Book 8: Chapter 76: Daystar
Like a steel fist, the mighty beast struck into the ranks of the Archean and tore them apart. The defenders lost all heart; who could stand against a foe of such primal strength?
Only magic stood a chance. Henry, the sole elemental mage at the centre, raised every rock and stone to hurl them against the skeletal creature. They struck to no avail, causing barely a dent.
Valerius charged, hacking away at the leg bones with empowered strength in vain. A swipe of the great tusks, and he flew through the air.
Down one slope came Maximilian, and his hammer struck to break bone. Again, the monstrous beast stood unscathed, and it treated one mageknight same as the other, flinging him aside.
Descending the other slope, Martel released firebolts as he ran. He knew such minor spells could not bring down a foe like this, but he needed to know if his flames would cause hurt at all.
They blackened the bone, but nothing more. Martel took that as a hopeful sign nonetheless. The creature could be injured. At the same time, the damage to bring it down would have to be immense. If all the mages on the field focused their power to hammer it with spells, it might be enough; however, that would entail leaving the ordinary warriors to fight on the flanks, and the remaining undead had not ceased in their assault. The battle would be lost without magical support on the wings.
Valerius and Maximilian came again, hacking and swinging. Henry changed tactics, creating a rift in the ground that made the beast falter in its step.
Taking a moment, Martel studied the skeletal creature. On the bones, he saw and felt magical symbols inscribed everywhere. No wonder it resisted magic and attacks so well. This was Karolos’s strongest weapon, honed and enchanted over a long time. And he had waited with deploying it until now when the defenders would be at their weakest.
Which suggested dawn would soon come; the lich could not wait any further. He needed the battle decided now before the sun rose to weaken his army.
They could still win. As long as they killed this undead monster that rose the size of a building. And although enchanted to withstand magic, Martel’s magic affected it. His fire burned strong. Smashing his staff into the ground, Martel readied himself. He called upon the flames in his soul. His weapon carried a gem forged in the heart of a volcano, and through it, Martel unleashed primordial fire. For the second time, his inferno swept over the battlefield.
Ranks after ranks of undead burned away like ashes. The assault into the gap was halted, temporarily ending the threat of the defenders’ battleline falling apart.
But as the light from the spell faded, the skeletal colossus remained standing. White bone had turned black, but the enchantments held. With a silent roar and a toss of the head, the mammoth attacked once more, crushing men under its feet and hurling them into the mountainside with its tusks.
Martel’s vision darkened, not only due to all the magic he had just unleashed; the lich’s might had proven stronger. He was not certain he had the spellpower for another inferno left in him; he could try, and it would incinerate the undead as before, but if it failed to destroy the beast, Martel would have nothing left. Nor could he expect the other wizards to have any spell that might suffice. Dread seized his heart at the thought of the battle being lost. The undead would cut them all down and sweep out of the mountains. They would take the city and murder all of its people. Nothing would remain. He, the Sage of Archen, had failed in his duty.
Light fell upon his face. The sun began to rise, barely visible over the edge of the horizon. Too late. Dawn would not avail them. The battleline could not be reconstituted with the monster in their midst; even a weakened enemy would prevail against defenders separated and isolated.
Unless the rising sun brought more than daylight. Martel had been in dire circumstances before, reaching deep into the pits of his own magic to unleash spellcraft he never knew he possessed.
But in those cases, he had relied on the magic he knew, or rather, his instincts had overruled his mind and drawn on all the power he possessed. The sun, for all its splendour and lifegiving might, was an unknown entity to him as a mage.
Martel had no other recourse. As the light of the daystar fell upon him, he took it all in. Closing his eyes, knowing that any moment now, undead hands and bony claws would reach him and tear him apart, the firemage raised one hand. And from his palm, he unleashed the power of the sun.
A beam of pure light and energy burst out. It shot through the skeleton, like a Khivan musket ball penetrating flesh. All of its binding magic made undone, the creature fell apart.
Seeing the monster brought low, the defenders roared in renewed courage and belief in victory. And as the sun gained height, the battle turned in their favour. The undead moved with less speed and ferocity, they held less strength, and they grew weaker by the moment.
And down the beleaguered hill, the Tyrians rushed forward, led by an axe-swinging berserker, and now their two-handed weapons found purchase, cleaving the enemy with ease. From the other side, Martel’s veterans advanced, emboldened by their foe’s vulnerability. Those that remained standing in the centre followed Valerius, remaking their line, and for the first time, they pressed forward. Weariness was forgotten in the face of victory presented to them, and the defenders seized it eagerly.
Martel’s staff would have slipped from his grasp except his fingers had become locked around the haft, and he felt ready to collapse; only willpower kept him standing. Looking around him, as the light filled the valley, he knew the most harrowing night of his life had come to an end, and they had held. They had saved the city. Despite losses and everything they had endured, they had held the line.
They had won the battle.