire hammered into her ward. Calliande kept her will focused, and the fire winked out against her spell. Hektor hurled a ball of flame at the Confessor, but the dark elven lord gestured with the Sword of Water, and a massive shield of ice appeared in the air next to him. It started to fall at once, but it intercepted the ball of flame, and both the shield and the fire vanished in a roiling plume of white steam. The Maledictus of Water sent his dragon hurtling towards them, and Calliande cast her warding spell again, blocking the smaller dragon’s fire.
So far the Confessor and Terzhalkar had kept their attacks close together. But if they coordinated their attacks, or if Terzhalkar attacked the rest of the army while the Confessor focused on Hektor, then Calliande could not defend against both of them at once.
A lot of men would die.
Around her chaos raged. Waves of koballats charged towards them, and Ridmark, Calem, Tamlin, Third, Selene, Krastikon, and Magatai battled them. Ridmark tore through the creatures, Oathshield rising and falling with the soulblade’s superhuman strength, the spears and axes and claws of the koballats rasping against Aegisikon without leaving a scratch. Third disappeared and reappeared, stunning and wounding the koballats, which let Ridmark finish them off. They had used much the same tactics against the Sculptor’s koballats in Khald Tormen eight years ago, and they proved just as effective against the Confessor’s version of the creatures. Selene employed her power of illusion to great effect, disguising herself as a koballat and stabbing her foes in the back with her dark elven sword and dwarven axe.
Tamlin, Calem, and Krastikon ripped through the koballats. The koballats’ scaly hides were tougher than either human or orcish skin, but they still proved no obstacle to the edges of the Swords of Earth, Air, and Death. The three Swords sliced through armor and scales with ease. Magatai had dismounted from Northwind and fought with the lightning-wreathed sword that Kyralion had given him, using its power to stun the koballats long enough for the others to land killing blows.
Reinforcements rushed forward, Hektor’s Companion knights and hoplites hurrying to the defense of their king. Hoplites pulling wheeled carts shot ballista bolts at the dragons, and some of them even landed and penetrated the thick scales. The dragons roared in outrage whenever that happened. All the wounds from the fight at the river seemed to have healed, but the dragons were not invincible. With enough magic and ballistae, they could be driven back.
The hoplites provided the ballistae, and Tamara and Kalussa unleashed the magic. Tamara sent fire and ice and lightning stabbing into the sky, raking at both the dragons and their riders. Kalussa did likewise, casting shafts of white fire drawn from the Well of Tarlion or unleashing volleys of crystalline globes from the Staff of Blades. Both the Confessor and the Maledictus of Water used their magic to shield themselves, but their dragons were less fortunate, and again scars appeared in the armored hides of the great beasts. Calliande just had time to note that dragon blood glowed, shining with inner golden fire, and then her full attention turned to their defense.
She wished she could have done something about the Chanter. The dark elven lord’s song rang over the battlefield like thunder, and the Sight revealed the haze of dark magic that the song summoned. The dark power did nothing to Hektor’s men, but it sank into the koballats, the tendrils coiling around their minds. The song drove the koballats to a frenzy, causing them to fling themselves upon their foes without regard for their safety. Against someone like Ridmark or Calem or Tamlin or Third, that was suicidal. But against hoplites and less-skilled knights, it was a fearsome advantage. Calliande saw men die who might have lived had the koballats not been so insane with rage.
She cast another spell, blocking a blast of dragon fire that would otherwise have turned her and Hektor and Kalussa and Tamara to smoking ashes.
###
Ridmark slashed down another koballat, its strange black blood sliding from Oathshield’s blade.
As he did, Oathshield shivered in his hands, its white flame burning hotter, and he felt the soulblade’s wrath in the presence of dark magic.
Fresh alarm went through him. The koballats were deadly fighters and created through dark sorcery, but they were not actually creatures infused with dark magic, not the way urvaalgs or urdhracosi were. The Chanter’s booming song was a thing of dark magic, but it was diffused. Oathshield had reacted to it, but not in the way it did when confronting creatures like urvaalgs or ursaars.
That meant there were creatures of dark magic nearby. Had the Confessor landed? No, the dragon still circled overhead, breathing lances of fire in Hektor Pendragon’s direction. Had another dark elf joined the fray? Selene or Third would have sounded a warning.
Then the dark flicker caught his eye.
A half-dozen urhaalgars raced on all fours through the struggling koballats and hoplites, converging on King Hektor. The creatures were usually stealthy and cautious, but now they appeared gripped in uncontrollable rage, converging on King Hektor…
No, not on Hektor. On Calliande.
