George swore. As he watched one of the crossbowmen’s quarrels found its mark in another of his soldiers, despite the shimmering illusion that partially hid him. “Shadok ni miellte,” cried George loudly, marking the archers and crossbowmen he could see mentally. Darkness sprang from his fingertips to wrap itself like some living thing around the three bowmen’s heads, hiding their faces and blinding them within solid shadow.
Striding quickly to the gap, George uttered another phrase and created a temporary bridge of pure force across the empty space. As a finishing touch he added an opaque brown color to allow the men to see it. “Get across!” he shouted, and the soldiers with him began crossing as quickly as they dared. Their blind foes never stood a chance.
After that things got easier. With only four men left, they were more careful, but George blinded the archers at each section before they could get a clear shot, and the lack of gangways was no obstacle.
Thomas and his group were the first to find real trouble. Sprinting across the courtyard, they were relying upon speed and surprise to protect them from the archers who stood on the walls and atop the keep, until George and Egan’s groups could take care of them. Arrows weren’t really a problem for Thomas, but the men with him didn’t have the protection of enchanted plate as he did. A well placed broadhead arrow or crossbow quarrel could kill a man in chainmail, whether he’d been graced with Doron’s strength or not.
Arrows turned out to be the least of their worries.
Running faster than the fleetest stag, Thomas led their charge across the open ground. Their goal was the archway that led to the eastern courtyard; from there they would head for the postern gate. The ground erupted in front of them with clouds of dust and dirt as they neared the center and strange creatures emerged, rising like nightmare sentinels.
Ten of the strange, twisted forms had appeared, from what looked to be small pits dug and concealed within the hard earth. Their shapes and limbs were bizarre in both number and arrangement, but their purpose was clear.
No stranger to surprises, the calm minded Thomas veered to the left rather than springing into the air. An ambusher would be prepared for an instinctive leap, the fact of which was proven when two of the men behind him shot skyward, startled by the sudden appearance of foes in front of them. Neither reached the ground alive; two of the beasts in the rear caught them with long clawed arms, ripping through chainmail and disemboweling one before he found the ground again.
The other died more painfully, as one of his legs was caught and snipped off by a thing with claw-like shears for arms. He fell, blood pumping forcefully from the ruined stump and mercifully lost consciousness before the diminished god could finish the job.
Sir Thomas’s great sword removed the front right leg of a four legged turtle shaped monster, causing it to topple awkwardly sideways as he skipped past. Reversing his momentum, he spun back to the right and removed the arm of another before his ambushers could react. Moving in a pattern of almost random madness, the knight was among his foes and dancing with a deadly grace that reflected either a chaotic genius or a callous disregard for his own life. He stayed nowhere, constantly moving, using the bodies of his foes to change direction and momentum in ways that defied his own weight and previous movement.
Regrettably, his disordered dance also kept him from doing serious harm to any of his foes, other than the occasional removal of an arm or leg when his swings connected with weak points by chance. His purpose was far from random though, his whirling dervish routine confused the enemy long enough for the remainder of the men with him to reorganize themselves, forming two groups, one of two men and another of three.
“Take the right!” shouted Sir Thomas. “Flank the tall one on both sides while you defend each other’s backs.”
The soldiers, although less experienced, knew well how to take orders and coordinate. Reacting quickly they moved to obey, while Thomas tormented their foes from the left. The ‘tall one’ he had called out was a particularly spindly, stork-like raptor with ripping claws for forelimbs. The disarray of their initial contact had left it farther out than the others, and the men were able to flank it on either side. Two of the five struck alternately from either side, forcing it into a losing game, while the other three struggled to keep the monster’s closest allies from moving to assist.
Continuing his desperate rampage Thomas’ luck eventually ran out. Bouncing from the heavy trunk-like torso of one near the center, he was brought to a standstill when, rather than empty air he found himself intercepted by the bulky body of the weird turtle he had initially struck. The pause in his motion proved disastrous.
Reacting with un-turtle-like speed, the beast he had run up against snapped down on Thomas with huge jaws. Acting on pure instinct, the knight brought his great sword up to protect himself and wound up impaling the beast, his sword sliding through the outstretched jaws to thrust through the back of its mouth and into its head. The blow did little to damage the weakened god, but it completely immobilized Thomas’ sword.
Knight and turtle stood at an impasse for a long second while he held its powerful head away with the long blade of his weapon. Rather than release the hilt, Thomas took his only other option, uttering the word that would trigger the sun-sword’s flames. Fire exploded from the creature’s mouth. Shielded by his armor, Thomas felt only a momentary heat while the light blinded him. The turtle-monster was less fortunate. Surprisingly flammable, its form caught fire within and without, and something deeper inside the strange beast exploded.
Thomas lost his grip on the sword then, as he was flung back across the courtyard. Their enemies were also thrown in different directions. The five soldiers with him had finished disabling the tall raptor, but one had been badly wounded during the skirmish. The other four were tossed back like ragdolls when the turtle-thing exploded. Arrows began to land around them as archers on the walls took aim, assisting their monstrous allies.
