Firebrand

His defensive spells active, Valerius engaged the colossal fiend, several times his own size. He struck his sword against the rocklike leg, causing sparks to fly, but nothing else. A swing of the great arm gave him the brief experience of flight until he slammed into the gatehouse.

Atop said building, Leander stood, flinging flasks of liquid fire. Where they landed, they erupted in flames to conflagrate the walking corpses, causing an obstacle as well on the narrow approach into the city. Being early evening, the sun still shone, weakening the mindless undead, and they moved slowly.

But despite sun and hindrances, they still moved. While the fiend grabbed Valerius and dangled him from one leg, their ranks progressed until they met the single rank of Archen’s militia, tasked to hold them back.

Facing this enemy for the second time, the soldiers struck with their clubs and smashed one row of undead after the other.

But valour could not overcome numbers, and the militia began to buckle under the sheer pressure of an endless wave. One after the other, they were knocked or pulled down, and the undead simply piled on top of them, crushing them under the weight. As the line broke, defence became untenable; the living withdrew, those who could, and the army of the dead poured into the city.

The fiend flew above the tower and released shards of pure magic to flay the skin from the defenders’ bones. Reacting, Henry raised the stones of the turret itself to shield him and the two archers. The barrage over, the stonemage let the rocks fall down and instead raised a hundred arrows into the air, releasing them all against the fiend. Reacting quickly, the pair of Tyrian archers released their bowstrings.

The fiend seized all the missiles in flight and turned them back on the caster. Henry could not act in time, and every defender was pierced by the arrows returned to them. Except for two; those shot by the Tyrians, tipped with gold, continued to strike the assailant in the head. While it had no face or mouth with which to scream, its entire shape shook violently and became loose before it reasserted itself and flew onwards, looking for its next victims.

With limbs like blades, the fiend struck swiftly and cleanly. Every defender had died or fled at this point, leaving only Eleanor. Her enchanted weaponry and mail proved thus far a match for her adversary, keeping her from injury. In her hand, she wielded the flaming sword forged so many centuries ago in Archen, now used in its defence; whether fuelled by her own anger, that of the smith’s, or simply its powerful enchantments, it cut deep into the steel flesh of the fiend, causing black bile to emerge from wounds that would not close.

Above her, spells came of another nature from the fiend that had slain Henry. Magic to confuse her mind and to set her soul ablaze. A mageknight of Aster would have succumbed to such spellcraft, but Eleanor was the Warrior of Archen, blessed by Malac. She had undergone trials beneath the roots of the mountains and returned stronger for it.

As she felt the sorcerous attacks on her mind and soul, the Star’s ire overflowed to protect her and cause immediate retaliation that reflected the magical energy back to its source. The creature, already weakened by golden arrows, felt the full onslaught of its own power, and once again, its shape began to dissolve. However, it did not return to form; instead, it sank to the ground, releasing silent screams of distress from its faceless shape. On the wall, the duel between mageknight and steel-born fiend continued.

Having defeated the other defenders, the monster picked up Maximilian as the last and threw him off the wall to land on a housetop below. Seeing the fortifications cleared, a snarl came along with a tongue, licking human blood from its own face.

It picked up a club from a fallen defender and grabbed hold of its golden cap; the metal seared its extremities. Ignoring this, the fiend removed the gold, threw it aside, and began smashing the now bare club into the dead man, savaging the corpse with his own weapon in a grotesque display of punishment.

“You!” Worn and wounded, but still alive thanks to his protective spells, Maximilian staggered up the steps to the wall. “We are not done.”

Lightning struck from a cloudless sky, tearing through Embla and the few archers by her side. However, powerful runes on the ground glowed to absorb the worst of the harm caused and begin healing it immediately. Floating around to evade any arrows or spells directed at it, their enemy watched them without eyes.

With gritted teeth, the skáld raised one hand to summon another symbol in the air, a rune of attraction. Caught by the glyph, the fiend was pulled closer and briefly arrested in the air. Two arrows with gold came from the archers, striking the floating shape.

Blurred limbs came to pull the projectiles out, and black liquid followed before the wounds closed.

Their golden weaponry spent, Embla cast another rune on the ground, igniting the remaining arrows with fire. Before the archers could shoot, however, the fiend reached out with tendrilous limbs, grabbed one of them, and flew up into the air before releasing them. Their scream resounded as they fell to the ground before suddenly being silenced.

In a room below Archen stood an open door with three sigils in the ground. A handful of youths, little more than children, sat on the floor. The entrance to the underground complex, a trapdoor above them, had been disguised with a bed placed on top of it, thereby also trapping the children. Their only escape would be deeper into the labyrinth if it came to it.

“Sparrow, I don’t want to go in there,” declared Mouse. “It’s so dark!” They only had one lamp between them, struggling to illuminate even the small space they currently found themselves in.

“Well, if I tell you to go, you’ll have to,” came the response.

“But they won’t come down here, will they? They don’t even know we’re here!” argued Mouse.

“Indeed, which means there’s no reason for you to fret.”

“They won’t even get into the city!” Badger claimed. “We got the strongest wizards in the world. They’ll stop anything!”

“Quiet.” Sparrow placed a finger on her lips, and all the children became hushed. With silent footfall, she entered the adjacent chamber, where an obelisk stood. Ignoring the artefact, she walked close to the steps leading up to the trapdoor. From above, she heard the sound of shuffling feet and moving furniture.

Martel could feel how the battle raged across the city. The constant releases of power reached him even across such distances, though it also told him that no danger threatened him. The fiends attacked everywhere else, leaving him alone with their leader. Staring east at Moloch amidst her undead horde, Martel could not know how close the sun had approached the horizon behind him; he was keenly aware that once it set, the battle would be lost. Still he waited.

“Your city dies,” Moloch spoke, gloating.

Martel allowed himself to exhale deeply. She had spoken first. The battle was lasting longer than she had imagined; she had expected an immediate victory and for her minions to simply crush all resistance. A vulnerability in her beliefs he needed to exploit. “The gate is barred. Begone.” Thıs content belongs to NovєlFіre.net

“The gate is barred,” she repeated with a mocking voice. “I shall enjoy making you my servant, once you are dead.”

“Bold words from a coward.”

She laughed. “You will not goad me so easily. It is the privilege of every captain to throw their forces into battle and only enter as the last. Same as you stand on top of that gate while your subjects die in vain for your vanity.”

“Moloch, I swear by the Stars, you shall never set foot past this gate. It is barred.”

Once again, her laughter came, but the sound turned shrill before she was done. “Oh, I will. Once my servants have slain every living being within your walls. But I tire of bandying words with a worm. It is time for your arrogance to end. Witness the might of Moloch!”

Her entire body blurred before it grew. And grew. She assumed such size, the undead closest to her became crushed under her weight. Before Martel’s eyes and the gate of Archen, a great, wingless dragon appeared. Opening her jaws, she released her fire.