Prince Kristian's Honor

Chapter 14

  A New Era

  Ferral turned away from the smoke rising toward him. He threw his torch at a guard, shouting in uncontrollable anger. “Where is that fool Derout? My men are floundering about like fish.” Ferral’s eyes bulged, and he fumed as he stared back down at the Erandian cavalry.

  “I don’t know who you are, little man, but I will make sure you die this night.” Mikhal raised a clenched fist in defiance up toward Ferral, but his companions stopped their cheering when they heard the sorcerer shouting at them. The cavalrymen urged their leader to flee before it was too late.

  “Do you hear me? You and your small, pitiful group of men will die the worst deaths.” Ferral laughed hysterically pointing down at the cavaliers. “I will come for you, and I will bring death with me, but it will not come too quickly. You may scream in agony, cry for your mothers, but your deaths will take hours.” The mad sorcerer laughed again, dismissing the cavaliers as he motioned for the army to surround Mikhal and his men.

  Over a hundred soldiers answered the call of their king. They rushed to take the bridge before Mikhal could escape. After blocking his escape route, the Belarnians slowly approached their enemies in even ranks with their spears lowered.

  Ferral smiled again. Turning to the demon, he asked, “Where is Derout?”

  The demon woman took a few moments to answer Ferral; her attention was drawn toward Mikhal. She looked at the cavalier with deep sadness and longing before turning to face the man that controlled her. “Derout is a capable man. He will come.”

  “But when? If he does not come soon it will be too late.”

  “And there are more Duellrians coming. They will be here by midday,” she replied looking east where the sun would rise in a few hours.

  “More? How many more?”

  “Thousands more,” she answered calmly, still watching Mikhal. “The larger portion of the Duellrian army received word of the battle, and they haven’t stopped to rest. They’ve been marching all night.”

  “No. This can’t happen. The outer door has been breached. My pathetic army can barely keep this smaller force at bay.” Ferral looked at the demon. “You will stop them.”

  The demon looked at him in surprise. “Why Ferral, you’re becoming used to your new authority, aren’t you?” she answered, mockingly. “Have I not shown you things that should have allowed you to defeat this army by yourself?”

  “You’ve only shown me a few tricks. Snowstorms? Ice in the water? I have blanketed Erand in snow. I have even brought in a storm to make it harder for the damned Erandian cavalry to charge, but they continue to beat my forces.”

  “I like the cold and snow. It’s fitting weather for tragedy and death,” the demon replied.

  Ferral shook his head angrily, “I want real power. I need more than what you have shown me. Even my witch could learn what you have taught me.” Ferral pulled hard on Rebenna’s chain sending her flailing toward the stone floor. “I didn’t raise you from the depths to learn things I could have learned from this harlot. Your master did not give you to me so that I would lose.”

  “He is your master, as well, Ferral. For all eternity.”

  “I gladly welcome him as my master. I have committed myself to him, but you continue to deny me that which I have always sought,” Ferral fumed. “None of our master’s plans will come to fruition if I am defeated tonight. Show me what I want to know,” he demanded.

  “You have the scroll. The power you seek is written there for you to learn,” she teased.

  “I’ve already tried. I had some success but not on the scale that the scroll promised. I need your help. There is a phrase that I have never fully translated,” he whined.

  The demon smiled again, enjoying Ferral’s tantrum. “Surely you know that our master will not simply give you what you want without a special sacrifice?”

  “The princess? Now?” A look of disappointment and dismay crossed Ferral’s face as he contemplated the demon’s demands. He was growing fond of the young girl from Duellr. He had even thought of keeping her for himself. Ferral was tired of Rebenna. She served his needs out of desperation; she only wanted to stay alive. Truth be known, Ferral was sick of her. She always tried to squirm away from him because she was terrified of his new powers, but Allisia was completely different. The Duellrian princess struggled to escape his grasp because she hated him. He could see it in her eyes. She loathed being near him and would rather die than serve him.

  “Kill the princess, and I will teach you the words you can not speak,” the demon promised reluctantly.

  Ferral wanted Allisia too much. If I could subdue her just enough to keep her here, he thought, I could enjoy her beauty and youth for years. A smile broke out on his face as he dreamed of the day when he would take Allisia to bed.

