their fire against the goblin warg riders, firing in volleys to maximize the impact of each wave of arrows. Dozens, scores, finally hundreds of the savage cavalry were raked from their saddles. The wolves, maddened by pain and hunger, were as likely to tear at their own dismounted riders as they were to continue the attack, and that allowed the legion lancers, once more formed into battle line, to charge across the square and scatter their foes before them.
Through the waning afternoon and into the evening the fight raged-in long clashes between the dwarves and ogres and in pockets of furious skirmish in the streets, yards, and avenues of the town. Gradually Ankhar’s force was pushed back until it was compressed into a semicircle in front of the lake, with humans and dwarves pressing them from all sides.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, purpling the placid waters in a way that ought to have been beautiful- except that it was a valley of violence, suffering, and death.
The pace of the fighting slowed as warriors on both sides succumbed to fatigue mightier than any mortal opponent. Men collapsed from exhaustion; ogres stumbled to the lakeshore to immerse their heads in the cool water, uncaring of their unprotected backs. Horses swayed and drooped, unwilling to run any farther; saddle-sore riders dismounted to let their weary steeds drink and graze.
Still there were pockets of fighting. Dram led a band of dwarves into his own house and, room by room, cleared the enemy out. His heart was hardened by the battle, and that was a good thing; later it would break, he knew, to realize all the death and destruction.
Jaymes, too, was one of those keeping up the attack, rallying small groups of men, closing in on the shrinking enemy perimeter.
And so it was that, finally, Emperor Jaymes Markham found himself facing Ankhar the Truth. The two commanders came around the massive pile of coals on the plaza-all that was left of the burning bombards-and stood, weapons raised, while the troops of their respective armies seemed to step back and draw a collective breath.
The sword Giantsmiter blazed brightly even in the daylight, but the spearhead on the Shaft of Hiddukel shined with equal intensity. Jaymes and Ankhar cautiously approached each other, surrounded by the shattered and burned ruin of a town that had been a pleasant sanctuary just a few days earlier. The fighting between the ogres and goblins, legionnaires and dwarves faded almost to a halt as warriors on both sides watched the two champions.
For a few moments, the pair simply circled warily, each looking for an opening. Jaymes held the hilt of his weapon in both hands, the blade-with its fringe of flaring blue flame-extended before him, the tip a little bit higher than the grip. Ankhar, in turn, held the thick shaft of his spear in just one hand, with the weapon nearly horizontal, held just above his right shoulder. Twisting to present his left side to his foe, the half-giant wheeled and danced.
His left hand was protected by a heavy gauntlet, and he waved this hand with deceptive carelessness toward the man. Jaymes feinted and his hulking foe thrust down hard with his gleaming spear tip. The emperor bashed the rod of the spear to the side, the keen sword trying to bite deeply into the wood. But the protection of the Prince of Lies obviously extended even to the haft of his mighty weapon, for the fiery sword struck the wood and merely bounced off without chipping or even charring the material.
The ogres formed a semicircle on the side of the plaza with the lake behind them; the dwarves and humans gathered opposite, with their backs toward the ruins of their domiciles and businesses.
When Jaymes circled warily with his back to the enemy, one of the ogres sidled forward, raising a club. Rogard Smashfinger fired a bolt from his crossbow, striking the brute in the chest with enough force to drive him backward and down. When a dwarf raised a hand to aim a throwing axe at the back of the half-giant’s head, an ogre threw a skull-sized boulder that crushed the dwarf’s shoulder before he could launch his throw. In that way, it was decided that the two sides would settle down and watch, letting the matter rest on the outcome of the one- on-one combat.
Dram fidgeted and muttered, his hands clutching his axe with white knuckles, but he knew better than to interfere. Instead, he also watched, trying unsuccessfully to stand in front of Sally, to block her from any surprise volleys from the ogre troops. Naturally, she pushed through into the front rank, brandishing her hammer as firmly as Dram held his axe.
Jaymes made a sudden rush, swinging to the right then ducking left as Ankhar stabbed with the Shaft of Hiddukel and missed, sticking it instead into the ground. The human drove inward, scoring a hit on the half-giant’s knee, but the massive fighter moved with startling agility, swinging his foot in a roundhouse kick and sweeping Jaymes’s feet out from under him. He landed flat on his back and escaped a crushing stomp only by rolling desperately to the side.
In a flash the man was back on his feet, but the half-giant had the advantage. Ankhar was able to stab once, again, a third time, and with each attack Jaymes retreated. Blue fire met green, and sparks cascaded, swirling around the two combatants, searing the air with an acrid stench. With each blow, the blazing weapons grew brighter until even those at the fringe of the fight could feel the heat and had to blink past the brightness. Sweat lined the emperor’s brow, and the half-giant’s sinewy limbs were likewise slick with perspiration. For a long time, there was no sound from the crowd, only the grunting of desperate breathing and the scuffing of boots on the paving stones from the fighters.
Abruptly the human closed in again, raising his sword and whipping it downward with a sweeping blow. Ankhar stumbled over his own feet, spinning his spear sideways and gripping the haft with both hands. Once more Giantsmiter met the Shaft of Hiddukel, but the wooden haft resisted even that heavy blow. Fire surged from both weapons with explosive force, and the two warriors stumbled backward, Jaymes falling on his back and Ankhar going down on one knee.
Rolling to the side, the human rose into a crouch. His shoulders heaved with the effort of each breath, and the tip of his sword rested on the ground-as if he no longer had the strength to lift the heavy blade. Ankhar saw his chance and lurched forward, his movements awkward because of his own weariness. But the spear tip drove directly at the human’s pounding heart.
Except Jaymes was no longer there. From some unsuspected reserve, he found the strength to dodge nimbly out of the way, and the emerald head of Ankhar’s weapon sliced only the air next to his arm. Overbalanced, the half-giant fell sprawling.
Jaymes stood over him, sword upraised, keen blade aimed downward. Ankhar looked up and saw his own death writ in blue fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sir Blayne felt better than he had since the day, two months earlier, when he had destroyed two-thirds of the emperor’s artillery by surprise attack. That elation had been short lived, of course; he expected a greater triumph the next time around, one that would last a long time.
He and Sir Ballard approached the palace of Lord Regent Bakkard du Chagne. Both men wore knightly regalia, emblazoned with the Crown in Blayne’s case, the Rose for Ballard. Their boots and helmets were shined, their swords sharpened but sheathed. If all went well, their mission would not entail drawing those weapons. The two men drew up before the closed gates, where a pair of men-at-arms had been watching their approach curiously.
“I am Sir Ballard of the Legion of Steel, and this is Sir Blayne of Vingaard. We seek an audience with the lord mayor,” Ballard declared, standing rigidly at attention. Like Blayne, he held his helmet under his left arm; neither knight saluted the common guards.
Blayne was amazed at how martial Ballard had made himself look. After the scruffy clothes and irregular appearance of him and his men in their headquarters, the noble had half wondered if they would be scaling the palace walls by rope or sneaking in through the kitchen door after dark. Instead, they marched straight to the front door and presented themselves formally with a request for an audience. The audacity of it nearly took the young