Things looked grim for Thomas’ soldiers, and their leader was far from being able to recover in time to help them.
A booming rush of wind from above heralded the arrival of a massive dragon-like creature. On its back were numerous smaller creatures, terrible and monstrous in shape and form. They were no less alien in appearance than the diminished god-seeds that Thomas and his men were fighting.
The Kriteck had arrived.
Chapter 39
The courtyard of Cameron Castle dissolved into anarchy as creatures that defied sane description fell together in combat. The massive flying dragon died first, as one of the god-seeds tore open its throat. Unlike the fallen dark-gods, the Kriteck were still living creatures, they could not survive the same fatal wounds their opponents could.
They were more numerous however and some of those that had arrived were magic-users. Lines of power writhed through the air, wrapping themselves around some of the god-seeds, pinning and slowing them while the magic burned at their skin.
Thomas had found his feet, but his hearing had taken a leave of absence. Yelling at the four men still able to move he pointed in the direction of the archway that would take them to their goal, “Get up and start running!” He could only hope their hearing was still intact. His own voice was nothing more than a muted rumble in his ears.
While his men scrambled to obey, Thomas scanned the yard for his sword. I’ll be damned if I spend the rest of the day fighting without it. His eyes failed to find it, but he did spot what seemed to be the head of the thing that had exploded. Taking a calculated risk, he ran for it, dodging two more monstrosities as he went. The creatures seemed more interested in each other now, and since he could hardly pick bizarre friend from multi-legged foe Thomas responded by ignoring them in like fashion.
His luck held when he found his sword still lodged in the burning head of the turtle beast. Putting his armored boot down on it, he wrenched the blade free and headed in the direction that his soldiers were already running. He cursed as he saw one fall directly in front of him; a crossb
ow quarrel had sprouted from between the soldier’s shoulder blades.
Looking up to spot the man who had fired, Thomas was grateful when he saw one of George’s men send the sniper flying from the wall. Sword in hand he ran onward.
***
The barracks door flew inward as one of Harold’s men struck it a second time with a heavy mace. The scene that greeted them inside was unusual given that it was their own barracks. If the castle had been in their possession, Harold would have expected to find men resting, cleaning armor, or simply talking together, instead it looked like a scene from a bacchanal.
Most of the men inside were naked, baring chests and arms covered in strange tattoos, most notably the flaming black dagger that denoted the Shaddoth Krys. A number of the people inside were women, some tattooed and others clear skinned. Without exception they were naked as well, and while some of the assassins were simply oiling one another, others were unabashedly engaged in more erotic acts.
Everyone became still for a moment as the assassins stared at the newcomers.
Opening his visor, Harold grinned at them evilly. “I thought I told you bastards to clean this place up!” he said, as though he were addressing his own men on a normal day.
One of the nearest men opened his mouth in confusion, “Huh?” The words had barely left his slack jaw before his head rolled away from his shoulders. Harold’s sword sent blood spatters along the wall as he whipped it back to a forward guard position, and the assassin’s headless torso slumped, pumping more sanguine fluid onto the mattress and floor.
“Look at the mess you’ve made!” cried Harold in mock disbelief. “You’ve gotten blood all over my floor.” Pointing the tip of his sword at the others he dropped his smile, “The rest of you will have to clean that up.”
Pandemonium erupted as the occupants of the barracks scrambled to claim weapons to meet their attackers with. Daggers and swords appeared from beneath mattresses and footlockers, but their general state of unpreparedness was a fatal disadvantage for most. Harold and his soldier’s waded forward, cutting and cleaving. Men and women died while blood ran so heavy that it created channels and rivulets throughout the large room.
One of the soldiers with Harold, a man named, Clarence pronounced his disgust, “Dammitt! That was my bed.” He was one of the refugees from Cameron itself, and one of the women now lay in two parts across his old bunk.
The fight was almost over now, with only two of the forty-odd Shaddoth Krys that had been in the room still alive. They ducked and dodged around bedframes trying to avoid Harold’s soldiers, but they were unable to match them for speed. The outcome was inevitable. A loud boom from outside caught Harold’s attention.
“What was that?” asked the blond knight, but none of the others had any suggestions. “Finish here and then sweep the hall and kitchens for more of them,” he commanded hastily. “I’m going to check outside. I’ll find you afterward.”
With that he left them and began running for the main hall that was the closest exit to the courtyard. Along the way he encountered a few more confused enemies. He spared them no words, and only the time it took to leave each dead as he passed.
“Who might you be?” asked a strangely accented voice on his right as he burst through the door to the front entry hall. Turning, Harold spotted a bizarre spider the size of a small horse approaching.
Something about the confidence in its movements worried Harold. It wasn’t in the least troubled by the sudden appearance of a Knight of Stone within the castle walls. Seized by a sense of foreboding the blond warrior lowered his visor to protect himself more completely. “A more appropriate question,” he replied genially, “would be: What the hell are you?”
