Fallen Empire Read online

  “Good luck, sir!” Groll shouted after him.

  Tork ignored him. “Luck is for fools,” he muttered.

  With Captain Meers informed of proceedings, Tork trotted back to his original position. He swept the length of the wall as far as he could see in both directions, but there was only the one area being assaulted by spiders.

  Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and Tork turned to see several soldiers tumbling from the parapet, closely followed by a dead or dying spider. They slammed onto the cobbled street together with sickening thuds, none of them moving.

  “They’re falling in hundreds. They can’t contain those bastard things.”

  Tork nodded agreeance but remained silent as he watched proceedings. All along the wall closest the gate, spiders dominated the space, all the soldiers in that area of the parapet having either been killed or fled in terror. He noticed the spiders did not advance, however. They stood poised as if waiting for some silent command. He felt as if the arachnids were staring down at him and his mounted soldiers.

  What in blazes are they waiting for?

  “Muskets at the ready.”

  Roland brought the bugle to his mouth and issued the command. Within moments, loaded muskets were withdrawn from sheaths, buttstocks pulled into shoulders, and determined eyes stared down metal gunsights. Waiting, silent, ready to do death’s bidding. If there was any modicum of intelligence amongst the spiders, they’d know the fight against the mounted troops far below wouldn’t be quite so easy. After all, they’d fought those soldiers before and failed.

  Slowly, the troops along the top of the western wall fell…or ran. And before long, only spiders stood where overconfident men had been less than an hour before.

  “And so it begins,” muttered Tork, glaring at the arachnid-lined parapet high above them. “Well then, let’s get it over and done with.”

  A whooshing sound swept above him, and Tork noticed a blur of movement. Giant eagles glided towards the western gate. They were mighty birds, wingspans perhaps the length of five grown men lying end to end. He was mesmerised as he watched the monstrosities grasp hold in their claws the mighty crossbeam locking the western gate closed. The dull thump their wings made as they flapped against the air echoed across the city, and the huge piece of wood locking shut the gate began to move upward, out of the brackets holding it in place. If the locking beam came free, the giant gates would swing open, letting in whatever was out there.

  “Left flank fire!”

  Roland blasted the command.

  A moment later, muskets exploded, the left flank of the King’s Own formation disappearing behind a cloud of gunpowder. When the smoke cleared, Tork saw the corpses of the birds lying sprawled upon the road beneath the gates. He felt the air move above his head and saw more eagles, four this time, fly towards the gate.

  “Left flank fire!”

  But even as Roland issued the command, he knew the soldiers were still reloading. He considered commanding the centre to fire, but knew they were out of range, and they may need their shot if the spiders descended towards them.

  Several soldiers, faster than the others, finished reloading, brought weapons to bear, and fired. One eagle dropped clear, slamming onto the ground, dead. But it wasn’t enough. The mighty crossbeam fell from its brackets, bouncing from the cobbles with a mighty noise. The giant gates groaned open and huge wolves, perhaps fifty, half the size of horses, came sprinting into view, ears pinned to their skulls and jowls peeled back to display fangs the size of dinner knives. They turned and charged straight towards the soldiers of the left flank.

  Scuttling movement caught his eyes. The spiders descended the walls towards the formation of mounted soldiers.

  “This may be a hard fight, Roland.”

  The bugler cleared his throat and nodded. “Seems that way, sir.”

  * * *

  Vyder stood beside Storm, wiping sweat from the animal’s fur with a soft, silk cloth. The saddle lay beside the campfire. Endessa sat still and silent before the flickering flames, eyes closed.

  After he’d finished, he used a fine-toothed bone brush and swept it along Storm’s back and flanks in long, practised strokes. The horse had already taken her fill of water at the nearby creek and was contently chewing on the thick, luscious grass. He’d pushed the horse hard throughout the day. Only twice had he urged Storm into a canter, and only for short durations. But it was the great distance they’d travelled that had exhausted the beasts. By Vyder’s estimate, they must have covered nearly forty miles. Endessa’s mount seemed to have kept pace well, but standing beside Storm, it looked even worse for wear.