  “A sacrifice?” he asked as if he did not understand the demon.

  “Yes, Ferral, our master won’t give you what you seek unless you continue to pledge obedience to him and drink the blood of a victim you kill in his name. Princess Allisia was brought back to you for that purpose. The power you would have gained by taking her life on the new moon at the end of next month would be much greater … but if you feel you can not wait, you can perform the ceremony now. It will just be more … painful.”

  “Very well,” Ferral said as he looked back toward the palace where Allisia was still imprisoned. “Bring the princess here,” he ordered a nearby guard.

  He turned to Rebenna, yanking on her chain and bringing her closer to him. The witch was trembling from the cold but glad that the princess was about to be murdered and not her. She threw her arms around her lover, kissing him passionately. Rebenna knew her only chance of surviving the nightmare that she helped build was by pleasing the madman at all costs.

  “I shall choose the victim and the time, demon,” Ferral claimed as he returned Rebenna’s kisses.

  He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back to kiss her neck. He suddenly paused for a moment, thinking about what he was about to do and the power he was about to obtain. “I choose now, and I choose you, lovely Rebenna.” He whispered as he flicked a blade up to her neck.

  “No … Ferral, please … I,” Ferral showed no sign of remorse as he quickly moved the bone blade she had found for him across her slender throat. Rebenna gasped for air as her lungs filled with blood. She reached out to Ferral in panic as blood flowed down her gown, soaking her clothing. She choked on her own thick fluids trying to cry out for help. Ferral embraced her, smiling and saying something, but she could not hear him.

  She could feel Ferral’s teeth sinking into her throat, hungrily sucking her blood from the gaping wound, as she began to black out. Although she knew she was very close to death, she still felt the sharp pain of his teeth and could feel the last of her life flowing out from her body into his mouth.

  Rebenna no longer struggled. She no longer felt the pain. She could not even blink her eyes, but she could still see and think. Rebenna saw her blood dripping from Ferral’s lips and bearded chin. He picked her limp form up and carried her toward the ramparts. He struggled to lay her on the black stone and then raised his hands chanting. The demon was whispering in his ear. Then he pushed her body over the edge to fall on the cavaliers below.

  Rebenna’s vision blurred as she fell toward the bridge and Mikhal’s men. Colors faded into black and white as she sensed more than felt or saw that she had hit the ground. She thought she saw Ferral looming high above on the wall waving to her as her vision turned to black.

  “It’s not the princess. I remember seeing her in the palace, on a balcony, one night. That’s not her,” one of his men called out. Mikhal turned his head away from the woman’s crumpled form and shook his head.

  “No, you’re right. It isn’t the princess,” he confirmed.

  “But we are going to look a lot like her if we don’t get out of here soon,” someone shouted, pointing to the Belarnians still marching toward them.

  Mikhal looked to his left and ri
ght, trying to find a way for them to escape. To the south, the moat curved in toward the city as it headed around a corner; the route looked too narrow for an escape route. But to the north, the ground between the wall and the water continued on out of sight in the snowy darkness.

  “We’ll go that way,” Mikhal ordered his men.

  Ferral fell to his knees in agony as the power he begged for coursed through his body. The sorcerer clutched at his robes, every part of his skin feeling as though it were on fire. He screamed in terrible pain.

  “Is this what you sought, Ferral? You’re so eager to control the magic that you will do anything, kill anyone,” the demon claimed as she watched Ferral cringe in pain. Her face was livid with uncontrollable emotions.

  “Finally,” she told herself, “the fool has started something he doesn’t know how to control.” The demon felt sympathy for those living in the dark times about to come, but she was also relieved that her chains to this world would soon be destroyed. The King of Belarn lay on the floor of the rampart convulsing as the evil flowed into him, filling him with awesome power that no man was intended to have.

  “Yes,” Ferral hissed through clenched teeth. Even as he felt his body and soul melting into the black stones beneath him, he knew the power he was gaining was what he had always sought. He would rule the world with the knowledge he now possessed. Those who stood in his way would meet the same fate he planned to soon deliver upon the fools struggling against him below. He smiled at the thought of watching Kristian die horribly. Then the pain reached a new height, and he screamed in agony.

