the other Necromancer. They did not expect to be attacked from the rear. Ahead of them the defenders were being pushed back. A war mage must have reached the breach because a sudden concussion rent the center, taking down dozens of defenders and our brave lads pushed against the suddenly lessened resistance. A bonfire burned to one side of my target and I steered my mount to be shielded by it until the last moment. Then I was among them.
119
It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the only one I had.
Sheo and Kerral had not let me keep the ten carat stone and Sapphire keep his few tools for no reason. They must be allies. They must expect us to escape, somehow. They must expect me to come here and now, to attack Kukran Epthel. They must have a plan, and that plan must surely be enough to keep me alive. Our soldiers were close and getting closer. The enemy barbarians were about to break. And I was attacking the only sure enemy I saw among the knot of enemy men. Kukran Epthel.
I recklessly rode the horse right into them and threw myself from the saddle, arms spread, hitting the lich square and bearing him to the ground. Around me all hell broke loose. Magic flared and flashed, near-invisible light followed by fire and lightning and hot oil, some of which landed on my back and made me howl. It didn't make me change my mind. Fire. He had burned and would burn more. The bonfire was close. He wasn't heavy. He struggled. I had landed hard, winded and one arm wrenched. Bruised and battered I still wrapped my arms around him and hauled him toward the fire. He twisted in my arms, speaking calmly, his struggles slow and thoughtful. “Unhand me,” he said.
The banality of it almost made me laugh. I had him off the ground, his dry weight as much as a ten year old child. He smelled musty and damp, like mushrooms and mold.
“You will not live,” he said.
I ignored him, carried him the short distance I had planned, turned on my heel and threw him into the fire.
My companions were covering me, spraying magic in every direction. Suddenly they were allies. Suddenly they were helping. Why had they waited? I glanced back at them. There was no threat to me there; the bodyguard of the warlord had turned and attacked the small knot of men who suddenly defended the raised ground. The warlord was dying, writhing on the ground, covered in hot oil and screaming the desperate howl of a man in agony that won't stop. I heard it clearly even above the roar of battle.
Glancing back I was nearly enveloped in flames as Kukran Epthel staggered into me, his robes burning. His face, I saw then, had had the flesh stripped from one cheek by a sword blow, one ear missing. His eyes were fixed on me as he gripped me, hugging his burning body to me.
“You will serve me as a spirit,” he said.
I could almost hear his thought process slowly developing the idea. He could call a spirit to kill me and I knew he would at any moment, just as soon as he decided which one and recalled its name. The flames burned me but I didn't care.
“No, I won't,” I told him and picking him up, hugging is burning robes to me. I bore him backwards, tripping and throwing both of us into the fire. I didn't have much time. I knew that what I did was madness, but Lentro was close by. I kept my eyes closed and held my breath as I sought his head with both hands, dragging them free of the burning wood and rising up as best I could. I was burning. I didn't have much time. I gripped his head as I had seen Sapphire do and wrenched it. I was not sure for a moment if the pop I heard was his neck breaking or a branch snapping under our weight where we struggled in the fire. Then I felt his head move and twisted it right around as far as I could, and not able to take the pain any more, I threw myself away, rolling over and over out of the fire. My clothes were on fire and I was covered in pain the like of which I had never guessed at. “Douse me!” I shouted.
I struggled to my feet, stripping the burning clothes from my body desperately. Eyes still closed, not daring to open them. Still holding my breath, but I would have to breathe soon. “Douse me!” I shouted again. And mercifully someone did, water shocked me with its icy cold, knocking me to my knees. I opened my eyes. I was facing the fire. Stunned with the pain. Shivering. I couldn't move.
Kukran did not die readily. He kept moving despite his grotesquely broken neck. He struggled among the burning branches, thrashing deep in the heart of the fire. Achieving nothing, he paused and moved again, dragging wood to him as he tried and failed to drag himself free. There was no desperation in his movement, only detached determination. The robes he had worn were already gone and the flesh of him burned with blue and green flames, hissing fiercely, popping and spitting now and again. I watched, determined that he would not get out, seeing that there was no chance of it. Covered in burns, moaning softly from the pain that built to levels I would not have imagined possible, I nonetheless knelt unmoving and watched Kukran's end. He died in stages as less and less of his body functioned. I watched his burning hand sticking out of the fire, close by, scrabbling still, trying to drag the useless body out of the fire. Someone healed me as I watched the hand twitch and twitch and finally, burning out, become still.
I raised my hands before my eyes, seeing the burns but feeling little pain. I touched my face, the nerves of my hands working enough to tell me of the crisp remains of hair turning to dust under them. I ran them over my face and neck. Everything still hurt, my whole body stung but it felt like it was not going to worsen, it felt like the healthy pain of healing flesh, and at least I wouldn't have to shave. I moved away from the flames, the heat hurt my tender flesh. Someone helped me and I glanced to see Larner at my side, helping me to my feet. As soon as I was had my balance he nipped away and brought a cloak back for me. I took a look around. The battle was turning into a rout.
“We couldn't attack him…” Larner started to explain. I locked eyes with him and he faltered, looked away, glanced down. “Best stay with us,” he said.
I shook my head. No. The resistance was faltering, the fight more or less over. There were probably more of our men inside the walls than enemy. The warlord's banner was in the dirt. Among the group on the knoll one figure knelt as prisoner; it was the other Necromancer. Kerral was using a flag to signal to our troops. I didn't much care about any of it.
“I'm going for a beer, and the gods help anyone who tries to stop me.”
He didn't say a word. I fetched my horse, hurt myself as I climbed into the saddle and rode back the way I had come. No one bothered me. Everyone I saw was busy surrendering or running for the keep. The rising sun was bright in my eyes, making me squint and frown. The heat of it hurt more than a little, making me angry. I wanted somewhere shady and cool, somewhere with beer.
120
I took a sip of beer.
The keep had surrendered to me. I had taken off the illusion ring and tucked it into the pocket of my cloak. God knows what I looked like, fresh burns healing, skin flaking, bald and with burned hair falling off me. I had slipped painfully off the horse at the bridge and confronted the guards as soon as those ahead of me had gotten out of my way, crossing the bridge, panicked and fleeing for some illusion of safety.
“I am Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city, and if you want anyone in there to survive you will place yourselves under my protection.”
They didn't have to think about it. That the battle was lost was apparent even from here. The barbarians forget what we are capable of until we remind them every few generations. The guards were reminded. They started talking but I wasn't interested.
“Put some white flags on the walls. Throw your weapons in a pile, there,” I pointed. It was only a symbol but these things are important. “Tell any solders who come here that you are under my protection. I'll be in the vaults. Get out of my way.”
Now, I took another sip of beer. It tasted good.
