And he could also do so much more…
He believed in himself utterly. He could do this impossible thing. He knew he could do it. The world around him melted away into a smear of sound and colour as he focused on this sudden, new-found and very singular purpose. He could do it, the subtle voice in his head suggested, and Locephax’s crimson eyes burned that certainty indelibly into the back of his mind.
Driven by a desperate determination to prove himself, Kruath pushed his way closer to Darkhand and Valkia, shoving a crossbowman from the wall and gutting a canine beastman on the way. He could not remove his gaze from Locephax’s eyes and the lure of greatness that drew him on.
Seconds later, Valkia, still engaged in her battle with Darkhand, turned her attention briefly to another attacker. She slammed the shield into an elf who was attempting to stab her from behind. It crashed against the unfortunate warrior’s face with the sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh. Kruath’s trance was broken once again. Robbed of Locephax’s direct, hypnotic gaze, the haze of madness lifted and reality flowed back in a rush. He saw the bloody mess of the druchii’s face, the meat drooling from the daemon-shield’s lips, and wondered how it was that he had gotten so close to the furious battle raging in front of him.
Darkhand twisted inside a spear thrust, using the momentum to turn the motion into a left hook that struck the daemon on her right cheek with a satisfying crack. Valkia’s head snapped around and she turned with the blow, pivoting on the spot. The butt of her spear, Slaupnir, smashed into the captain’s helmet, launching it from his head and down into the streets below. Then she spread her wings and leapt into the air, knocking warriors of both sides into the magical fires. She hovered just outside of Darkhand’s reach and the cruel, beautiful face split in a wicked grin.
‘You fight well, dark elf,’ she said as her wings beat slowly, allowing her to maintain her untouchable position. ‘Let’s see how well you take a full assault.’ She lifted her head and rose up, disappearing into the smoke and clouds of the boiling storm.
Kruath watched as Darkhand, clearly confused by this sudden move, turned circles, Crimson Death held before him, the captain’s dark hair whipping around his sharp features. In the heat of battle, there was little time to stop and contemplate the enemy’s actions. But Valkia’s sudden withdrawal caused Kruath to pause. He looked about him, taking in the sights and sounds of the pitched battles that were keeping elves and barbarians alike occupied. He did not consider for one moment that she had fled; all accounts he had heard or read suggested that the minions of the Blood God did not retreat. He dropped low, looking over the edge of the wall in case she had dropped down below the dip of the city’s protection, but there was no sight of her.
‘Come back and fight me, witch!’ Darkhand’s voice threaded upwards through the contrails of magical fire and were echoed back down at him by a mocking, male voice that sounded not unlike the voice which had echoed in Kruath’s head. He shuddered involuntarily as it called.
Come back and fight me, witch!
The laughter grew louder and louder until moments later, Valkia plunged down through the skies, her scream increasing in pitch and volume as she descended on Kouran Darkhand, Slaupnir held before her like a bloody lance. Kruath could see the outcome in his mind’s eye and in that moment, he saw his chance. Ambition, bloodlust and the influence of the daemon twisted in his mind. It choked what hold on the present he might have had and blinded him with a glorious future. He could do what so many others had tried and failed to do.
The captain was wholly focused on Valkia, his eyes turned upward to the descending daemon. If Kruath struck quickly, he could do it. Then, when the siege was inevitably broken, he would kneel before the Witch King and claim Darkhand’s power for his own. He could do it.
Kruath stabbed another beastman that had made its way over the wall, barged a warrior aside and ducked beneath the grasping pseudopods of a shapeless thing that had reached the embrasures.
He would kill Darkhand. He would kill Valkia. He would kill everyone who stood between him and what he knew with absolute certainty was his birthright. He would be the new captain of the Black Guard and he would become a legend.
Glory. Riches. Fame. Respect. All these things beckoned him, though he heard nothing but the pounding of the blood through his veins as he prepared to kill his commander.
His moment of self-absorption did not last long. His course towards the battling pair took him past the closest sentry tower, one of hundreds that rose at intervals along the wall’s vast length. There was a resonant boom, louder than the crack of lightning and the roar of battle shook the earth. Faster than his mind could comprehend, and faster still than his reflexes could work against, the wall exploded, flattening the surrounding warriors with hunks of black stone and sending the structure plunging into the moat of fire. A great cheer went up from the horde as the wreckage formed a dusty bridge across the sorcerous flames. Then something struck the wall beneath Kruath and his world turned into a jumble of sky and flying rock.
There was no time to consider the implications of what had happened because a blood-slick, obsidian surface rushed up to meet him. Within seconds, Kruath’s ambitions were as crushed and broken as his body.
He died in terrible agony, his dream unrealised.
Darkhand heard Valkia’s shriek of fury as a great plume of dust and smoke eclipsed her prey and her dive turned into a swoop that carried her clear of the carnage. He breathed again, unaware that he had even been holding that breath. Far to the rear of the army, a line of Hellcannons belched their fiery projectiles, punishing the city’s defences. It was by no means anything to be grateful for, but it had perhaps saved him from death at Valkia’s hand. The daemon hissed her disappointment at the interruption of the duel and spread her wings, allowing a passing updraft to carry her into the sky. She held her position for a while, her wings beating powerfully and keeping her hovering. Her gaze remained locked on Darkhand for a few moments longer. Then she let out a battle cry and turned her attentions elsewhere, her interest in Darkhand lost.
Darkhand stepped back, deftly avoiding the sprawled, crushed body of a fallen warrior. He vaguely recognised the ruined face of the rider from Volroth, but dismissed the detail as trivial. Victory was all that mattered, not the dead. He wiped the blood from his eyes and looked about. Valkia was gone, the duel interrupted, and he was free to turn his attentions back to the heart of battle. He turned his head this way and that, seeking the rest of his Black Guard and assessing the situation. All he saw was dust and fire.
A huge section near the top of the wall had been blasted away and had collapsed into a fan of rubble, crushing hundreds of warriors and forming a rough ramp that bridged the moat. Warriors and crossbowmen were picking themselves up from the shattered rock and offering desultory resistance to the marauders and beasts that were already scrambling to exploit the weakness and gain the walls. He allowed himself to catch his breath and scrambled down to stand beside two other dark elves who were battling a troll. There was hope all the time the Black Guard still stood, and Kouran Darkhand would stand in a position where others could see him and recognise that hope.