‘See how easily cowards die!’ he bellowed, and soldiers around him echoed the chant.
He spotted a group of Black Goblins surrounding a troop of his soldiers, closing in quickly and viciously. He hadn’t seen many goblins up to this point – they seemed to be blessedly scarce – but now his soldiers fell screaming before their formidably fast blades.
‘Trample the goblins!’ he hollered at a nearby group of riders.
He himself bore down on them too, and many fell beneath hooves and blades. Soon the ground was rich with mashed black flesh.
Despite the tenacity with which his soldiers fought, Corlas could see they were failing in many places. Vorthargs spat poison into the faces of defending blades, then leaped over them to gore the bows they protected. Riders made easy targets for them too, standing taller than the rest, and Corlas had seen more than one go down screaming with a Vortharg on their back. The Arabodedas were skilled sword-wielders, but fortunately the blades had an advantage over their pale counterparts – many carried weapons or armour that contained shine. While the material was too precious to make entire suits on such a scale, a thin strip of shine reinforcing the right places could save a life again and again.
Corlas continued to stampede and stir his troops, but though they fought with all their hearts, his soldiers were being felled too quickly. With a snarl of rage he wheeled around, searching for some way to turn the battle. What he saw heading towards him made him throw himself off his horse with all his might. He heard a wet explosion, and chunks of steaming horse meat thudded down around him. He rolled to his feet, staring in the direction from which the huge bolt of energy had come.
On a slight rise, barely fifty paces away, stood the cause of all this bloodshed. Clothed in black, the folds of his cloak swirling about him, his recessed eyes turning this way and that over the battlefield, was the Shadowdreamer himself. Corlas hadn’t realised how deeply they had driven into the shadow army. Too far, it seemed, which was why the tide was turning against them. He saw Battu gesture at him while speaking to a group of Black Goblins – an elite guard, by the look of them. Corlas had managed to bring himself to the Shadowdreamer’s attention and the goblins would be coming for him.
‘To me!’ he shouted as the Blacks began to slip towards him through the battle. ‘To me!’ Nearby soldiers hacked their way towards him.
‘Commander!’ came the voice of a tall man on horseback. ‘Troop Leader Murcoh at your service!’
‘How many in your troop?’ asked Corlas.
‘Six remaining, sir! I think!’
‘Black Goblins are coming this way,’ said Corlas. ‘Let’s go and greet them.’
The troop leader smiled grimly and ordered his riders to drive a path ahead. They were veterans by the look of them, alive only for their great skill. The commander followed the horses on foot, towards the advancing goblins. About thirty paces from Battu, the two groups met with a clash of steel. One of the goblins sprang at a rider, bringing him to the ground in a struggling tangle of limbs. Another darted in at Corlas, but a rider sent his head spinning into the air. A third goblin appeared before Corlas and he swiped at it. The creature leaped backwards with a snarl, then darted forward again. Corlas swung again and again, but the goblin weaved and ducked and none of Corlas’s blows found their mark. As he staggered from a mistimed swing, it lunged and he felt steel plunge deep into his side. He roared in fury and dropped his sword, grabbing the creature’s neck as it tried to pull its sword free. With a sharp crack he broke its neck, then almost fell forward from the stabbing pain. He yanked out the goblin’s sword and sent it spinning into another.
On the hill, the Shadowdreamer was looking agitated, shouting for more of his minions to attend him. Finding himself suddenly free of foes, Corlas stormed towards the dark lord. He forgot the fire that flared in his side, driven by the fire that blazed in his blood. On seeing Corlas approach, the Shadowdreamer narrowed his eyes and raised a hand to the sky. His face strained in effort as he conjured and Corlas looked upwards. Blue energy swirled as one of the vortexes opened above him. It hung lower in the sky than those over the fort, close enough for Corlas to hear its magic crackling murderously. Battu’s intention was clear. He wanted Corlas dead, whatever the cost to his own troops. Corlas redoubled his efforts to reach the dark lord.
An Arabodedas leaped in front of him, punching him viciously in the face with the hilt of a sword. Blood spurted from his nose and his vision spun, but he managed to return the blow with a force that sent the man flying. He staggered onwards, glancing up at the spinning vortex. It was following him as it expanded, floating along in the air above. There was no question that it was locked onto him.
He broke into a run. Blood poured from his nose freely but was ignored, and any in his way were quickly felled. Putting on one final burst of speed, he found himself at the base of the rise, just ten paces from the Shadowdreamer himself.
Something smacked him across the back of his head and he pitched forward onto the rise. His assailant, a huge Arabodedas with a club, fell atop him. The weapon had only glanced him, but his head still spun as he grappled with the sweaty man. Above them, the vortex continued to expand. He managed to lock an arm under the attacker’s throat and began to drag himself up the rise with his other, strangling the struggling man as he went. As he died, Corlas released him and continued crawling up the slope, breaking fingernails on the hard ground. At the top, the Shadowdreamer’s face was writ plain with fear, but it was not directed at Corlas’s approach. The dark lord was staring up at the vortex – having followed its target, it now boiled in the sky above both of them and Battu began to weave his hands frantically, trying to reverse the spell.
Corlas glanced around. He didn’t have his sword, he realised, and couldn’t remember when he’d lost it. His hand went to his belt and his fingers touched the crossbow that still hung there. Above them the vortex made a noise like thunder and suddenly blue energy streamed down from the heavens. Battu gritted his teeth, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he worked to undo his own magic. Grunting, Corlas slid his only bolt into the crossbow …
The crackling of power grew louder …
Corlas raised the bow …
Muscles bulged on Battu’s arms …
The bolt flew from the crossbow, its metal tip glinting blue as energy blotted out the sky …
Above the hill, the energy sizzled away into nothing as Battu dispelled it, only a few thin strands hitting the earth and sending up tiny spurts of dust …
The crossbow bolt smacked deeply into the Shadowdreamer’s side.
Battu screamed and toppled backwards, his arms still raised to the sky. He twisted a hand to point at Corlas as he fell, but nothing came out of it. All his power had been spent. He disappeared from view down the other side of the rise.
With a pained grunt, Corlas got to his knees and then, somehow, to his feet. With legs caked in sweaty grime, he took one more step up the rise before giddiness overcame him. All the pains of his body became real and he gasped. His legs buckled and he went sliding back down the rise, dust and pebbles bouncing before him. When he came to a stop at the bottom, against the body of the large Arabodedas, he was unconscious.
Of the battle he remembered nothing more.
He awoke sometime later to a darkening sky. Nearby were the sounds of footsteps and men talking.
‘Well, find him!’ said a voice. ‘He must be here somewhere!’
‘Troop leader!’ called another, closer by. ‘He’s here!’
A silhouette loomed into Corlas’s view. It was the tall troop leader, Murcoh. As Murcoh kneeled by Corlas’s side, pain overtook him again and he faded mercifully into blackness.