  Ferral’s back arched to the point that bones in his spine popped. The air was forced from his lungs as the power finally took hold inside him.

  The demon looked at Ferral, mildly satisfied. A part of her hoped the sorcerer might die as she stared down at his limp form, but she knew he was still alive. Their master would not allow his tool to be destroyed so easily. “No, Ferral, you’re not dead. You may wish you were, but you are not.” She held out her hand to assist the stricken sorcerer, but Ferral would not move.

  “No …,” he struggled to say, “I don’t wish I were dead. I have seen what you have … I have seen things. I have seen things that I thought could never exist.” His eyes opened wide as he began to comprehend the full extent of his new powers. He stared at his hands and legs, moving them as if he did not believe they were truly whole. Then he smiled.

  “Where is the princess,” he demanded of the guards standing close by. They rushed away, eager to escape the madness surrounding them.

  Mikhal urged his horse into the gloom surrounding the fortress. Snow and wind blinded him as he tried to find a way for him and his men to escape. He looked back once to see how many men were with him, but he could see nothing in the storm.

  In front of him, he briefly saw the reflection of something shiny off to his right. It was the moat waters, and there was another bridge ahead. Mikhal shouted in excitement, pointing toward the stone structure. He crossed quickly along with the rest of his men and then halted on the other side of the water to rest.

  “God has truly watched over us tonight,” one of the soldiers acknowledged.

  “Or maybe it’s just you, sir,” another soldier offered to Mikhal. “You are the luckiest man I have ever met, and I’m glad that I have stayed close to you tonight.” The remaining men in the group laughed, enjoying their momentary safety.

  Mikhal reached down and patted his horse’s neck reassuringly. “Well, Champion, you’ve saved me more times than I can count. I promise that if we survive this mess, you will see no harder tasks the rest of your life than to run free in the pastures.” The horse stamped impatiently despite numerous cuts on its shoulders and withers. Mikhal shook his arms to relieve the tension in his muscles and then stood up in the stirrups to get a better look around him.

  In the distance, he saw a small hill rising into the snowy mist. Through the darkness he could see small stone buildings and statues breaking up the hill’s silhouette. Mikhal’s good mood quickly evaporated as he realized he was staring at a Belarnian burial ground.

  “Not exactly the type of thing you want to see during a battle, is it?” a soldier asked nervously.

  “No, it isn’t,” Mikhal replied. Something inside him was shouting a warning, but he did not understand it. He knew he should run, but he could not. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

  “What is that?” one soldier asked pointing to a dim light beginning to appear from behind the burial grounds.

  Mikhal leaned forward in his saddle, straining to make out the single torch in the storm. He gasped as several other flaming brands suddenly joined the first. “It’s a column,” Mikhal realized, and then he lowered his head in defeat. “It’s the same army we saw leave before the attack, the departing force that convinced Kristian to move against Ferral.” He turned to face his soldiers. “They’ve been waiting here beyond our sight the entire time. We’ve been tricked. This has all been a trap. We must warn the Duellrians before all is lost.”

  “Well, sons of Erand, I hope you enjoyed your break,” Jamal declared as he motioned for Mikhal’s exhausted soldiers to get in line.

  “We’re ready,” the veteran sergeant reported to Mikhal after quickly inspecting the men. Mikhal felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude; he was the best cavalier Mikhal had served with.

  The young cavalry officer nodded grimly as he looked at the few remaining faces still with him. They were tired beyond comprehension from the fighting and stress, but they had a glimmer of hope in their eyes. Twelve mounted Erandians leaned into their saddles, preparing for the word to move. Each of them looked at their leader ready to do everything they could to prevent the Belarnians from destroying the Duellrians. Mikhal wished he shared their confidence, but he could not.

  Feeling as though he had somehow failed them, he reluctantly nodded for Jamal to give the order. He leaned forward like his men, ready to make one more charge. Jamal checked his saddle harness, ensuring it was tight. Once he was satisfied, the sergeant raised his saber and shouted, “Ride!”

