None tried to use their weapons or to continue the attack.
“It’s the king,” Willim hissed. His own eyeless vision, because it originated in the magical spell of true-seeing, remained unaffected by the brilliant flash. So he easily saw Jungor Stonespringer crouching atop the prayer tower, hiding behind the silver shield held by his general. That shield was blazing with an otherworldly light, too bright for any normal dwarf to view.
But no doubt about it, the minion was gone, vanished in the blast of what could only be deemed godly magic. A cloud of smoke was lingering in the air, all that was left of the mighty being. The wizard could scarcely believe that his most potent ally, his most powerful tool, his secret weapon, had been blasted into nothingness, just like that.
“It was the king, damn him!” he repeated. “And he will be mine!”
He took Facet by the hand and muttered a word of command. Immediately the two wizards took to the air, Willim guiding his blinded apprentice in flight as they soared toward the prayer platform, zeroing in on Ragat Kingsaver and the kneeling form of Jungor Stonespringer.
Slumping to his knees, blinded by the godly light, stunned by the vision of his lord’s power, King Stonespringer reached out to touch and reassure his loyal commander. He could barely see, but he could feel Ragat standing there, trembling.
“What happened?” asked the monarch.
“Your prayer was answered, sire,” said the general reverently. “Reorx made his will known. In the blast of his light, the battle has ceased. The dwarves of both armies are stunned, unmoving.”
“Then order them to attack!” the king urged. “Now is the time!”
“I cannot, my lord,” Ragat replied humbly. Still himself unaffected by the brilliance, Ragat could see the stunned soldiers on the square and in the palace. Most knelt or lay flat. The few that tried to move did so haltingly, stumbling over obstacles, groping with their hands. “They are blinded … as are their enemies. None can see who to slay.”
The king raised his arms in supplication, his blinded eye staring upward toward the looming stalactites, the jagged stone ceiling looming so close to his head.
“O Master of the Forge!” he cried abjectly. “You forsake us! Why do you leave us to wander in the darkness? I beg you, upon my life and my faith and my fear, if you would destroy us, then smite me now! Bring stone to crash down upon my head, to crush my skull, to spatter my brains!”
“Sire, it was the god’s light that did this!” Ragat argued feverishly. “It was Reorx’s will that the battle come to a halt!”
The king paid him no heed. Instead, he continued his frantic prayer. “But if you indeed favor us, if you would give us victory, then again show us your power! Wield your might against the foe! Bring destruction down upon him!”
“You ask for too much, fool!”
The threatening voice came from Willim the Black, who was soaring like a bird through the air and just coming to rest on the platform nearby. Ragat recognized the hideous, scarred, eyeless face, and he knew from the wizard’s confident movements that he, like the general, had escaped the blinding force of the light. Willim was flying hand in hand with another black-robed wizard, a beautiful female with white skin and red, shining lips. She stumbled a little as they came to rest on the parapet and reached out to grope, unseeing, for her master’s arm. Unlike her master, she seemed unsteady, even frightened.
“It is the black wizard, sire. He is here,” Ragat said in a low voice.
“You’re mad, you magic-deceived fool!” spit the king, rising to his feet and gesturing blindly in the wizard’s direction with his scepter. “It is Reorx’s will that your army be defeated and now that you too shall die!”
“Do not offer me your childish your words of empty faith!” snapped Willim. “My magic is as mighty as your god’s! Did you not see your army falling back, your soldiers dying under the weapons of my own troops? Do you think I have given up?”
“You will bring nothing but your own destruction!” retorted the king. “All you offer is doom-and in that doom you shall find your own death! Reorx so wills it!”
The king waved his scepter again but could only sob in frustration when the god failed to respond, to act, to smite his enemy. Ragat stared at Jungor, uncertain what to do. At the same time, the female wizard, moving unsteadily, clutched at Willim’s arm even as the wizard yanked away from her. Her pale features were locked in an expression of horror.
“You will die, now, King Stonespringer!” taunted Willim, edging forward. “You have fought the wrong fight, against the wrong enemies-and you have only weakened Thorbardin. Under my reign, the grandeur of our nation will be restored.”
“You speak words of falsehood,” the king replied, his arrogance reviving. “I have dethroned one false king, and I shall not yield to another.”
“You need not yield,” Willim said with a cold laugh. “You need only die.”
He raised a hand and pointed a stubby finger at Jungor Stonespringer. His scarred, eyeless face twisted into a leer of pleasure as his lips parted and he began to chant a spell.
Ragat did the only thing he could think to do: he lifted the Kingsaver Shield and charged directly at the wizard. Willim barked in surprise but dodged out of the way before Ragat was able to strike him; his blinded apprentice was too slow to react, however. The shining metal disk of the shield, blessed by all the priests of Reorx, struck the coldly beautiful Facet in the face, and she screamed as she toppled backward, over the lip of the prayer tower, leaving Ragat staggering at the brink of the precipice.
“No!” shrieked Willim the Black.
The king and the shield were both forgotten as Willim took to the air, magically flying to rescue the falling female. In a swish of movement and a flash of his black cloak, he was gone, crying out for the apprentice, diving through the air to snatch her in his arms before she smashed into the pavement a hundred feet below.
At the same time, Stonespringer’s voice rose from a throaty bellow to a shrill, penetrating cry. The king had not seen his general’s attack, nor the wizard’s fall. He only knew his rage and frustration as his will was thwarted and Willim escaped. He screamed at the roof over his head, and his words bounced from the stone, echoing over the battle. He called down the vengeance of his god, he shrieked his hatred for all that was unholy, he demanded that his enemies be slain-horribly and at once.
Perhaps it was some trick of acoustics, the shape of the stone amplifying and expanding the sound of his voice. Or perhaps, indeed, it was the power of the god himself. In any event, as the words were enhanced, as the force of Stonespringer’s voice spread across the field of battle, the ground began to shake, the tower to sway sickeningly, like a tall tree in a strong wind. Several chunks of stone broke from the ceiling, raining destruction upon those dwarves who were out in the open plaza below.
Then, after the initial worrying tremor, the ground began to rumble more violently. More stones broke from the ceiling, plunging onto the plaza, crashing explosively among the cowering, blinded dwarves. Ripples of movement caused the plaza to buckle and flex, here rising, there plunging away into darkness. Jagged cracks appeared in the ground, and some of them swallowed dwarves who were too slow-or too blind-to escape. The screams of the doomed added to the rumbling, thunderous groaning that wracked the air.
Nothing so inspires terror in the subterranean-dwelling dwarves as an earthquake, and that temblor was enough to send every warrior of every army, even blinded as they were, fleeing for cover. The waves of destruction swept through the city, knocking over towers, bringing walls and ceilings tumbling down, knocking the wounded from their beds.
Shaken to the core, the bravest fighters took shelter under roofs, tables, shelves, anything they could find. Weapons fell from nerveless hands, friends and enemies sought shelter in the same protection-even the fires of the battle were doused as dust and debris tumbled downward and smothered the flames.