  A night’s rest will do them good.

  They’d only stopped once for a brief snack at midday. He finished brushing his horse and moved to Endessa’s mount. The Wiccan had decided to call her Mia. He rubbed the animal down, drying the sweat from her fur before brushing her. The horse stopped eating and craned her neck around to nudge Vyder on the arm.

  “Enjoying that, Mia?” he chuckled and stroked her nose.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Endessa remained near the campfire, eyes still closed as if she was in some kind of trance or meditative state. When he’d finished, he strode to the creek-side and knelt, rinsing the cloth and brush before washing his hands clean of horse sweat, dirt, and fur. That done, he returned to the campfire and sat beside his saddle. Unclasping a leather bag, he placed away the cloth and brush before fastening closed the bag. Opening a haversack tied to the side of his saddle, he pulled clear some dried beef and began chewing on the snack.

  Looking through the flickering flames, he focused on Endessa’s face. She remained frozen in place, eyes closed. He stopped chewing and watched her shoulders. When they moved rhythmically, and he was sure the old woman was still breathing, he continued chewing.

  Little monkey, are you there?

  Vyder almost choked on the jerky. He spat clear a piece, the soggy meat hissing amongst the flames.

  Can you hear me, little human? You need to head back to Lisfort. Do it now! You hear me?

  He cleared his throat. “Not happening.”

  Vyder noticed one of Endessa’s eyes snap open. She watched him intently, although she remained silent.

  Stupid, tiny little monkey, who are you to disobey me? You will return to the city and you’ll do it right now!

  Vyder leaned back and laughed. It was a genuine sound, which echoed amongst the dark forest. Endessa continued to watch him, that one, unblinking eye boring into him.

  Think it’s funny, do you?

  Before he could reply, Vyder felt himself sinking, a sensation he’d not felt in a long time. Had he been floating upon the ocean, it was like he was slipping beneath the waves to be consumed by the depths.

  He fought and for a moment was able to regain control.

  “I think it’s hilarious,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

  But soon, he felt himself slipping away again, and resist as he may, darkness enveloped him so tight that only silence kept him company.

  * * *

  Endessa closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. She began humming “The Calling,” aware of the heat emanating from the fire, radiating against her skin. The crackling chorus of the fire drowned out her soft voice, so that even she barely heard the notes. But she continued, her voice lilting as she commenced the second verse. The fire burned brighter and, without thinking, she shuffled slightly away from the blaze. She was halfway through the third verse when she heard Vyder’s voice boom out across the small camp.

  “Not happening.”

  Endessa forgot herself for a moment and opened an eye to watch the highlander. He sat on the opposite side of the fire.

  Is he in contact with Gorgoroth?

  She softly hummed the rest of the third verse whilst watching Vyder. The big assassin seemed to relax, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he went still. His eyelids snapped open a moment
later, face breaking into a grin and bright blue eyes staring at Endessa.

  It is Gorgoroth!

  But before the nature spirit could speak, the assassin’s body went limp once more, and the bright blue eyes disappeared to be replaced with Vyder’s dark irises. The man’s face looked haggard as if he was on the verge of complete exhaustion.

  “I think it’s hilarious,” he said with a growl.

  Then he was gone, to be replaced with Gorgoroth once more. The piercing, bright blue eyes gauged Endessa. His lips peeled apart in a wide grin, and he jumped to his feet in an explosion of movement. Leaping forward, he passed clean through the fire and landed on one knee beside Endessa. The unwavering death’s head grin remained in place as he stared at the Wiccan.

  “Hello, Endessa!”

  She’d started the fourth verse when Agoth’s voice pierced her consciousness.

  I am here, Endessa.

  The campfire exploded into life, flames stretching several metres into the air, reaching for the night sky, sparks exploding in all directions.

  The face formed amongst the flickering fire.

  “Oh, and I see you made it here, too, brother!” Gorgoroth spoke, although his unblinking eyes remained fixed upon Endessa.

