Page 59 of Heart of the Shadow King

There she is. Just behind my eyelids.

Faraine.

I see her in a flash, in every guise that I’ve known her. From the first moment I scooped her up in my arms amid a battlefield, to the surprise on her face when I lifted her off her feet and twirled her around a dance floor. I see those wide, terrified, bi-colored eyes of hers staring up at me from our marriage bed in a moment of terrible revelation. I see them again, alight with ecstatic release as she gave herself over to me. I see her solemn and smiling, tearful and furious.

I see her dead. And alive once more.

Whatever our story is meant to be, it cannot end here. Not tonight.

I open my eyes and pull the visor of my helmet down. My spirit narrows to a spearhead, focused on the fight ahead. I will give everything, absolutely everything I have to give. Then I will return to her.

“Drag-or!”I bellow and spur Knar into action. My riders surge behind me. The morleth make no sound—no thundering hooves across the plain. We are a sweeping shadow of death riding in on sulfurous steeds.

The hobgoblins in their stolen city sense our coming. They swarm to the highest broken towers and walls, waving their arms and beating their chests as though to welcome us. There are so many of them, more than I’ve ever seen in one place. How Ruvaen managed to transport them from their own realm to this place without losing his life in the process is beyond me. But they’re here, and they are not afraid of troldefolk in trolde armor. Though they themselves are naked save for the coarse hair covering their leathery hides, they expose themselves with wild abandon. Perhaps they welcome the embrace of death; it must be a relief for such repulsive creatures to leave this life behind.

“Orghru, ortolarok!”I bellow and drive my spurs into Knar’s flanks. He responds to my urging and takes to the air, eager to climb into that dark sky. Just as we reach the outermost walls of the fallen city, the host of morleth rise like a wave, sweeping over the heads of the raging hobgoblins. Missiles fly—stones, skulls, broken lances, severed heads. Anything those monsters can get their ugly hands on. Most whistle uselessly beneath our morleth’s churning hooves, the rest rebound off our stout trolde armor. Something strikes my pauldron and shatters on impact in a cloud of bone dust. Screeches of frustrated rage erupt below us, and the city streets team.

Several of my riders sweep low to hack at the beasts. “Keep to the air!” I bellow, but too late. They are hauled from their saddles. Hobgoblins pile on top of them, shrieking with bloodthirsty glee, drowning out their cries as they seek to rip away their armor and penetrate their tough trolde hides. We cannot stop to help. I can only pray they are able to shake free of their assailants and reclaim their mounts.

We rise higher. But this too is perilous, for the wild magic sears us from above. One of my warriors is struck by a bolt of unruly spell-light, which evaporates his morleth out from under him. He falls hard, crashing through a rotten rooftop below. I do not see what becomes of him.

Then we are beyond the city. The defenses the Miphates could not breach we have simply sailed over. We look now upon the stretch of plain between the city and the citadel nestled in the shadow of the mountain. The harsh glare of magic reveals the hosts of Ruvaen. My heart misses a beat.

It is worse than I thought. In a single glance, I calculate at least three hundred Orrian lancers, armed with their moonblade weapons. Their horned heads and snarling helmet masks could lead a man to believe Ruvaen summoned demons from the depths of the nine hells to serve his cause. Beyond them are the foot soldiers, the Noxaurian berserkers, already ravening fromviruliumand eager to fight, pounding their blades against their shields. They cannot approach the citadel, however, for powerful warding spells keep them at bay. Some counter-magic is even now working to bring those wards down, and it is this which sends the chaotic bursts of light and power rippling to the sky. For now, the wards hold, sustained by the Miphates within the citadel. But they won’t hold much longer, and then the berserkers will swarm.

The keep is already under threat. Though the wards keep most of Ruvaen’s force at bay, the giants have walked straight through, impervious to human magic. They are brutal, one-eyed monsters with huge warthog jaws and yellow tusks, the tallest of them at least forty meters high. Huge bushes of tangled beard spill over their naked torsos. Wielding massive war hammers, they beat at the gates and walls of the citadel, breaking through magical reinforcements as quickly as the mages on the far side can reinstate them. Sooner rather than later, the mages will simply run out of spells.

The giants must be brought down or nothing else that happens tonight will matter.

