Lord of Ashes

TWELVE

Regulus could see men fighting desperately to the north. He could hear their cries of pain and anger, and the clash of steel. Could smell the fear and blood on the air. His fists clenched and a low growl emanated from his throat, but still there was nothing he could do.

Gaze as he might across the great river to the derelict city beyond, there was still no sign of the enemy. How he yearned for them to pour over the crossing and attack the gate he now stood watch over. How his hand itched to draw black steel and cut a bloody swathe through the screaming horde that attacked the wall just yards away.

‘Hold your nerve,’ shouted the sargent. ‘We have our orders. This is our position and we’ll bloody well defend it.’

The fear in the man’s voice was unmistakable. It sickened Regulus to his stomach. They were useless here, defending a gate that was never going to be assaulted, while to the north their aid was sorely needed.

He turned to his warriors, and each one stared back with anticipation burning in his eyes like a hot brand. Akkula, Kazul, Hagama, Janto, each looking fiercer than the last. Each lusting for battle and ready for the kill.

Who was Regulus Gor to deny them?

They needed no words. Regulus drew his black blade and placed his helm over the locks that cascaded over the pauldrons of his armour. As he turned and made north, his warriors followed, donning their own helms and brandishing their weapons eagerly.

‘You there,’ shouted the Coldlander sargent. ‘Where do you think you’re going? We’re to hold this bloody position.’

Regulus and his men ignored the weary cries of the man. His voice rose in pitch with every word but it was clear he could do nothing to stop them.

With every step Regulus increased his pace. Nobul Jacks the armoursmith had done his work well, and Regulus hardly felt slowed or restrained as his stride widened until finally he and his warriors were sprinting along the walkway towards the battle.

Coldlanders moved from their path, only too eager to allow the Zatani to run towards the fray. Janto roared his battle lust, and Regulus bared his teeth as the war cry filled him with excitement.

Ahead the city’s defenders fought a desperate battle as the painted savages swarmed over the wall. Here and there loose masonry lay across the walkway, and Regulus dodged rubble and bodies as he searched for his first enemy. He didn’t have to search for long.

Four warriors, tattooed and scarred and with an animal stench about them, were hacking at the corpses of men they had recently slain. Their frenzy filled Regulus with a hatred he had not felt for many days, and he welcomed it — embraced it — as he leapt forward, his black sword raised.

Two of them fell before the others realised Regulus was even upon them. To their credit, the remaining two raised their weapons to defend themselves before Regulus could cut them down, his blade hacking against their iron axes. One lifted a shield, and Regulus smashed his sword against it three times in succession until the Khurta retreated from the assault in desperation.

The other Khurta made to attack, but before he could strike, Akkula’s spear tore through his throat. The young warrior whooped with joy as the Khurta staggered back, his weapon forgotten while he desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood.

Regulus saw the remaining Khurta look up with fear as he saw the formidable Zatani charging towards him. All thoughts of slaughter seemed to fly from his mind and he turned tail, leaping over the battlements to his death rather than face being hacked to pieces by the black-armoured daemons who charged at him.

‘Look,’ shouted Hagama, raising his blade towards the ramparts further along the wall.

Taking a step forward, Regulus squinted through the night. In the dark he could see not only the desperate sights of battle, but also fell magicks. A writhing mass had covered the wall and was assailing the magick users of the Coldlands. It attacked remorselessly, hacking apart armoured men and robed sorcerers alike.

Regulus smiled, baring his white fangs to the night. This would be the glory he had waited for. This was where he would earn his name.

With a snarl he raced towards the thrashing beast, his warriors at his shoulder. He hacked through the first squirming branch as he ran past, seeing it die in a shower of dried foliage. He ignored the screams from all around him. Ignored the sorcerers retreating in their panic, ignored the armoured knights as they vainly tried to fight back against the onslaught. His only thoughts were of the glory of the kill.

A screaming Khurta charged out of the night, and Regulus hacked him down almost without thinking. He ducked as a twisting branch of foliage swept overhead, knocking Kazul off his feet. Janto leapt in, hacking at the branch with twin axes, roaring above the sound of battle, his cries carrying over the curtain wall and down towards the Khurtas below.

As though seeing them as the greatest threat, the thrashing foliage turned on the Zatani, focusing its assault on the fiercest fighters. The five warriors roared in unison as they fought, hacking at the branches, sending white sap flying as they fought desperately.

Regulus felt something grip his leg, but before he could hack at it he was pulled off his feet and hoisted into the air. His helm flew off into the night though he managed to keep hold of his black blade. Before he could hack at the branch that held him, another wrapped itself around his arm, pulling tight and threatening to tear him in two. Regulus growled against the pain, feeling his muscle and sinew strain as the branches tried to pull him apart. The growl turned into a roar of agony as he was lifted higher. As he was hoisted up he saw out over the battlements, facing the horde that had come to take this city.

So much for glory. So much for making a legend of your name. Just another rotting corpse for the carrion crows.