The Confessor's plan flashed through Ridmark’s mind in an instant.
Both the massive koballat attack and even the dragons themselves had been only a diversion. The real thrust was the urhaalgars. Enraged beyond control by the Chanter’s song, they would throw themselves at Calliande while her full attention was on the dragons’ fire. The venomous spines coating their limbs would pierce her flesh and kill her. Or they would distract her, and while her attention was on her defense, the Confessor would kill her and Hektor with a blast of dragon fire.
Ridmark cut down another koballat and sprinted for his wife.
“King Hektor!” he roared. “The urhaalgars!”
Hektor turned and blinked at him, and then Ridmark leaped in front of Calliande as the urhaalgars converged, her full attention on the dragons circling overhead.
Oathshield blazed in Ridmark’s hand, and he slashed, calling on the soulblade’s fury to lend him strength. The sword’s blade bit through the skinny neck of the urhaalgar, and the creature’s glaring head rolled away as its spindly body collapsed. A second urhaalgar lunged at Calliande, and Ridmark swung his left arm. Aegisikon slammed into the urhaalgar, knocking the creature back, and Ridmark plunged Oathshield into its chest. A third changed direction and lunged at him, and Ridmark stepped into the attack, letting the venomous claws scrape off the dark elven armor covering his torso. Despite its small size, the urhaalgar was hideously strong, and the impact knocked Ridmark back a step. He hammered the side of his shield into the urhaalgar’s head and the creature stumbled. Before it could recover, Ridmark drove Oathshield into its heart.
He stepped back and lifted his shield, watching the remaining three urhaalgars. The creatures snarled and hissed, preparing to spring on him as Calliande deflected another blast of dragon fire.
Hektor gestured with the Sword of Fire.
There was a snarling sound, and all three urhaalgars burst into raging flames. The creatures shrieked and collapsed to the ground, thrashing as they tried to put out the flames, but the Sword’s power was too much.
The urhaalgars died a heartbeat later.
“Thanks,” said Ridmark, catching his breath.
Hektor nodded and turned his attention to the dragons circling overhead, and then all at once the Chanter’s song stopped, and the koballats wavered.
###
The battle ended a few moments after Ridmark and Hektor killed the urhaalgars.
When the Chanter’s song ended, the koballats lost their momentum and their mad bloodlust. The creatures wavered, and the hoplites and Arcanius Knights attacked with renewed vigor, driving the enemy back. The dragons turned and flew back into the Vale of Urd Maelwyn, abandoning the koballats to their fate.
That left Tamara and Kalussa free to turn their magic and the Staff of Blades against the enemy.
Their attack broke the koballats. Most of them turned and fled back into the vale, no doubt making for Urd Maelwyn itself. Some of them ran for the walls of Tusked Skull Citadel, and a few of them even made it, using their claws to scramble up the curtain wall and onto the ramparts. The hoplites pursued their retreating foes until Hektor called them back, and even then, Tamara, Kalussa, Calem, Tamlin, Krastikon, and the Arcanius Knights flung blasts of magic after the koballats until they vanished from sight.
Calliande supposed that nearly three-quarters of the koballats had been killed in the fighting.
Nevertheless, it had been a very near thing…since she thought the entire purpose of the attack had been to kill her.
“Thank you,” she said to Ridmark as Hektor shouted orders, his knights rushing to carry them out. “My whole attention was on the dragons. I didn’t see those urhaalgars coming. I wouldn’t have been able to stop them in time.”
“Selene was right,” said Ridmark, wiping sweat from his forehead. Another few minutes and Calliande would attend to the wounded soldiers with Kalussa, saving those she could. But she needed a few minutes to catch her breath and recover her balance first. “The Confessor did come for us again. Everything with the dragons and the koballats and the Chanter was intended to hold our attention. The urhaalgars were the real attack.”
“Like a man creeping up behind a knight with a poisoned dagger,” said Calliande. She shook her head. “What does the Confessor want?”
Ridmark shrugged. “To kill us and claim the Seven Swords for himself, presumably.”
“Yes, but why?” said Calliande. “Does he want to stop the rise of the New God the way Justin and Taerdyn did? Or is he working with the Maledicti and the Masked One?”
“I don’t know,” said Ridmark. He paused and wiped more sweat from his forehead. “He seems to want to claim the Sovereign’s old empire for himself. If I had to guess, I would say that he doesn’t want the New God to rise. Kothlaric killed the Sovereign for him. Why trade one master for another?” His voice hardened. “But if we can find Irizidur and figure out how to destroy the Swords, then what the Confessor wants will not matter.”
Calliande hoped that he was right.
***