Wrath of Lions

CHAPTER 45

After so much time, so much marching, so much fighting, so many successes and a few setbacks and failures, they had finally arrived.

The army approached from the southeast, spreading out in waves from the Gods’ Road. Karak took the lead, guiding his forces through the wide expanse of grassland nestled between tree-covered hills. Velixar trotted beside his Lord, with Lord Commander Gregorian and the large Quellan, Captain Shen, on their flanks. Behind the foursome, the rest of the army spread out in a wall of steel, leather, and flesh that seemed to stretch for a mile.

They crested the hill, the sound of thousands of marching feet swallowing all else, and Mordeina finally came into view. Velixar gawked at the sight before him. A massive wall encircled what had once been a sprawling landscape of tents, crude huts, and the manse on the hill. A collective gasp rose from the soldiers, though when he turned his head to glance at Gregorian and Shen, he saw no awe in their eyes. It took an individual of might and faith not to look on that wall with fear or uncertainty-even wonder. In all of Dezrel, even Velixar had only seen one walled city: Port Lancaster, in the far south of Neldar. While that wall had taken many years to construct, this one seemed to have popped up overnight.

“Ashhur has been busy,” Velixar said.

“As I told you he would be,” his god replied.

“I never doubted your wisdom, my Lord. But there is a difference between being told something and seeing it with one’s own eyes.”

“You seem impressed.”

“I am. It is an impressive wall.”

Gregorian chuckled humorlessly. “It is still but a wall, and any wall can be brought down.”

Karak held up his hand, and the massive force came to an abrupt halt, almost in unison. The deity then looked down at Velixar and nodded, before striding toward the walled enclosure. Velixar signaled for Shen and Gregorian to stay put, then urged his horse onward, keeping stride with his god.

When they had put a good five hundred feet between themselves and the waiting force, Karak drew to a stop. They were three-quarters of a mile away from the settlement, yet the wall was still large enough to fill their peripheral vision. It was strange. The grass was brittle and dead beneath his horse’s hooves, and the forests on either side of the valley were filled with leafless trees, their empty branches jutting out like dried bones, snapping with the slightest breeze. Velixar looked toward the wall again and saw a tall figure standing atop it, facing them. Even from such a great distance he could see the twin glow of Ashhur’s yellow eyes, the fluttering of his white robe in the wind. Velixar’s gaze then wandered down, and he noticed giant forms standing before the wall, their color a gray so deep that they almost blended in with the stone.

“My brother greets me,” said Karak.

“Yes, it seems he does. And he has also brought pets. What are those things in front of the wall? Why is the land dead?”

“Those are grayhorns, altered in the same way Ashhur altered the wolves that fell upon our camp. The earth looks the way it does because of the way the universe is balanced. One cannot improve on one creation without draining life from another.”

“I see.” Velixar began to feel edgy as he finally saw the giant beasts for what they were-horned monstrosities standing twenty feet tall on two legs. Any one of them could easily wipe out ten or more soldiers without injury, and there looked to be at least a thousand of them. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. Closing his eyes, he pictured Karak filling him with strength, and the demon’s magic inside him expanded tenfold. He suddenly did not feel so afraid.

“Why are they not attacking?” he muttered.

The deity did not need to respond.

“Karak!” called out a booming voice that rattled Velixar’s bones. “Turn away now. Return to your lands across the river! There has been enough bloodshed, enough meaningless loss of life.”

Karak stood there, silent, looking smugly at Ashhur as the distant god stared down at them.

“We do not have to destroy each other!” continued Ashhur. “We were brought here to live in peace. Turn your soldiers around and return to Neldar! All will be forgotten.”

Still, Karak remained unmoved.

“Will you answer him?” Velixar asked.

The deity shook his head.

“The time for speaking is done,” he said, “and the time for bringing your plan to fruition is upon us.”

“But what are we to do? Charge the wall? Bring a fireball from the sky as you did to the temple in Haven?” Again, the fear of his lost journal resurfaced. “How are you to destroy your brother without assistance?”

“I do not want my brother destroyed,” Karak replied. “I want him shamed. That is why I preserved my power over this long journey. I will show my strength, and then his children will bow before me. They will acknowledge my superiority while he still breathes. It will defeat him more surely than death ever could.”

