in. But the human forces were well trained, and did not respond to the taunts.
It was fifteen long minutes before the third wave came. The warriors rushed in so silently, Vulgnash did not hear them coming. They came with torches this time; every man among them had a torch.
Vulgnash used his powers quickly, snuffed the torches out, sent the smoke circling into the lungs of the human warriors.
The humans gasped and choked, struggling for breath as they fought.
And the slaughter began in earnest.
Vulgnash hardly needed warriors to fight for him now. The deaths of so many men, the fleeting life energies, only fed his powers. He felt invincible.
Warriors rushed in, and Vulgnash did not wait for his men to attack. He stretched out his hand, and rents appeared in men’s flesh, long slashes that looked as if beasts had torn them.
The room was filled with warriors with torches, a mob of them, and Vulgnash pointed to one of his fallen wyrmlings and uttered a curse. The wyrmling’s body exploded, and giant maggots erupted from its gut, raining down through the room.
The human warriors shouted as the maggots began to eat their flesh.
Vulgnash felt something odd. The room was colder than a tomb, colder even than it should be.
He sent his mind questing, found the little human wizard stealing heat.
Vulgnash rushed back, stepped on the wizard’s neck, and reached down, sucking the heat from him. It came snaking out in a fiery cord.
But the wizard’s distraction had served its purpose.
At that instant, more torch-men rushed into the room.
His wyrmlings shrieked, blinded by the light, and fought on. They had fought grandly, as harvesters will, leaping into battle, axes hacking off heads and chopping through armor. They had roared and fought when they’d taken a dozen wounds, but it was a losing battle.
Vulgnash whirled and sent the fire that he had drawn from Fallion hurling into the darkened room. The humans screamed and died in a rush of flames, as did the last of his own wyrmling warriors.
“See what your insolence has cost?” Vulgnash raged at Fallion.
The humans retreated from the fire, fleeing the fortress.
The last of his wyrmlings were left gasping, propping themselves up on their knees, struggling to stay alive. First there were three, then two, and at last one sank to the ground with a groan.
Vulgnash was left alone in this place of death.
He peered at the lengthening shadows. The warrior clan had been at the attack for an hour. He’d held them off for that long. But sundown was still many hours away.
“I saw only one of the Knights Eternal,” the captain reported. “He hides at the back, in the doorway to the kitchen. I think that he has the hostages there.”
High King Urstone sat on a rock, sharpening the other-worlder’s long sword. Oiling and sharpening seemed to do little good. It was rusting even as he worked.
“Even one Knight Eternal is more than anyone can safely deal with,” the Wizard Sisel said. “And I fear that this is Vulgnash himself.”
“It’s as cold as the tomb in there,” the captain said. “My veins feel like they are frozen.”
The captain grimaced in pain, reached down his shirt, and brought out a large maggot. It was perhaps three inches long and as thick as a woodworm. Even as he held it, the maggot swiveled its head this way and that, struggling to bite him. The captain hurled it to the ground and gave it the heel of his boot.
“Even to get close to Vulgnash brings a small death,” Sisel told the king. “You must be wary.”
“He’s not the worst of Zul-torac’s terrors,” the king said.
The captain cleared his throat. “One more thing. Watch your footing in there. The floors are slick. He has turned that place into a slaughterhouse.”
“Not a slaughterhouse,” Sisel said, “a temple-where the high priest of death administers the ordinances of death.”
King Urstone smiled weakly. This wasn’t a task that he relished doing. Hundreds of his forces were gone, and he still hadn’t gotten the badger out of its den.
“Do me a favor, captain. Have some of your men go out back. There should be a door to the kitchen, or a window at least. Get them open.”
“The brush is thick back there,” the captain said. “It will take a while to get through it.”
“Make lots of noise,” the king said. “I could use a distraction.”
King Urstone peered up. The Emir stood over him, holding the other-worlder’s staff, inspecting it. Of all the weapons, this one alone had remained untouched by the Knight Eternals’ curse.
“Do you think that will do you any good?” Urstone asked.
“I hope so,” the Emir said. He would bear it into battle. He was as faithful and capable a warrior as King Urstone had ever known, a true friend.
Madoc himself bore the dainty little sword, while two dozen archers had each commandeered a single arrow from the other-worlder’s quiver.
“Right then,” the king said. “Let’s go.”
He gave one final look to the Wizard Sisel and asked, “Is there a last blessing you might bestow upon me?”
The wizard got a bemused expression, stood for a long moment as if trying to recall something he’d heard in the distant past. King Urstone had expected no boon, but he could see the wizard’s mind at work.
There is something, King Urstone thought, some lore that he recalls from the otherworld.
“Don’t go into battle like this,” Sisel said at last. “Don’t go in haste, or fear, or rage.” He glanced up to the trees. “Take a look around. Look at the trees, the sunlight, the grass.” He fell silent, and King Urstone could hear the sound of woodpeckers in the distance, a squirrel chattering, and after a moment, the squawk of a jay. “This is a lush land, full of life. Look at this fortress. In better times, it could be put to use as an inn. It would be a pleasant place to stop and have a meal.
“But Vulgnash has turned it into a tomb.
“Light and life oppose him. In there, he hides from them. You must draw upon these, if you will defeat him.”
The wizard reached into his pocket, drew out some pea pods that he might have harvested from his garden. “Take these with you. There is life in them. And after this meeting, you would do well to plant the seeds somewhere.”
King Urstone noted that the wizard called this a meeting, not a battle.
King Urstone smiled. It sounded like madness. Taking seeds into battle?
The wizard saw his look, and gently chided him. “Don’t put such faith in your arms. They will do you no good in there. How many strong men have died this day, putting their faith in such weapons? And don’t go prepared to die. Nearly every warrior who confronts death prepares himself to die. Look inside yourself and find hope. Can you think of no great reason to live?”
Only last night, King Urstone had succumbed to despair and had been prepared to go into battle and lose his life. But then he had learned of the forcibles, and of a plan to save his son, and of the small folk who now inhabited the land. All of these things were renewing a hope that he had thought long dead. “Your words to me last night gave me hope,” King Urstone said, “great hope indeed, and a reason to live.”
Tonight my son will be free, he thought.
“Good,” Sisel said, reaching up and clutching the king’s arm in token of friendship. “Then go now, not as a servant of death, but as a minister of life.” He looked pointedly at Madoc, “Leave these others behind. You have no need of them.”
King Urstone did not charge in as the soldiers had. He was not going to run blindly into a trap. Nor would he shirk his duty, or stumble on quavering knee.
He strode resolutely to the mouth of the fortress, of the tomb, and planted himself just outside the broken door.
His breath streamed cold from his mouth, and his blood turned to ice water in his veins. He could see heaped
