Ahead of them a crowd of people had gathered in front of the entrance. Judging by their dress, they were ordinary citizens, mainly women and children, who barred the way without weaponry or aggression.
From the throng of three hundred souls an unarmed youth stepped forward with his hands in the air. "Leave the magus in peace, men of the east," he called. "He has done nothing to hurt you and wishes you no harm."
Prince Mallen, clad in the armor of the Ido dynasty, pushed his mount through the rows of horses and drew alongside Tilogorn. "Nфd'onn has bewitched them," he whispered urgently. "Break them up or we'll lose our advantage." He glanced nervously at the turrets. "We're a sitting target out here."
"Prince Mallen? Didn't Lothaire…"
"The attack failed. Girdlegard is depending on you and your men."
I was right to fear the wizard's magic. He sat up tall in the saddle. "Move aside, good people. Our quarrel is with Nфd'onn, not you."
"You can trample us into the ground if you like," their spokesman retorted. "You'll have to kill us if you want to get past." He turned his back to them and returned to the others, who closed ranks, leaving no room for a horse to pass.
Tilogorn ordered three hundred riders to advance in a line and push the crowd through the gates. The row of armored horses bore down on the townspeople like a wall of steel, pushing them aside, while a second line of cavalrymen prevented them from rushing back to the entrance.
Suddenly one of the riders tumbled from his horse, clutching his leg and howling in pain. A moment later, a citizen of Porista took his place in the saddle and whipped out a cudgel spiked with nails. The unsuspecting rider to the left was struck in the face before the right-hand neighbor could reach across and run the intruder through. As the young man fell, his simple garments disintegrated, revealing an armor-plated orc. The snarling beast hit the ground and died.
With that, the spell was broken and the unarmed crowd became a war band of orcs. It was conclusive proof, if any were needed, that Nфd'onn was in league with Tion and his minions.
"Cut them down!" shouted Tilogorn. "Kill every last one of them! It's an illusion!"
The formerly peaceful crowd hurled themselves on the cavalry, attacking the horses and riders with cudgels, axes, and notched swords. Thrown off guard by the transformation, dozens of soldiers were killed.
On recovering from the initial shock, the riders discovered that it was impossible to land an accurate blow amid the jostling bodies. They endeavored to leave the scrum.
The green-hided beasts chased after them, hacking at the horses' legs, slashing their flanks, and hanging off their manes like rabid dogs until the poor animals bolted in agony and terror.
Wild with panic, the horses charged the waiting units, and the chaos was complete.
Meanwhile, the orcs were everywhere, snarling, striking, and ducking out of sight. The horses kicked out, making no distinction between friend and foe, whinnying, snorting, and pawing until they were seized by an overwhelming urge to flee. Even the best riders were unable to stop the stampede: The instincts of the herd were stronger than any bridle or spurs.
Mallen and Tilogorn lost valuable time as they struggled to round up their men and regroup in the marketplace. By then the foot soldiers had arrived and were readying themselves to join the charge through the gates.
In the blink of an eye, the orcs disappeared, leaving only the dead and wounded as evidence that a savage confrontation had occurred. The two commanders didn't stop to worry about the whereabouts of the enemy, but gave the order for the gates to be breached.
Three thousand riders tore into the palace forecourt. Tilogorn dispatched the units in different directions and the search for Nфd'onn began. Racing up the broad, flat steps, the horses sped through the corridors and halls, unimpeded by defenders or orcs.
"Stay down here and continue the search," Tilogorn instructed the bulk of his men. He eyed the highest turret, where his instincts told him that Nфd'onn would be waiting. "I'm going up there." He dismounted and wound his way up the flight of stairs with Mallen and three hundred men. As the staircase narrowed and steepened, he lifted his visor so he could breathe.
On entering the first chamber, he glanced at the large window through which the southern streets of the city could be seen. An armed unit was heading for the palace, the flags of Urgon and their other allies fluttering in the breeze.
"Look, Mallen," he said, relieved to see the reinforcements. "King Lothaire has taken the gates. The wizard is at our mercy."
The fair-haired prince of Ido stared in astonishment. "But Lothaire was… I mean, I thought I saw him…" He trailed off, puzzled, and followed the king. Buoyed by new courage and energy, they strode down the corridor until they came to an imposing door, which they opened by force.
Their persistence was rewarded. Twenty paces away a colossal figure in dark green robes was standing with his back to them. The magus was studying the commotion at the base of the turret and didn't turn round.
Without waiting for Tilogorn's order, the men spread out and silently leveled their bows. The target was so broad that it seemed the arrows couldn't fail to hit their mark, but on nearing the magus's back, the tips rusted, the shafts disintegrated, and wood dust trailed through the air. Soon nothing remained but fragments of metal, which tinkled against the marble floor.
"Welcome, King Tilogorn," the magus greeted them, his back still turned. "You have entered the enchanted realm of Lios Nфd'onn. What brings you here?"
"The plight of our kingdoms," Tilogorn replied steadily, drawing his weapon in readiness for a duel. "You are a danger to Girdlegard."
"And you, King Tilogorn, have invaded my realm, stormed my palace, and threatened my life. Should I consider you a danger?"
"You're a traitor, Nфd'onn-a murderer and a traitor."
"A murderer, yes, that much is true. But I killed only because 1 had to, because I wanted to save Girdlegard-like you. Humankind is facing a much greater danger, a danger that only my friend and I are powerful enough to combat, and for that we need mastery over Girdlegard. The races of men, elves, and dwarves must cede their lands for the greater good-or die." Turning at last, he looked at them sadly with watery green eyes. "It pains me greatly that some have chosen death already. You'll join me, won't you?" He took a step toward Tilogorn and held out his hand.
"Never!" The king signaled for his men to attack and a dozen soldiers stormed forward.
They were still charging when their weaponry, mail, clothes, flesh, and bones perished like the arrows. The unseen power worked so swiftly that there was no opportunity for them to retreat. A semicircle of dust surrounded the magus, four paces from his feet; then an autumn gust dispersed the disintegrating men. The remaining soldiers drew back in fear.
"You underestimated my power, King Tilogorn," the magus said slowly. "You refused a hand extended in friendship. Your men are paying for your arrogance."
The fresh wind carried the sound of fighting to Tilogorn's ears. He listened intently.
"You thought the battle was over, did you?" Nфd'onn gestured to the window. "Why don't you see for yourself what has become of King Lothaire and his men?"
Tilogorn kept the magus in his sights and sent a soldier to the window to report on the skirmish below.
"They're fighting our men," he said in consternation. "The soldiers are waving Urgon's banners, but they're… They're joining forces with the orcs!" He gasped. "Palandiell have mercy on us! The dead soldiers are rising! They're still alive, and they're killing our troops!"
Nфd'onn chuckled. "You have been treading the Perished Land for some time, King Tilogorn. I created the illusion to draw you to me and sure enough, you brought me the army I desired-"
He broke off midspeech, racked by violent coughing. Blood dribbled from his lips and two dark streams formed beneath his nostrils. He sank to his knees, still spluttering, and more blood gushed from his mouth, forming a crimson pool on the immaculate marble floor.