  Finally, Endessa turned to the nature spirit knelt beside her. “Greetings, Gorgoroth. Have you had plenty of fun slaughtering innocent people?”

  Laughter exploded from him. “Innocent? Innocent?” He laughed long and hard before taking in a breath and wiping his eyes. “No human is innocent, Endessa.” He pointed an index finger towards her, the digit hovering inches from her forehead. “You are all a plague, a blight upon the earth. It is high time a cleansing take place.” The grin vanished from his face, his brow creasing and the bright blue eyes taking on a glint of fury. “And that time is now.”

  * * *

  Tork edged Might forward so as to see the distant wolf charge heading for the left flank of his force. “Left flank, left face, extended line, blunderbuss!”

  Roland began blasting the commands as Tork was still shouting them.

  Those soldiers on the far flank, faster to react, galloped into an extended line, the width of the cobbled street, and disappeared in a cloud of gunpowder. The mighty boom of blunderbuss shot reached Tork’s ears a moment later. The remaining left flank formed up behind the front rank.

  “Left flank, charge!”

  He heard the King’s Own war cry echoing from the walls and watched the rear most soldiers of the left flank, swords and spears in hand, disappear into the thick cloud of gunpowder still drifting around the area. He heard shouts, screams of men, and the howl or screech of animals in pain.

  “Centre and right forward face, muskets!”

  He decided to add the forward face command in just to remind the soldiers of the centre and right flank that their enemy were the spiders advancing upon them down the walls. Some lesser experienced soldiers might become focused upon the wolf charge to the left.

  Tork reached into the large leather holster forward of his right knee and retrieved his musket. The weapon felt good in his hands. He pulled the butt into his shoulder, rested index finger upon the cold steel of the trigger, and stared down the iron sights, keeping them centred upon one massive spider closest to him, which had descended the mighty wall and was now scuttling across the street towards them.

  “Fire!”

  He squeezed the trigger and heard the clunk as hammer slammed onto flash pan. A fraction of a moment later, he felt the musket buck in his shoulder. The heat of the blast rushed past his cheek, and his target disappeared behind a cloud of acrid gunpowder.

  “Blunderbuss, fire at will!”

  As Roland blasted out the order, Tork reached forward with his left hand until he touched the opening of the holster forward of his right knee. He dropped the musket into place and patted around until he felt the much shorter weapon. The acrid stink of gunpowder worked its way into his nose and mouth, making him cough. Bringing the blunderbuss clear, he pulled it into his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The explosion that followed left his ears ringing, cheek burning, and shoulder aching. As he dropped the weapon back into the holster, the remainder of the King’s Own soldiers opened fire with blunderbuss shot.

  “Left, centre, and right, battle at will!”

  As Roland blasted the commands, the bugle sounded muffled and faint. He reached forward and withdrew the spear from the leather sheath in front of his right knee. It would be up to individual soldiers how they fought the enemy that was almost amongst them. He sat, spear poised ready to strike for the attack that never came. Apart from some distant groaning from the left flank, where some warriors lay wounded, silence reigned supreme. Tork blinked against the thick cloud of gunpowder that assaulted his eyes.

  The spiders should be amongst us by now.

  Readjusting the haft of the spear in his clammy grip, he swung towards Roland.

  “Centre and right, ten paces forward.”

  He edged Might forward as the order was being delivered and brought the warhorse to a halt when the cloud of gunpowder dissipated.

  The spiders were nowhere to be seen.

  The cobbled street lay bare. He heard them before he saw them, and with arched neck, looked up at the heights of the wall, which the arachnids climbed. The spiders seemed in disarray, terrified, as if they were no longer controlled by some central force. Had they pressed their attack, there would have been a real threat of Tork’s force being overrun where they stood. But the creatures were hell-bent on fleeing.

  “Musket shot!” Tork roared.

