Seven Sorcerers(77)

A column of deathlight flared beyond Tyro’s immediate foes. He saw the rearing steed of Undutu caught in the rush of white heat. Undutu’s dripping blade was raised high when the sorcery fell upon him. The Mumbazan had killed so many Manslayers that a wide ring of bodies lay about him, separating him from the fray as his steed tried to find level ground. Tyro realized too late that this bit of open space was what killed the Mumbazan. The withdrawal of Zyungians from any sector of the field was a signal that they needed a sorcerer’s aid. They had receded from Undutu and opened him to assault from above. His flesh curled into strips and wafted away. For a timeless moment his skeleton sat whole upon the raised saddle, proud as a living warrior, blade clutched in fleshless fingers of bone.

Then the bones of man and horse fell together into spinning clouds of dust.

Tyro’s blade stole an arm, then a head. He dipped beneath a spear meant to pierce his back, so that it skewered his armless foe instead. He whirled, hacking deep into the spearman’s armpit. The man fell, and Tyro finished him with a downward thrust beneath the visor. The blade sank through skull and helm into the muddy earth below.

Undutu is gone. Like his proud and mighty fleet before him.

There was no sign of the nine Mumbazan soldiers. Tyro hoped they were as good with a blade as their King. He fought his way toward D’zan now, Uurzians and Udurumites gathering about him. They needed to stay deep inside the Manslayers’ ranks to avoid the sorcery that killed Undutu. If Tyro could reach the Yaskathan King, the two might drive forward and reach Vireon’s shadow, where there was at least some defense against the throwers of deathlights.

Three more Manslayers died beneath Tyro’s blade as he hewed his way toward D’zan. Along the way he saved the lives of two Uurzians and a man of Udurum who were overmatched by the invaders. The men about Tyro formed a wedge and drove toward the King of Yaskatha, whose battle cries rose above the fray now.

All color drained out of the world, replaced by crimson. The ancient reek of death choked Tyro as his own blood flowed to mingle with that of his enemies.

He drove his blade deep into the groin of a fallen foe and raised his eyes to see Talondra.

She stood in a pocket of calm as the carnage raged about her. The splashing blood did not touch her; she was unstained and clean. Her sad blue eyes flashed at him through the red torrent. Her hands were on her swollen belly. He called her name, but his voice was lost amid the ringing of sword against shield.

You will see them again when you enter the valley of death.

She could not be here, not in the midst of this great chaos. None but Tyro could see her there, or she would have been sliced to ribbons in an instant. He raised a dripping hand toward her, his cheeks ripe with tears among the sweat and blood.

My wife and my son.

Talondra smiled at him, but it was a sad smile.

Her eyes turned toward her pregnant belly.

A blade sank between his shoulders, slowed only by the metal of his corslet. The pain awoke him from the spell of his vision. He swirled about and killed the man who had stabbed him. He was lucky the blade had not reached his heart. Yet the sight of Talondra had pierced it as surely as an arrow.

Tyro took off another rushing Manslayer’s head, then turned back to find her gone.

Only a vision. A mirage of battle.

He fought on, ignoring the spike of pain between his shoulders. D’zan was not far away now. Men and Giants died in blazing fury all about him. None of it mattered. He must reach D’zan and they must reach Vireon.

A light flared above him, only for a moment. He expected the deadly heat to fall upon him now, but instead a shadow intervened. The Feathered Serpent glided above him, a mammoth viper that grabbed the sorcerer’s globe in its fangs and took the blast in its gullet. Khama swallowed the deathlight and vomited it back at the wizard who created it. Globe and sorcerer were reduced to cinders.

“D’zan!” Tyro killed another man and found himself only yards away from his fellow monarch. “Undutu is dead!” he shouted. “We must make for Vireon!”

D’zan nodded and raised his blade to counter a blow. His helm had been lost, like his crown, and he bled from a dozen wounds. Tyro marveled that the Southern King was still able to fight with such terrible rents in his flesh. Then he remembered the wound in his own back and cut down a man rushing at D’zan. A ring of Uurzians gathered about the two Kings. They stood deep amid the ranks of Manslayers.

Tyro thought of Mendices. He hoped the Warlord had maintained his command position on the slope of the nearest hill, where he could dispatch orders and command troop movements free of immediate danger. Then he remembered the flying sorcerers. If Mendices and his cohort stood in open view, then they were a prime target for the deathlights. He could not see the hill now, so dense was the battle. There was no patch of ground left to stand on in the valley. They fought balanced on the bodies of dead men, or atop the hills formed by the carcasses of winged lizards.