“Drag-or!”I cry, and charge, guiding Knar through the magic storm and over the heads of the Orrian lancers. They maneuver their lances, sending arcs of sharpened moonlight radiating from below. When those arcs hit the morleth, the beasts disintegrate immediately, leaving their riders to plummet. Trolde can take a fall, however. My warriors land, weapons at the ready, and set to work carving out circles of destruction as our enemies seek to close in upon them.

Parh’s harsh voice barks commands to my right. She turns her morleth, leading a contingent of warriors to take on one of the giants. On my left flank, Lur does the same, while I fly straight on, riders at my heels, aiming for the centermost giant who even now pounds the gate.

“Go for the eye!” I bellow as we drive in close. The war hammer swings up, and we dodge to avoid it. One of our number is not so nimble, and a morleth disappears in a puff of smoke as its rider falls.

Knar is swift and responsive to my touch. We avoid both the hammer and the giant’s swinging arm and pull in close to that hideous face. A blast of foul breath assaults my senses. I grind my teeth, tilt to one side in my saddle, my sword arm extended. It turns its heavy head, narrowly avoiding a slash to the eye. My blade cuts through the top half of its huge, tufted ear instead.

The giant bellows and wildly swings its hammer, batting at my riders like a swarm ofolk. Another rider falls and another. That huge hammer brushes so close, I feel the wind of its passing. I haul on Knar’s reins.

Suddenly a massive green hand appears before me. I try to bank, but Knar is not quick enough. We hit that lined and greasy palm like a brick wall. Knar immediately vanishes from this world back to his own dimension, leaving me to plummet to earth.

The fall is nothing—one moment I am midair, the next I smack into dirt, breath knocked from my lungs. Before I can react, a huge foot with curling dagger nails blocks out the glare of magic overhead. I just have time to brace myself before it comes down hard on top of me, driving my body into the ground. My armor creaks, but the spikes down my backplate pierce the callouses of that enormous sole. The giant screams.

The next moment, the foot lifts away. I can breathe again. I pry myself up from the dirt, dragging air into my lungs. Somehow I didn’t lose my grip on my sword. Swiping the visor back from my face, I stare up at the howling beast above me, still waving his heavy hands to ward off myortolarok.They cannot get close enough to that red and raging eye.

I’m in motion before reason can dissuade me. My sword upraised, I leap for the nearest foot, which comes down heavily in front of me, shaking the ground. I scramble one-handed past the knee and catch hold of an old loincloth of ratty lamia hide. The tough skin holds my weight as I pull myself up to the belt wrapping the giant’s ample girth. The stench is beyond description. I struggle to maintain my grip as the giant whirls in his defensive dance. He wears no garments on his upper torso, but that bush of beard will serve my purpose. I spring for it, grasping hold of coarse hair like a tangle of briars, and climb swiftly to the giant’s shoulder. Only then does he take notice of me.

Mounding folds of green-gray skin form a ledge over that single red eye. He turns, trying to catch sight of me as I grab hold of his ear for support. His big hand swipes, seeking to brush me away like an insect. I swing out, straddle that bulbous nose, gripping it between my legs. The giant utters a rageful bellow just before I brandish my sword and plunge it straight into the center of that enormous black pupil.

Blood spurts, spraying me in hot sludge. The giant’s howl cuts off abruptly. He’s dead before his knees hit the ground, before his huge body tumbles forward. His outflung arm, still gripping the hammer, pounds the gates one last time, cracking the hinges. I spring free of my enemy and turn to see one of the gates tumble sideways. On the far side, a cluster of mages stand, all hooded and robed, their terrified eyes white-ringed as they stare out at me. A shout, and they leap into action, struggling to mend the breach.

“Knar!” I cry. My morleth does not respond, refuses to reappear from his dark dimension. Overhead, theortolarokcircle. One swoops low, shouting words I cannot discern. “Go!” I cry and motion to the other two giants still assaulting the walls. “Take them down!”

They obey, reluctant to leave me in this vulnerable position. But this stretch of ground between the citadel wall and the ward-spell is safe enough. The Noxaurians throw themselves at the magicked barrier, slavering to get through. Once again, a ripple of counter-magic passes through the ward-spell. Someone out there is fighting hard to break it, but they’ve not managed it yet.

A snort behind me.

I turn, breathing hard. Gaze over the giant’s fallen body.

---