“Why bring an army with you if you plan to use your power?”

Karak stared at him disapprovingly. “My children are my power, High Prophet. Do you not understand that yet? When the wall tumbles, when our soldiers rush inside, when the blood flows…then the citizens of Paradise will understand my true might. Then, my brother will bow.”

“And what of the wall?” Velixar asked. “How will we topple it?”

Eyes fixed on the wall, Karak said, “I brought fire from the sky to destroy a temple that blasphemed my name. This wall is an even greater insult, and it will burn in a greater fire.”

With that, Karak raised his hand, pointing two fingers at the sky while chanting long-lost words of magic that not even Velixar recognized. His chanting grew louder and more intense, until his voice overrode all other noise. Velixar looked at the wall, at Ashhur still standing atop it, and somewhere beneath his god’s chanting he heard thousands of voices screaming at once, from both ahead and behind.

The sky lit up as a ball of flame at least three times as large as the one that had impacted the Temple of the Flesh appeared overhead, screaming down as if from the hidden stars. Velixar felt his skin grow hot, felt the hairs on his arms smolder as it careened toward the massive wall.

When it struck, just like in Haven, there was a moment when all sound disappeared. A blinding light came next, spreading out from the wall like a living cloud, followed by an explosion so powerful that Velixar was almost knocked from his horse. He braced against the force of the blast, squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around his horse’s neck as it whinnied and bucked. The noise rocked his head, threatening to deafen him, and then suddenly there was silence. A hot wind blew the hair back from his face, seeming to last forever.

Velixar opened his eyes. For a moment he thought he was blind, but then the giant white spot blotting out his vision dissipated. He sat up and righted his bucking horse, his head pounding from the deafening din of the blast, and looked to the rear, where the untold thousands of Karak’s Army were picking themselves up off the ground, shaking their heads, holding their ears. To a man they appeared rattled, more like a massive throng of children dressed up as soldiers than an army. Even the elves were shaken. Of them all, only Gregorian appeared to be no worse for the wear. The new Lord Commander straightened himself in his saddle, his good eye narrowed in concentration, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Swiveling his head around, Velixar examined the wall. A great plume of smoke rose from it, and fire spread across the dead grasses in the foreground. There was a hole in the wall itself, a jagged aperture of crumbling stone that looked to be hundreds of feet wide. He then peered to the sides, where a smattering of the altered grayhorns stumbled about, looking confused. At least half of them took off toward the dead forest.

Mordeina was ripe for the taking.

“It begins now!” Karak bellowed, addressing his army. “Lord Commander, gather the captains and have them lead the first vanguard through the gap! We will be unrelenting! There will be no mercy until the false god of Paradise concedes defeat!”

His injured left arm in a sling, Gregorian organized the first vanguard, gathering his soldiers into a tightly packed group. The three captains-young, hard men wearing full platemail-circled around the throng. Karak then leaned down and whispered into Velixar’s ear.

“Do you feel my power flowing through you, High Prophet?”

Velixar closed his eyes, his every nerve dancing on end.

“I do, my Lord.”

“There are still many beasts remaining. Use the Ekreissar to destroy them. Pave the way for my soldiers to enter the walls unscathed.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Shouting voices followed as Lord Commander Gregorian whipped the vanguard, two hundred of his most eager men, into a frenzy. Velixar gazed straight ahead, the glow from his eyes casting a red haze over his vision. The grayhorn-men trumpeted their strange call, then made their charge from a half mile away, their multiple tusks leading the way as they galloped on all fours.

Velixar turned to Chief Shen. “The beasts! Slay the beasts!” he shouted. Shen drew his two black swords from his back and clanged them together. The elven rangers roared their approval. Velixar then drove his knees into the sides of his horse and took off to greet the beasts head-on. Shadows and purple fire rose from his body, and his vision narrowed to the grayhorn-men’s twisted, horned faces. The pounding of the rangers’ horses followed fast behind him, creating a dull thud like a second heartbeat inside his head.