“I am Chel’strathek. You would know me as the Terror of the Night, one of what your people call the Dark Gods. Lately I have been reduced to Mal’goroth’s lieutenant, not that that is any of your concern, human,” answered the strange arachnid.
Harold’s body loosened as he prepared to take action. His eyes raked the hall, making note of distances and the few heavy pieces of furniture. “You do yourself too much honor in assuming that I or any of my people would know your name,” he said, rebuking the god. “If I have had terrors in the night, they were not for fear of you. Like all your kind you are already forgotten. Your name has no meaning anymore.”
A vicious bolt of malevolent power struck the place that Harold had been standing, but the knight was already moving. Dodging to the side only a few feet, Harold reversed direction to avoid the second attack that followed a split second after the first.
With each step he closed on his opponent, watching the waving forelimbs that presaged each powerful bolt of energy. He had almost reached Chel’strathek when his feet discovered hidden webbing lining the floor beneath him.
“Fool,” crooned the Dark God gleefully. “Did you think I would be so simple a foe?”
Sweeping downward with his great sword Harold almost clipped one of Chel’strathek’s closest legs, forcing the giant arachnid to dodge backward. The swing had been only a feint though, and as the sword reached the floor the knight unleashed the enchanted flames, burning through the She’Har spellweaving that held his feet in place. Ripping his feet free and leaping sideways a full ten feet, he only barely avoided his foe’s next blast of power.
Harold was well aware that he had lost the initiative, and when facing an enemy of superior power, that was as good as a death warrant. Attempting to regain it with an offensive attack was almost guaranteed to failure, but he still had another option. The cacophony from outside the main doors had reached a new level of madness. Which probably meant the Kriteck had arrived, either that or their assault was already doomed.
Dashing to one side, he used his sword to topple a lofty marble statue, one of the few that the Countess had added over the years. It seemed at first that it was an attempt to injure his opponent, but his true purpose was diversion. In the space that the crashing stone gave him, he suddenly changed direction and ran for the main doors. Flinging them wide, he leapt out into a scene from a lunatic’s fever dream.
A terrible ray of malign force exited the door behind him. It missed narrowly, striking one of the grotesque horrors battling in the courtyard. Half the beast’s body dissolved in a brilliant flash that left only burnt flesh and a mysterious goo behind. Sir Harold had no way of knowing whether it had been a friend or a foe that was wounded.
Filling his lungs with air Harold shouted a warning for everyone concerned, “I think I found the big one!” He was forced to dart sideways to clear the doorway and avoid a new magical attack. Heads and head-like appendages turned to track the new entrant into the battle, some viewing Chel’strathek’s emergence with joy and others with less enthusiasm.
The main gates were wide, and the rest of Ariadne’s god-enhanced warriors were streaming inward. They added a new level of disorder, but the tide had turned against the limited number of diminished Dark Gods. Or so it had seemed, before Chel’strathek’s arrival.
The giant arachnid strode into the sunlight with an air of all too human delight. Legs rose and spellweavings lashed outward with the speed of lightning, catching Kriteck and human alike. The servants of the new She’Har tried to defend themselves but it was readily apparent that the new combatant had far more power than any of them had expected.
Men and monsters died, melting and screaming.
What the hell did I find? worried Harold suddenly.
Now in the open air, Chel’strathek threw caution and subtlety to the wind, unleashing a cone of power that blasted everything in front of him for thirty yards in a wide swath. The attack was too wide to avoid, and all that were caught within it withered and melted.
Except Harold.
Unable to dodge such a massive attack, the Knight had only managed to cover his visor with one hand and hope that his armor would save him. When the light died, he found himself unharmed. Standing in front of him was Karenth, once known as the Just.
&nbs
p; “Human, I think you found more than you can swallow,” he said with an odd sound in his voice.
Harold nodded, “You mean, ‘I bit off more than I could chew’,” he corrected. Looking around, he realized that everything within thirty yards had been reduced to dust; men, monsters, and even the ground itself.
Another withering blast struck, and again Karenth held up one hand, diverting the destructive power around them. “Just as you say, Sir Harold.”
“You seem to be doing alright,” said the knight hopefully.
“Unfortunately, your perception is misinformed. What your eyes cannot tell you, is that I am only a quarter as powerful as I once was, while the being in front of us probably possesses at least twice the aythar I had at my peak,” the Shining God informed him.
“I was never very good with fractions,” said Harold, backing up slowly with his newfound protector. “Perhaps you could simplify that for me.”
“It means Chel’strathek is roughly eight times stronger,” answered Karenth. “It means we cannot win.”
“Time for a retreat?”
“That is also impossible. Our opponent is controlling our battlefield in more than one way. The attacks you see are only part of what is occurring.” Another blast of power struck and was diverted, but Harold could see that Karenth’s defense was even narrower that time.
“If we cannot win, why did you come to my aid?”
“Accident,” admitted Karenth. “I was atop one of the Kriteck transport creatures a moment ago. Chel’strathek obliterated it, and before I could recover, I found myself with you in the castle yard.”