Xephan had never experienced this before and did not know how to react. He thrashed around, letting go of Rik for a moment and letting his concentration slip. Rik pressed home his advantage, determined to make the most of this opportunity. Every moment he became stronger, every moment his foe became weaker.
Memories began to flood into his mind, random images and feelings that he knew did not belong to him but which were part of another's life. He remembered a childhood in an old, rundown mansion in the backwoods of Sardea. He remembered parents full of bitter pride, telling him tales of ancestral glory and filling his head with the idea that it was his duty to regain his family's rightful place in the world.
He recalled his initiation into the Brotherhood at the hands of Lord Malkior and he remembered his thirst for sorcerous knowledge and how he'd slaked it under the corrupt old wizard's tuition. He remembered the kisses and caresses of an Empress.
He recalled sinister operations in which the products of the blackest magic were implanted in his body to make him strong. He remembered staring into the Black Mirror and how the thing within it had stared back into him. There was something in that memory that made Rik scream. He saw once again the vision of something ancient and dark and horrible.
He tried to block out that knowledge even as he stripped Xephan of his power. He fought off any further contact with that corrupt thing. Energy, potent and cosmic filled him, flooding his awareness, letting him know what was happening to the Black Mirror. He knew now that Xephan shared his awareness and understood what Asea was doing. It was Xephan's turn to scream now. He desperately tried to fight what Rik was doing but he was too weak now and the advantage lay with the half-breed. Rik continued to drain him, memories and knowledge flooded in and then Xephan was extinguished. The Terrarch’s face was ashen and corpse like. It matched his armour. Rik looked down horrified and elated, wondering what he had done.
A rotting body tumbled in through the window only to be beheaded by the Barbarian with a swift savage blow of his blade. The big man turned and rose, uncoiling his huge body so that all his weight was behind the punch that sent another walking corpse tumbling backwards through the window.
The inside of the cottage was filled with powder-smoke. The battlecries of the men echoed around the interior. Some walking corpses had managed to get inside and were swarming over the soldiers. Whatever hope Sardec had in his heart died. Up till that moment he had managed to fool himself into thinking that they had some chance of survival but now he knew that whatever slim chance they had was gone.
They could make their stand here or make it above, it did not matter. It was sheer native stubbornness that made him give the order to withdraw in fighting order up the stairs. The men began to throw themselves back, moving faster than the walking dead, scuttling up the stairs with their rifles held ready, bayonets fixed. Sardec and the Barbarian were the last up, stepping backwards up the old stairs. As they reached the head of it, the main doors gave way and the walking dead poured into the downstairs area, filing the room up, covering the floor and the bedrolls and the gear like the sea covering a beach.
In a matter of moments the undead were at the foot of the stair and shambling and stumbling their way up it, their arms outstretched as if they sought to give their victims an obscene embrace. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the Barbarian and prepared to meet the first of the oncoming monsters. He exchanged feral crazed grins with the big man at once appalled and rather touched by the fact that the Northerner’s ugly face would be the last human face he would ever see. Who would have thought it mere months back?
The walking dead came on, and Sardec braced himself.
At the gateway a tear had appeared in the fabric of reality, a black gaping wound that seemed like an opening into the very mouth of hell. It swallowed the brilliance of Asea’s form like sand soaking up spilled water.
The roar of charging men echoed down the corridor. Rik braced himself to meet them.
“It is done,” said Asea. “Go get out. Get away from here.”
A sense of terrible wrongness swept over Rik. Asea had done something to the monstrous energy of the Gate. It felt as if a thousand shadow-walkers were materialising all around him. He turned to look at her.
“What have you done?” he shouted. Winds swirled through the confined space like a hurricane. A thunderous roar built up all around them. The walls of the Palace themselves had started to vibrate. Their attackers paused stunned.
“I have shattered the binding spells on the Gate and broken all the spells connected to it. There was no time for anything more subtle or controlled.” Asea had to shout to make herself heard. “With all the power flowing through it, it will explode taking this entire Palace with it. Go! Get as far away from here as you possibly can. You might survive.”
A look of horror passed over Tamara’s face when she understood what was happening but she also understood that now was not the time to argue about it.
Rik came to a decision. He strode over and grabbed Asea. He was going to take her with him or die trying. He opened the way into the Shadow realm. In the presence of the out of control Gate, it was surprisingly easy. He reached out through the shadows, stretching his perception to the ultimate limit and then pushing them a bit further, using ever iota of the power he had stolen from Xephan. He knew that when the Gate exploded the results would be catastrophic. Anything close to it was going to die anyway.
He reached as far as the harbour, saw the outlines of the ships. He beckoned to Tamara. “Take my hand. I can get us both out of here.”
Tamara did not argue. She reached out for Rik. His fingers closed around hers and then he jumped into the Shadow realm. Behind him he sensed a titanic explosion.
Gigantic waves of magical energy pulsed even through the paths of shadow, propelling him forward, weightless as a leaf.
Sardec braced himself, prepared to die. There was only enough room at the head of the stair for one person and he thought it might as well be him. The Barbarian would have edged him aside if he could but still had enough respect for his commanding officer not to lay hands on him. The wicked, glowing eyes of the undead looked up at him, filled with unnatural hunger. The leading creature paused for a moment but then the weight of his fellows behind him pushed him forward and up the stairs.
This was it, Sardec thought. This was where it all ended.
A change came over the walking dead. The light in their eyes flickered and for a moment went out. Sardec wondered what was going on. For a brief instant it appeared that they had lost all animation and were about to fall over. Perhaps the miracle he had prayed for had come.
Then the light returned to the eyes of the walking dead and with it animation and mobility. Hope turned to ashes in Sardec's mouth. Then he noticed that there had been a significant change. The animated corpses no longer moved in unison. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the spell animating them. They began to turn on each other and claw at each other and rip each other to pieces. Some of them struggled to get away, others pushed on up the stairs.
He was not exactly sure what had happened but he felt that there might just be a chance if they could hold out a little bit longer. He shouted encouragement to the Foragers. They could not see what he saw that they took courage from his tone. He stepped back a little from the head of the stairs so that there was more room and braced himself for the fight.