He released the reins with his right hand, raising that arm into the air. The pendant bouncing against his chest throbbed, and energy crackled at his fingertips, siphoned from Karak’s well of otherworldly power. Pressing down on the stirrups and holding tight to the reins with his left hand, he rose from his saddle, feeling mighty, feeling invincible. At least a hundred of the grayhorn-men had not fled, each a ton of flesh and bone, and they were a thousand feet away and closing fast.

“Ignite!”

The word flew from his lips with the force of a hurricane, awakening the ancient knowledge of the demon he’d swallowed. From his raised hand came a spiraling tentacle of shadow, spurting upward and outward, an extension of himself. The tentacle raced over the dead earth, fast as a bolt of lightning, and then descended on the first of the grayhorns. The beast was thrown backward as if walloped by a boulder, the shadows pouring into its eyes, its snout, its ears. Velixar grinned as the creature’s taut flesh became bloated, and smoke rose from its every orifice. The grayhorn-man then exploded, destroyed by fire from within. The air was filled with flaming blood and bits of meat, and the nearest of the creature’s brethren were impaled by jagged bone fragments. Those few fell screeching to the ground, their great bodies slumping, their elongated snouts trumpeting in pain as their newly created hands tried to rip the shards from their hides. The other grayhorns raced past, casting only cursory glances at their fallen comrades, their eyes alight with rage.

The beasts were close now, too close for Velixar to perform the same trick twice without endangering himself and the elves. Pulling up on the reins and halting his horse mid-stride, he allowed Shen and the Ekreissar to pass him. Shen shouted commands, and half the rangers splayed out wide, lifting their bows with practiced ease, calmly nocking arrows. Their discipline was awe inspiring, and Velixar promised himself that he would help teach the human army to display the same control. The elves released their bowstrings, and shafts flew through the air, the elves’ aim just as impressive as their discipline. Each arrow found its mark, embedding in the thick hides of the charging beasts. Three grayhorns died immediately after being impaled through the eye, and their bodies tumbled down. The dead earth was torn up by their graceless descent, and a few of their brethren fell after colliding with them. Still others clumsily maneuvered around the piles of flesh, the ground shaking beneath their cumbersome weight. Velixar shouted more words of magic, his hands performing a dance before him, and two more of the beasts were cut down, their bones snapping, their innards liquefying, their gray, hard flesh splitting at the seams and pouring out blood.

Shen charged, the dexterity of the huge elf a sight to behold as he held his wicked-looking black swords out wide and raced his horse toward a pair of grayhorns. The muscles in the beasts’ shoulders rippled with each lumbering stride as they raced for the Ekreissar chief, deadly tusks and horns pointed forward. Shen pulled his right foot from the stirrup, planted it firmly on his horse’s back, and at the last moment launched himself into the air, tucking into a roll. His horse ducked its head, and the creatures’ tusks passed over it, slicing through the empty space where Shen had just been moments before. The two beasts roared in pain when Shen fell from the sky, his swords held out like daggers, and buried both blades into their backs. The elf’s downward momentum added force to his attack as he dragged his swords along the creatures’ hides. Flesh sliced open in a wide arc, spilling the grayhorns’ guts in a macabre red rain. Shen landed and rolled away as the two dying beasts collided with each other and collapsed, their blood and entrails soaking the dead ground. He was on his feet a moment later, leaping back atop his horse and charging the next grayhorn. His fingers never lost traction on his two swords. The whole while, arrows launched by his underlings rained down around him, yet he never seemed in danger of being struck by one.

A breathtaking spectacle, indeed.

Inspired, Velixar ripped Lionsbane from its sheath and urged his steed forward. Nearly half the remaining grayhorns had fallen, and the Ekreissar, who continued to pummel the beasts with their arrows, were encircling the others. One of the creatures stampeded the circling elves and managed to gore a ranger through the midsection. The elf shrieked as he was lifted high into the air on the grayhorn’s tusks, and then impaled by the horn on the beast’s snout. The elf fell limp as the grayhorn roared, thrashing this way and that, blinded by the flopping dead thing attached to it.

Velixar raced behind the creature and hacked at it with Lionsbane. Its hide was tough, but his blade sliced, severing the tendons on the back of the thing’s tree-trunk legs. It collapsed to its knees, while a blast of panicked air left its elongated snout, filling the air with its trumpetlike bleating.