  He dropped the spear back into the holster and withdrew his musket. He clamped the musket between his left thigh and Might’s powerful flank. Opening a pouch at his belt, he felt inside and grasped one of the many small paper satchels that lay there. Tearing the small square paper packet open with his teeth, he felt for the round and clamped hold of it between index finger and thumb. Upending the torn opening of the satchel over the muzzle of the weapon, he emptied gunpowder into the barrel. As he did so, Tork pulled clear the ramrod out of its sheath beneath the barrel with his left hand. When the majority of gunpowder had been poured from the satchel, he released the small lead round, watching as it disappeared into the open maw of the musket. The ramrod followed the lead bullet. He tamped the round firmly amongst the gunpowder, withdrew the ramrod from the muzzle, placed it away, and brought the weapon into his shoulder. A musket shot blasted from Tork’s right.

  Damn he’s fast!

  Tork prided himself on being able to fire four musket shots per minute, but it seemed one of his soldiers was even quicker.

  Glaring down the steel sights, he lined up a spider about to disappear over the ramparts, and squeezed the trigger, the weapon bucking and familiar heat blasting past his cheek. A moment later, the majority of King’s Own soldiers had finished reloading and opened fire. He nudged Might forward and ignored the discomfort in the back of his throat, along with the need to cough.

  Several spiders, which had fallen clear, lay upon the road, riddled with lead and thick dark ooze spreading out upon the cobbles beneath them. One of them twitched but was rapidly surrounded by mounted soldiers stabbing down with spears.

  “Roland, with me!”

  “Sire!”

  He steered Might towards the left flank and pushed the warhorse into a gallop. The destrier snorted and snaked his head against the persistent cloud of gunpowder drifting across the area. The familiar smell, one which Tork had always found comforting, would take a few days to wash out of clothes, saddle leathers, hair, and boots.

  Might jumped over the deceased bodies of giant spiders, swerved around the corpses of man and horse and, before long, was dodging the carcasses of huge wolves. Although, given the thick cloud of gunpowder, the destrier had only a moment to react as the lumps of dead flesh appeared through the manmade mist. The cobbled street closest the western gate seemed painted in the blood of horse, m
an, and wolf. The gunpowder fuelled cloud began to dissipate, and Tork watched as the western gate was pushed closed by a group of dismounted King’s Own warriors.

  Good! Someone’s thinking.

  With large ropes tied around the massive crossbar, several Watchmen used a crane to lift the heavy piece of wood off the shattered cobbled stones upon which it lay. The mighty piece of wood swung clear of the ground amongst shouts of warning and, before long, with deft skill, the Watchmen had manoeuvred the crossbar, the giant piece of wood dropping into place and locking the gate closed once more.

  “Apologies, sir!”

  Tork turned to see Captain Regnak edging his horse through the light cloud of gunpowder towards him. “I thought it prudent to lock the gate as fast as possible. I considered sending a message down the line for your approval, but you were busy with the spiders at the time.”

  Tork held up a hand. “No need to apologise, Captain. Good thinking.”

  The captain’s face was blackened by burnt gunpowder.

  Much like my face, I’m sure.

  “Something tells me it’s not quite over just yet, sir.”

  Tork chuckled, although it was without humour. “Agreed.”

  His hands began tingling, the all-too familiar feeling spreading across his fingers. “And it’ll start again sooner than later, I think.”

  Captain Regnak nodded. “Luck, sir!”

  Tork grunted and turned Might away. “Let’s go, Roland.”

  * * *

  Vyder shuddered awake and took in a sharp breath. It was the first time he’d regained consciousness while Gorgoroth retained control of his body. He lay floating supine in a place dark as night upon a thick, tar-like ocean. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy and sluggish.

  “Verone! Can you hear me?”

  His wife, if she even heard him, chose to ignore his calls.

  “Verone?”

  Nothing! Where am I?

  He ceased struggling.

  Where is she?

  Anger’s familiar warmth spread across his chest and weaved its way through his entire being.

  I was summoned back from the Frost River and out of the arms of my love, to sit in darkness while some nature spirit takes control of my body? I think not!