  Mikhal stood bent over at the waist, his hands barely able to hold onto the reins. He fought to control his nausea, but wretched again as the cold wind brought the smell of fresh blood and smoke to his position behind the Duellrian army. Mikhal wiped the spit from his mouth and chin as sweat ran down his face despite the bitter cold.

  Every time he attempted to watch the battle to estimate the amount of death the Belarnians now brought upon the Duellrians, his vision narrowed and he became dizzy. All but two of his men were lost in the ride from the bridge back to General Aphilan’s position. They were forced to ride closer to the Belarnian cavalry than they wanted because of the moat and had to fight the advancing threat before they were finally able to break free. They were the Belarnian Black Guards, known as much for their devotion to Ferral as for their cruelty.

  It only figured that the Black Guards were involved in Ferral’s trick. They were the best trained and equipped of all the Belarnian forces, but they were not as good in battle as the cavaliers. They relied more on their fanaticism, numbers, and heavy armor than skill. All Black Guard soldiers reveled in the murderous tasks their sorcerer king gave them.

  Mikhal’s sergeant, Jamal, led half of Mikhal’s men against the heavy cavalry, attempting to delay their advance while the rest of Mikhal’s men sprinted on to warn General Aphilan. Mikhal remembered the reluctance reflected in Jamal’s eyes. The man knew they were all going to die. It was madness to even think he and five other lightly armored cavaliers could halt a mounted force of over five hundred, but Jamal knew there was no other way to save everyone else unless a few sacrificed themselves.

  Mikhal remembered seeing him look down at the ground, contemplating his fate for a moment before a determined looked passed over his face. He shouted for Mikhal to keep riding as he pulled in those soldiers close by and told them of their desperate need to slow the enemy. They immediately realized what he wante
d them to do. If they did not make their stand now, no one would survive this hellish night.

  With little more than a final wave and a half smile, Jamal and his men charged into the front ranks of the Black Guards. The sudden impact of horses and men threw the attackers into disarray. Horses screamed and soldiers shouted in anger and pain as the six quickly cut a small path into the Belarnians. Mikhal lost sight of them among the black-armored men that were eager to kill their sworn enemies. He could barely see the glint of torchlight reflected off the surface of polished sabers clashing with broadswords somewhere in the middle of the chaos.

  Mikhal did not wait to see the outcome. He knew that Jamal’s sacrifice would only provide him a brief moment. He did not plan to lose the chance given him.

  The first person he was able to find was his prince. Kristian was conferring with some of the Duellrian officers, discussing the best way to finish off the remainder of the Belarnian army. Mikhal’s charge to the gate had emboldened the men. The Duellrians renewed their attack, and now they were on the verge of victory. It was obvious to Mikhal that Kristian was excited. Mikhal took a small amount of joy in the fact that his news would quickly spoil Kristian’s mood.

  Wearily, he dropped from his horse and approached his prince. “I have terrible news. The Belarnian cavalry we saw leave earlier hid just beyond our sight. They’re riding toward us now. We have only a moment to prepare for their attack,” Mikhal abruptly stopped unable to say more. He was surprised at how exhausted he was. Finally feeling as though he had done as much as he possibly could, he sat down in the snow trying to catch his breath.

  Kristian looked down at him, doubtfully. Mikhal expected to see despair spread across his face, but instead he saw suspicion. “Are you sure?” Kristian asked, looking into the young cavalry officer’s eyes. “There have been no other reports. We’re close to finishing off these vermin. If we pull men away from the fight now, we could lose everything.”

  With the little strength he had left, Mikhal pulled himself off the frozen ground and stood defiantly in front of his prince. Fuming, trying to find the words that could possibly match his furry, Mikhal sputtered, “My men are all dead. Dead!” He poured his hatred of his prince into his stare. “This has all been a trap. You convinced us to attack early, and that is exactly what they wanted us to do. Five hundred Black Guards are about to hit our right flank. I advise you to warn General Aphilan.”

  Still doubting him, Kristian turned and called for Alek to dispatch a patrol to scout out the new enemy. “We’ll soon see if there is a new threat,” Kristian said, turning away from Mikhal to watch the dwindling battle at the gate.