There was a blinding flash of light, and Regulus felt the branches suddenly release him. He fell to the stone parapet, his armour clanging as he landed. The limbs that had tried so effortlessly to pull him apart fell dead beside him.

For a moment all he could do was heave breath into his lungs as the battle raged all around, and before he could stand a robed figure came to kneel by his side. At first he thought they might offer aid. Then he saw the face of an old woman, her expression bereft of sympathy.

‘Find the wytchworker that controls the beast,’ she said slowly, as though Regulus were some kind of simpleton. ‘Kill him and it will destroy his conjuration.’ At first he thought he should be offended that this old crone would talk down to him in such a manner, but as he gazed into her eyes he found himself strangely drawn to her, irresistibly compelled to do whatever she asked of him.

‘Don’t just sit there,’ she said, and waved him off.

Regulus leapt to his feet, sword still in hand. ‘To me,’ he cried as he ran past his warriors, hacking at a branch as he went. The rest of the Zatani pulled themselves away from combat, following as Regulus ran blindly towards the lip of the battlements. He didn’t pause as he reached the edge of the wall, leaping over the lip and grasping one of the limbs that had crawled up the hundred feet from the ground. With his warriors close behind he began to climb down the mass of foliage, jumping from branch to branch with the sure-footedness of a forest animal. He passed several Khurtas making their way up the wall as he did so but he paid them no heed — the words of the red-robed witch were still at the forefront of his mind. He had to find this ‘wytchworker’ and despatch him. That was all that mattered.

Ten feet from the bottom of the wall, Regulus could see a huge gathering of Khurtas making their way towards the base of the foliage. He paused, his eyes following the green mass of branches as they snaked from the base of the curtain wall and past the waiting Khurtas.

In the distance he could just make out a single figure kneeling in the dirt. He was surrounded by a guard of around a dozen huge warriors, bigger than any other Coldlanders Regulus had ever seen.

‘There,’ he said, pointing through the night, showing his warriors their target. ‘Kill the shaman.’

Before any of them could move, Hagama gave a howl, leaping from the greenery and into the mass of bodies waiting at the bottom of the wall. Akkula was quick to follow and Regulus felt his heart begin to race before he also threw himself into the fray.

The last thing the Khurtas had expected was to be attacked at the base of the wall, and Regulus took delight in the fact he had cut down half a dozen of their number before they realised what was happening.

Though they fought with fury, Regulus could still see no way through to the shaman. For the most fleeting of moments he wondered whether he would die here, cut down in a flurry of Khurtic blades, until there was a tumultuous noise from above. Blue fire cut the sky from atop the battlements, searing a corridor through the Khurtas. It blasted them aside, cooking flesh and blackening the earth.

Now Regulus could see a path to his target.

Before he could move, Janto cut his way through the lightly armoured Khurtas, heeding Regulus’ words and making for the shaman who still knelt in the dirt. Regulus was quick to follow, reluctant to allow Janto the glory of killing the wytchworker.

As Hagama, Kazul and Akkula vented their ire on the Khurtas, Janto and Regulus ran forward. The branches that ran along the ground from the base of the wall began to converge, pulsating with unnatural life as they snaked back towards the shaman.

As the Zatani warriors raced towards him, his bodyguard began to move forward. They lumbered into Janto’s path, hefting their massive warhammers, their faces showing no emotion as they created a phalanx of bloated flesh and muscle.

Janto threw himself against them, howling as he charged, axes raised high. He ducked the laboured swing of a hammer, which thudded into the ground sending a sod of earth flying into the air, and buried an axe in the thick skull of the first giant. As it fell he wrenched his axe free, turning to face his next foe as another warhammer swung in at him. This time he was not so quick, and barely had time to dodge away as the hammer came in. He took a glancing blow to the shoulder but it was still enough to fling him back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Regulus took advantage as Janto fell. The Sho’tana warrior could take care of himself; there were still enemies to slay.

As Regulus neared the shaman he saw his emaciated arms were buried deep in the earth. From where they dug in, foliage sprouted from the ground, running in a pulsating thread towards the curtain wall. Where his flesh ended and the branches began was impossible to tell, and something about it turned Regulus’ stomach. He fought back bile as he raised his blade. The shaman didn’t look up, so completely was he transfixed by his own sorcery. While Janto took on the bloated bodyguards the shaman was undefended. Regulus did not pause, hacking down and severing the shaman’s arms at the elbow. The old man screamed, reeling back, raising his stumps high as they spewed white blood into the air. Another swipe of Regulus’ blade saw the shaman fall headless to the ground.

Janto roared, and Regulus turned to see he had defeated another two of the gigantic Khurtas. His dark armour shone in the moonlight, slick with blood, and his sky-blue eyes peered from behind his helm as he searched the night for his next victim.

Already the branches that had sprung from the arms of the shaman were beginning to wither and die. They blackened, crumbling fast, and Regulus could see their way of escape would be cut off if the foliage that had grown up the curtain wall did likewise.

