Firebrand

Although terrifying, their adversary did not move swiftly, as guessed; the defenders of Archen had the night to rest, however uneasy their sleep might be, and by morning, they had yet to sight the enemy. Preparations continued and would continue until the very moment that battle began. More weaponry made, towers strengthened against attacks, other defensive positions built, and final prayers spoken.

Past noon, those clear-sighted saw the threat. Coming down the foothills, they marched on the city. Not so much the fiends, most of whom flew, but an undead army. The remains of Karolos’s forces, those that could be salvaged, reanimated and pressed into service again. In addition, to their horror, the defenders saw that the numbers of the undead were bolstered by their own fallen. They had given their lives not two nights ago, protecting their home; now, in mockery of their sacrifice, the same enemy whose hand had set this all in motion used them to conquer that same home.

“What does this mean for our plans?” asked Valerius. The leaders of the defence all stood on the eastern gatehouse, watching the approach. “We did not expect to fight an army, only the fiends themselves.”

“It will not only be that the bastards are coming against us on the walls,” Cornelia said. “They will be seeking to destroy the gates then, and let all those shambling corpses in.”

“Great. Another fight in the dark,” Maximilian grumbled.

“Our strategy remains the same,” Martel replied. “Nebo, where can we expect Moloch to place herself?”

“Here, I suppose. She’ll come to treat with you, I’m sure. You’re more useful as thralls alive than dead, though by the looks of things, she’ll make use of you either way.” ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ n0velfire.net

“I’ll cover this gate, in that case,” the battlemage declared.

“But we do need to adjust our tactics for this,” Eleanor pointed out. “Valerius, take the remainder of the militia we intended to be our reserve. Your task is to hold the western gate.”

“Yes, legate.” Valerius disappeared down the stairs. “The rest of you, you have your positions,” she continued. They all indicated their acknowledgement with various gestures; with the hour of battle growing close, a grim mood had descended upon them, and few could find words to speak anything.

When only Eleanor remained by Martel’s side, he turned and spoke to her. “You as well.”

“All the dangers we have been through… it has always been side by side.”

“We are stretched too thin. Your strength is needed elsewhere.”

“How can I leave you?” Her voice quaked. “What if this is the last time I see you?”

He took a deep breath. “If so, I shall consider myself lucky for every day I was given to spend with you.” He framed her face with his hands and pressed a kiss against her lips. “If the Stars possess any kindness, I will see you again. This life or the next.”

She returned his gesture but spoke nothing further, hurrying away. Martel watched her leave, for as long as he could, until she disappeared from his sight; dread tying itself into a knot in his stomach, he turned back to look east.

The sun made the undead slow in their movements, but they did not walk aimlessly. Half of their numbers separated to walk around the city and threaten its western gate; the remainder slowly approached the eastern counterpart, where Martel stood alone, or so he thought.

“I think I know that fellow. I gave him a potion for his cough just last fiveday.”

“Leander? Why are you here? How did you get into the city?” Martel glanced at the lich by his side; the latter’s lack of heat had allowed him to sneak up on the battlemage, and now the alchemist stared over the wall at his fellow undead.

“That mage you found, the talkative fellow. He was traipsing around my cottage.”

“I thought I sent you into the forest.”

“Right, I forgot to do that. Well, I met him, we spoke at length, and he offered to suppress the wards to let me into the city,” Leander explained. “I will admit, all of this has given me the closest sensation to excitement I’ve felt the last centuries.”

“I’m glad you had that experience before it all comes to an end.”

“Also, I’m given to understand that those people out there are responsible for my current state.”

“Briefly said, yes.”

“In that case, I’ll find some shred of desire for vengeance in myself.”

“Well, we’re not in a position to turn down help. Go to the western gate,” Martel told him.

“Certainly.” The lich turned and walked away, leaving the battlemage alone once more to contemplate the gathering threat before their gates.

The horde of undead parted. Through their ranks strode a woman, taller than any man Martel had ever seen. She carried no staff or weapon, but stood dressed in an intricate robe that seemed to subtly change colour before his eyes. A circlet crowned her head, set with precious gems. Besides that, Martel saw with his magical sense how she radiated power.

Martel recalled what Nebo had told him in preparation. In its essence, magic was will. Will was power. When all else was stripped away and only magic remained, the stronger willpower prevailed. This was how she had placed the other mages of Phoenik under her sway; and everything she did now was to maintain that control, that perception of being in control.

He had to resist.

“I am Moloch.” A simple statement, but in its simplicity lay the first blow; she gave no explanation or introduction of herself. She needed none.

“The gates of our city are barred to you. Begone.” Martel dismissed her like a beggar unworthy of compassion. He held his staff tightly, as if by maintaining his grip on the weapon, he also maintained his composure. Even without actively using his magical sense, he continuously felt her power like waves crashing over him.

She laughed. “The ant who would defy the lion. I give you only one chance. Throw yourself at my feet, swear fealty, and I shall show mercy. You shall all live and have the privilege of being my first servants.”

“The gate is barred. Begone.”

Her laughter returned and became shrill. “So be it.” She gave no verbal command nor gesture, but as one, her army, fiends and undead alike, set into motion.

The battle for Archen began.