  “Fool,” Mikhal shouted back at him. “We’ll all die because of you.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” His commander asked riding up beside him. His helm was severely dented over his left eye, and blood trickled down into his mustache.

  Mikhal quickly told him of the new danger, warning that more than a patrol was needed. “They’re Black Guard cavalry … about five hundred of them.” Alek saw the grief in Mikhal’s eyes and instantly believed him.

  His commander left quickly, calling for all remaining cavaliers to join him. Mikhal saw the ragged remains of his company come together under the banner of Erand and ride off toward the new threat.

  Ferral smiled cruelly at Princess Allisia as she was dragged out of the tower door to stand in front of him. Allisia was terrified. She thought everyone might forget about her when her countrymen had finally arrived. For the last two hours, she had worked desperately to bust the lock on her door and escape. She finally managed to open the heavy wooden door only to find two guards arriving to take her to Ferral. She screamed in horror as they took her out of the palace, thinking they had come to take her to her death. Ferral threatened several times to cut her throat and offer her blood to his god, and now Allisia thought the time had come.

  Ferral often visited her to give little snippets of news about the approach of her kingdom’s army. He always seemed in control of the situation and hinted he had a special surprise in store for her on the day the fools arrived to challenge him. Allisia always tried to act defiant, showing no outward signs of fear, but she panicked as they took her across the courtyard toward the walls.

  The guards opened the tower door and shoved her back out into the cold; Ferral and the demon were standing before her, expectantly. She screamed again, sensing it was finally her time to die. Then she looked out and saw the chaotic battle below. The Belarnians were easy to spot with their black and red banners, but Allisia thought Ferral’s army looked to be in desperate shape. They were pushed back against the moat and were fighting to stay in control of the bridge. She looked down, noticing that the heavy iron and wooden doors were completely destroyed. Black smoke washed over the top of the wall making it difficult to see the figures directly below her, but it looked like they were trying to erect a hasty barricade to block the open gate.

  The madman reached over and grabbed her wrist pulling her to him. His breath smelled horrible, like he had eaten rotten meat. “Look, do you see? The death of your countrymen and your young prince is at hand.” Allisia saw hundreds of bodies littering the snowy ground. Death was truly everywhere, but as she looked again at the battlefield, she still thought Ferral’s army seemed defeated.

  In fact, most of the fighting in front of the ruined gate had already ended. A small force of cavalry, that she supposed were the cavaliers that Ferral often cursed, were locked in battle with a much larger force of Belarnian cavalry. A thousand more Duellrians were on their way to help the Erandians, though. She also saw General Aphilan’s standard; he was leading another group of five hundred soldiers into the fight. The Belarnians would soon be surrounded and destroyed. Perhaps Ferral had not yet realized that he was defeated.

  Defiantly, she turned to Ferral and said, “Looks more like death has come for you.” She stared at the disgusting man before her, trying to hide her fear. Her jaw went slack, however, as she saw the dried blood clinging to his bearded chin and clothes. Would he kill her now that he was defeated? Would he kill her just to ensure her countrymen could not feel good about their victory? she wondered.

  Ferral simply smiled. “Even were my followers to fail me, I would still crush my enemies. This battle was merely for my enjoyment.” He turned to look at the demon woman. Reassured now that he had the power he had always sought, Ferral said, “I alone can destroy those you love, Allisia.”

  Allisia forced out a laugh. She thought he was lying, trying to cause her to despair one final time before he killed her. Allisia learned many things about Ferral in the time she was held captive. She knew that even though he was faced with defeat, he would strike out as many times as possible before the end. His soul was corrupted by the evil he wished to control, he could not bear seeing anything good happen. She expected him to kill her soon and then retreat to hide from those who had come to save her.

  “You’re sick. Look to yourself to see death. Something as disgusting and evil as you defies God by still breathing clean air,” Allisia shouted.

  “What an amusing comparison, Allisia.” He held out his arms in a grand gesture, encompassing everything around him. “For to look on me is to see death. I am the earthly power of my god, and he has given me the strength to shape this world to his liking. Look at those below my walls and see the future of all Erinia.”