‘We have to go,’ he shouted, running past Janto. Regulus didn’t wait to see if the Sho’tana warrior heeded his warning, but sprinted for the base of the wall where his other warriors still fought.

The Khurtas had massed now, and Regulus took solace in the fact their screams rose high. His own warriors only roared back in fury as they cut down the savages who swarmed all around them.

Regulus fought his way back to the wall and Janto added his bulk so they could push their way through the mass of bodies. Those Khurtas that did not relent were hacked aside. When Regulus reached Akkula, Hagama and Kazul he turned, his back against the wall.

‘Climb!’ he bellowed. ‘And climb quickly, we don’t have much time.’

Kazul was the first to leap up onto the branches. Already Regulus could see that they were blackening, going brittle, and he knew they would not hold for long.

Akkula was next, climbing the wall like an ape, as the three remaining Zatani defended the bottom of the wall. The Khurtas were wary of attacking now after seeing so many of their kind slain, but still they jabbed in with their spears, eyes wide with fear and bloodlust.

Regulus turned to Hagama, about to bellow at him to move, when an arrow hit the warrior in the throat. Hagama fell to his knee, blade falling from his grip as he grasped the black shaft protruding from his neck.

Before Regulus could rush to his warrior’s side, Janto grabbed the pauldron of his armour.

‘He’s gone,’ growled the Sho’tana.

Regulus shook off his grip, moving forward to aid Hagama, but the Khurtas were already taking advantage of the stricken Zatani. One stabbed forward, finding a gap between the black plates on the warrior’s torso, the curved blade sinking deep.

‘We have to go now!’ Janto cried, just as he sank an axe into a Khurtic skull.

Regulus knew he had to leave, had to make it to the top of the wall before his escape was cut off, but he could not drag his eyes from Hagama. They had grown up together. Hagama had been with him every step, never yielding, never faltering even when the Gor’tana had been brought low and they were forced into exile.

And he would not want you to die here. He would want you to live. To avenge him.

Regulus roared, long and loud, sweeping his sword left and then right in a last defiant display, before leaping onto the vines and branches that still held fast to the curtain wall.

He could see Janto above, making his way up the wall with ease. Kazul and Akkula were further ahead, one of them, Regulus couldn’t tell which, dragging a screaming Khurta off the ladder of branches as he passed. The foliage was becoming more brittle with every yard they climbed, and more than once a handhold crumbled in Regulus’ grip. Over the sounds of battle, he could hear the foliage cracking as it dried, rotting with every passing moment.

An arrow hit a branch next to his head, which shattered into brittle shards. More arrows followed as the Khurtas saw the Zatani were vulnerable as they climbed.

A sudden volley rained down from above as someone, Regulus couldn’t tell who, organised archers up on the wall to cover their climb.

The branch he held suddenly broke, and Regulus slipped several feet before finding his grip. He was near the top now, Janto had just made it over the wall, but he still had at least twenty feet to go and it looked as though the wall of greenery might collapse at any moment.

Regulus moved with more urgency, ignoring the sounds of battle raging around him. All that mattered was reaching the top, surviving, so that he might avenge his brother Hagama.

As the lip of the battlements came within reach, the wall of foliage moved, cracking and grinding like a beast in its death throes. It lurched backwards, and Regulus felt the cold bite of panic in his stomach as the wall slipped beyond his reach. To his left a mass of vegetation fell away, dropping to the earth far below. Regulus made to leap, but the branches at his feet gave way before he could. He reached out an arm, one last attempt to save himself before he plunged a hundred feet to the earth below. His hand gripped something hard, solid, and for a moment his fall was abated.

Looking up he saw a face he recognised. Nobul Jacks stood at the battlements, one hand gripping the wall, the other reaching out with his hammer.

‘Come on,’ yelled the Coldlander through gritted teeth.

Regulus leapt, still holding the hammer, hoping against hope that Nobul Jacks was as strong as he looked. The wall of branches collapsed behind him as he jumped and Regulus held his breath as he swung, hitting the wall, expecting to fall, but Nobul held him fast. Regulus scrabbled at the wall, clawed fingers finding purchase as Nobul hauled him over the edge. They both landed in a heap, Regulus heaving breath into his lungs.

Nobul stood, and Regulus glanced up at him. ‘I owe you my life again, Black Helm,’ he said with a nod.

‘There’ll be plenty of chances to pay me back,’ Nobul replied. ‘Of that I have little doubt.’

As Nobul walked back along the wall, now littered with dead, Regulus glanced across, seeing his own warriors breathing hard from their climb. From the corner of his eye he also saw the woman in the red robes who had compelled him so convincingly to fling himself at the enemy. She smiled, offering him a nonchalant wave of her hand, as though that would be reward enough for his efforts and the loss of Hagama.

Regulus thought little on it.

The glory of what he had done would be more than enough reward.