Page 18 of Trial By Fire

“My little mage,” Malekith murmured. “My golden rays.”

Aric’s smile was watery, but his answered with all the resolve he could muster: “I am all yours.”

Six

When the first dark shapes of the town appeared at the base of the hill, Aric had to force himself to believe they were real. It was like a nightmare, made flesh and blood and bone, marching in lockstep with the pounding of his heart. He moved like a ghost of himself as the army surged forward, the ground trembling beneath their feet, the air thick with the cloying stench of brimstone and the harsh cries of a thousand demons as they led their renewed assault. Malekith stood at the front of the vanguard, his black hair billowing around him, his horns stark, and his eyes fixed on the valley below. Aric’s feet moved him forward, carrying him up the hill to stand beside his prince.

“Drindal,” Aric whispered, and felt the world tilt and spin. The last time he’d seen the human town, it had been from the opposite side of the valley, the demons repelled, the wards holding strong. He’d spent many summers in Drindal as a young apprentice, training in the Silver Tower’s outpost and exploring the town’s winding streets with Olaya, his mentor. They would spend their days poring over dusty tomes in the tower’s library and practicing spells in the open courtyards, and in the evenings, they would walk along the cliffs, watching the sun set as thewaves crashed far below, or enjoying the famed hot springs that made Drindal so cherished. It seemed a lifetime ago, a dream he’d had as a different person.

He picked out the landmarks with a sharp pang of nostalgia—the ancient stone walls, the domed temples that housed the town’s many gods, the garrison of the Silver Tower perched high on the cliffs by the springs, its white banners snapping in the wind. Aric’s eyes lingered there, a dull ache settling in his chest. He could almost see the tower’s mages training in the courtyard, the way he and Olaya would join them, their faces upturned to the sun as they practiced their spells. But the courtyard was empty now, the mages gone, called to defend the town’s borders.

“Malekith! My lord!” Vizra appeared at his side, her skin gleaming with the blood-red light of battle. “We must strike at the wards now, while they’re still reeling from last night’s assault. Let me lead the vanguard and we can shatter their defenses.”

Malekith’s gaze never wavered from the valley below. “Hold the line,” he said, tone brooking no argument. “The humans will be expecting a head-on assault. We will give them something else.”

“But we must press the advantage while we have it?—”

“And I say we must hold back the knowledge that we can dismantle their wards until the very last moment,” Malekith said, his face an impassive mask as he surveyed the town below. “It is the greatest surprise we have on our side. Disclosing it too soon or launch a rash assault could cost us dearly.”

Aric’s heart quickened at the opening Vizra’s outburst had provided, and he pushed his way to the front of the war council. “If I may, my lord.” Aric swallowed, the taste of the city’s fear sour on his tongue. “I have some knowledge of the city’s defenses.”

Malekith turned to him, his dark eyes glinting. Aric’s heart stuttered, but he made himself meet his gaze, to look beyond the mask of the demon prince, searching for a hint, a trace of what lay beneath. But all he found was that same enigmatic face, giving nothing away.

“Well?” Malekith’s eyebrow arched. “What can you tell us?”

Aric turned to face the city, the memories of his time there slotting into place like the pieces of an intricate spell. “The town is protected by a series of defenses, but they are not insurmountable.”

He wove a tapestry of half-truths and exaggerations, emphasizing the strength of certain fortifications while downplaying vulnerabilities. Malekith listened intently, eyes darting between Aric and the city, while Vizra’s frustration simmered visibly. Aric’s mind raced as he spoke, calculating the best angle of approach, the most vulnerable points to target, then throwing his suggestions just a little off-target to keep the demons on the back foot. He had never been a military strategist, but his time in the demon court had taught him the value of deception and misdirection.

And as the town drew closer, he knew he had one last chance to put those lessons to use.

Dawn was a slow seep of blood over the horizon, staining the sky as the demon army gathered in the valley below. The humans were ready for them after the previous night. As ready as they could be after suffering losses; their remaining ranks bristled with spears and fluttered with bright silk banners. The town’s mages wove their spells in the air, a shimmering net of magic ready to ensnare any who attempted to breach their walls, whilethe griffin riders, the few who hadn’t been ravaged by Karthax’s winged hordes, made slow, cautious scouting laps in the dawn.

Malekith’s strategy was cautious, methodical. He sent his forces forward in waves, testing the strength of the human defenses, probing for weaknesses. It was slow going, the battle devolving into a brutal siege as the demons struggled to gain a foothold.

“Patience, Aric,” Malekith said, as Aric fidgeted at the back of House Ixion’s ranks, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay beyond the city’s walls. “We must wait for the right opportunity.”

Aric nodded, but he could feel the restless energy of the demon army all around them. They were hungry for battle, for the taste of victory after so many long years of war. It was a living thing, that hunger, a dark, writhing mass that threatened to consume them all.

Vizra prowled back and forth, her impatience palpable. She shot furtive glances at Aric, no doubt still smarting from her humiliation in the mountains, but for now, she held her tongue. There was battle lust in her eyes, the same hunger that was gnawing at Aric’s own insides, though his was for a stalemate as much as hers was for a swift victory.

And then, as the sun climbed higher in the sky and Karthax’s strike force darted in behind the vanguard, the wards around the city began to falter.

It started as a low, keening wail, like the wind being torn to shreds. The mages on the walls scrambled to reinforce the barriers, but it was too late. With a blinding flash of light, the wards shattered, and the human town lay open before them.

“My agents have done their work,” Vizra said, a hungry smile on her face. “This will make a fine test to see how true your human pet’s words are, Malekith.”

“This town hardly seems worth wasting the element of surprise on,” Malekith said, but there was a glint in his eye thatAric didn’t like. “But so be it. If any humans are left alive in our assault, they will spread the word that the wards are fallible. So we cannot leave any survivors.”

Aric stifled a sharp cry. If Malekith glanced at him, he was careful not to meet it.

“Prepare the vanguard,” Malekith said to General Vezera. “We will press the advantage.”

The demons roared their battle cry as they launched themselves onward. Malekith’s strategy was working, the humans reeling from the sudden breach of their defenses.

But it was a fragile thing, that breach, and Aric knew it wouldn’t hold. Already, the mages on the walls were regrouping, their spells crackling in the air. If the demons didn’t move quickly, the humans would reinforce the wards, and the battle would once again grind to a bloody stalemate.

Be swift,Aric urged the Silver Tower’s mages, with all the fervor he could muster, all the prayers to long-dead gods that he could spare.Repel them quickly. Make the cost of victory too high.

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