It was silenced by a wave of Velixar’s hand, which turned both creature and impaled elf inside out. The tide of the battle seemed to be turning, with the grayhorns pushing the Ekreissar back now. Two more elves were killed, their bodies trampled and broken in the dry brown grass, and while Shen and the rangers continued their assault, the grayhorns seemed to be learning. When the twang of bowstrings sounded they dropped their heads, allowing the shafts to enter their thick hides while protecting their more sensitive areas. They also formed defensive positions, grouping shoulder to shoulder with one another, their flailing horns and tusks keeping the elves’ khandars at bay. For mere animals, their survival instinct was remarkable. In many ways, Velixar began to admire them.

Just not enough to let them live.

Bringing his horse to a halt behind the eviscerated grayhorn and its victim, Velixar sheathed Lionsbane and accessed the deeper recesses of the demon’s knowledge. As he twined his hands together, he felt Karak’s strength surge through him, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Arcane words left his mouth, and a liquid feeling of connection permeated his being. His vision returned to him, and he saw the blood and bone of the elf and grayhorn he had eviscerated circling in the air, a funnel of ruin that twisted with the force of gods, ever widening, ever spiraling. The funnel lashed across the ground, guided by Velixar’s own hand, collecting the ruin of the dead that were strewn about until it was nearly as wide as Tower Honor itself. As if sensing the potency of the spell, the grayhorns packed tighter into their defensive circle. The elves, who had ceased with their rain of arrows, backed their horses away. It seemed all eyes were on him, including his divinity’s. Now was the time for him to prove, once and for all, that Karak’s faith in him was not misplaced.

He leaned forward and then thrust his interlocked hands toward the huddled beasts. The death funnel surged into motion, ripping up chunks of dirt and grass as it spiraled toward the beasts. The base of the funnel grew as it went, the bone fragments within becoming sharper and more deadly with each revolution.

The grayhorns turned to flee, their primal gazes filled with fear. Their giant rumps rose and fell with each leaping stride, the creatures deceptively fast given their size.

They weren’t fast enough.

The death funnel swallowed the slowest grayhorn, ripping the beast off its feet and into the massive spiral of blood, tissue, and bone. Its shrieks were deafening, and Velixar could see the shadow of its form whipping back and forth inside the cyclone. When it was ejected, flesh and muscle flayed from its bones, it landed on the dead ground in a steaming lump.

The funnel’s density grew with each beast it devoured, until it became so large that it seemed to swirl nearly a thousand feet wide. The fleeing grayhorn-men were annihilated, one by one, until a scant few remained. Velixar watched from a distance as they disappeared into the skeletal forest, their massive bodies colliding with the dead trees in their horrified flight. He snapped his fingers and the death funnel abruptly ceased to spin. Each bone fragment, each strip of blackened flesh, each drop of blood hung in the air for a precious few seconds before falling to the ground in a deafening rain of gore.

Shen glanced over at him, his wide-set eyes alive with fear. The Ekreissar chief then dismounted, crossed his black swords over his chest, and fell to one knee. The rest of the rangers followed their chief’s lead, showing subservience to the swallower of demons.

Velixar’s belly filled with pride as the pendant against his chest pulsed with heat. He spun his horse around to look for Karak and saw that the deity was staring at him, eyes aglow, arms crossed. The god nodded in approval while the thousands of soldiers behind him gaped in awe. Velixar then caught Lord Commander Gregorian’s eye, raised his right hand to the sky, and pointed two fingers toward the smoking hole in the wall around Mordeina.

The Lord Commander needed no further invitation. The man yanked his horse’s reins with his good arm, urging it to the side.

“March forth!” he shouted. “Slay the worshippers of the false god!” The entirety of the first vanguard hollered their approval. The riotous thudding of clanging armor and stomping feet sounded as the soldiers began to charge across the dead field covered with the remains of the grayhorns. The second vanguard stepped up, preparing to follow.

Velixar sat and watched as the soldiers rushed past him, weapons raised, spittle flying from their lips. They would do their god proud, just as he had.

The assault on Mordeina had begun.