  Ferral lowered his hands and pointed to those struggling on the battlefield. He hesitated, turning to face Allisia once more. “All will die except you, lovely Allisia. You alone shall live to the bitter end of time and see the fate of our world. You will have the honor of seeing everything crushed below the feet of my army.” He faced those struggling below. “And all souls of hell shall do my bidding.”

  Kristian heard Allisia’s scream coming from somewhere along the fortress wall. He broke away from the fighting and pushed his way onto the bridge. Mikhal had recovered somewhat and followed him toward the sounds of struggle above. He wa
s not interested in helping the prince do anything, but the frantic screams of someone in danger urged him to follow Kristian.

  Kristian looked up to see Ferral still standing atop the walls, looking down at him. Beside him was the demon woman that had taken Allisia from her home. He knew he had heard Allisia and panicked when he could not find her. “Where is she, you monster?”

  “She is here, Kristian. Don’t worry over her, she is my betrothed now. Once she heard you and the rest of the little bugs with you were about to be destroyed, she quickly decided to join me.” Kristian heard Allisia shout for him over the top of the madman’s laughter.

  “Allisia!” Kristian struggled to find her but could see nothing behind the darkening curtain of black smoke and snow. “I will kill you. I swear that I will kill you no matter what happens.”

  Ferral’s voice came down to them through the snow and smoke. “Tonight is a special night. It is the beginning of a new era. The beginning of my empire on Erinia and soon the entire world.” There was a pause, and then suddenly the ground seemed to vibrate beneath their feet.

  “You are finished, Ferral. Your army is defeated. Release her now,” Kristian demanded.

  “Oh, but you have not met my new army. They are the most devout of all servants. And you shall soon become one of them.” Mikhal saw the figures above clearly illuminated by a brilliant flash of lightning. Ferral’s body was consumed by the blinding light before he fell back. The hairs on the back of Mikhal’s neck stood up, and he felt colder. He turned to make sure no one was coming upon them from the far side of the bridge, but they were alone. Still, something was wrong. Mikhal continued to look around worriedly.

  Kristian tried to gather men around him just as everything seemed to go completely silent. An invisible wave of pressure passed through him and his ears popped. The blast forced him to his knees. The horses screamed in panic, moving nervously from side to side. The prince of Erand put his hands over his ears as the moans of thousands of horribly wounded soldiers filled his head. The sound was deafening, and he thought he would go mad, but the sound ended as quickly as it began.

  Mikhal and Kristian scanned the area for signs of approaching enemies; there was nothing but silence. Soldiers on both sides stopped fighting to see what was going on. Then, through the snowy mist, a lone figure near the castle wall stumbled toward the two Erandians. Mikhal raised his saber, prepared to defend himself but hesitated as the person came closer. It was the woman Ferral had thrown from the top of the wall. Blood covered her broken body and there was no way she should have been able to stand. It was as if her body was held up by the strings of an unseen master. Her eyes were dull and looked beyond the two men.

  “This isn’t right. What’s happening?” Mikhal shouted. He turned around to witness other impossibilities rising from the frozen ground. All over the battlefield, the grizzly shapes of the dead stood up and slowly ambled toward the living. Belarnian, Erandian, and Duellrian … Ferral’s spell had brought them all back, and they were all moving slowly and silently forward.

  Kristian was suddenly thrown from his horse as the terrible form of what was once Rebenna grabbed his reins. He struggled to stand, looking for his sword but could not find it. Kristian quickly grabbed a Belarnian broadsword, swinging desperately to keep the creature at bay. The sword stroke severed the thing’s grasping hands as it came at him. The force of the blow threw it back against the low wall of the bridge where it lay crumpled for a moment before it again managed to stand and come for him. He started to go into shock. The creature would not die.

  Had Mikhal not come up and jammed his saber into the back of its neck Kristian would be dead. The cavalry officer tried to pull his sword free, but the point had gone up into the skull and was stuck. Mikhal sent the dead thing back to the stone floor of the bridge, giving him the chance he needed to reach Kristian.

  Mikhal remounted and pulled the dumbfounded prince on behind him. He kicked his horse hard, hoping to get free before it was too late. Mikhal looked back for an instant to see Rebenna rise again with the saber point jutting from her forehead. He shook his head in disbelief as he rode through a clearer portion of the battlefield. To either side of him, figures reached out bloody hands trying to pull them down.

  Allisia looked at Ferral in horror. The mad sorcerer was bent over, coughs racking his entire body. Blood trickled down from his ears and nose as he held onto the bulwark for support. “Die! All of you shall die,” he gasped between spasms of pain. Allisia backed away from the evil man, unable to comprehend what he had done. The demon turned from the chaos below to smile at Ferral.

  “Our master is pleased, Ferral. Even he did not foresee how much ruin you were capable of. I, for one, thought it would take much longer for you to destroy everything, but you have surprised even me.” The beautiful demon smiled in pleasure, seeing the pain tear at Ferral. She knew that eventually the power would consume him. He could not control it, and her master would be able to accomplish what he had sought for a millennium. The demon pulled down her hood and turned back to the bridge to see the two men struggling below with Rebenna.

  Allisia also leaned forward, fighting the screams in her head. She knew that Kristian was down there and prayed he would somehow escape. She clung to the small hope that he might survive. He had really come for her. Allisia watched her hopes of escape vanish when Kristian was whisked away to safety by a cavalier.

  “At least he is safe,” she acknowledged. Allisia let out a brief sigh of relief as she turned her attention to her own countrymen.

  The Duellrian army was still nearly a thousand strong. They had somehow managed to destroy most of the Belarnian army. Their spirits were high after the destruction of the massive doors, and their courage enabled them to defeat a much larger enemy. They had killed or wounded at least eight thousand Belarnians and were preparing to push the remaining soldiers away from the bridge and enter the fortress. As they fought what they thought was their last battle, an invisible wall of pressure past through their ranks. Mortally wounded men struggled to stand back up and then approached those close by. In the first few moments of chaos, men were pulled down by groups of mangled corpses. Their screams filled the oppressive silence as the dead ripped the living apart.

  Commanders reluctantly pulled their remaining soldiers into a protective ring as they realized they were now faced with the horrible challenge of fighting those they had already killed once, as well as their fallen comrades. They forgot about taking the bridge as they fought to keep their own men from running blindly into the darkness. The wind abruptly died as though it could no longer be forced to blow where the dead walked. Snow continued to fall in heavy sheets, blanketing the ground and limiting Allisia’s view of the army.

  She could barely see her people. They were surrounded by a much larger force that slowly stumbled toward them. Thousands of the dead converged on those that were unable to quickly withdraw. They formed a wall of spears and pikes to keep the grisly forms at bay, but it was not enough to hold them back. The dead pushed past the weapons or pushed each other onto them in a frenzy of hunger. There was a loud clanging of armor and weapons, followed by the growing sounds of terrified men being torn apart.

  Allisia saw groups of the dead break off from the rest to attack the Belarnians as well. Whatever Ferral had done to raise these foul creatures had tasked him too greatly. He had broken the laws of nature, bringing all nearby corpses back from the dead, but he could not control them. She saw the Belarnians run for safety through the ruined gate as many of their own comrades were yanked from the crowd by the bloodthirsty creatures.

  She looked down at Ferral who was fighting to stay conscious and kicked him in the chest. “You’re mad! Insane!” she screamed.

  The demon slowly approached her, enjoying Ferral’s added pain. She longed to see the young girl crush the worm, but her master was not through using Ferral. No one knew what else the sorcerer might do to hasten the end of the world. The demon grabbed the princess by her cl
oak with a firm hand and dragged her back to an uneasy guard.

  She dropped Allisia at his feet and said, “Watch her. Make sure she does not escape or harm herself.” The demon looked into the man’s eyes. “You have seen what your king can do?” The nervous man nodded quickly. “Then do not fail him or you may suffer their fate,” she warned, pointing at the dead below them.

  The demon pulled her cloak close to her and headed for the tower door. She turned a final time to the men on the rampart. “Your king is now the hand of Belatarn. He has created an army that will raze this land and ensure Belarn’s control over all the other kingdoms. Make sure he is kept safe.” As an afterthought she added, “And you better reinforce the damaged gate. They’re hungry enough to push past that fire and destroy everyone within these walls.” She smiled as she left them, prepared to do her part in creating destruction this night.