The King sent a large portion of his soldiers to hold the gate, and Zollin thought it best he go there, too. Mansel was happy to be getting into the action. He wanted to fight, and Zollin knew it was a way for him to deal with the frustration and shame he felt for his actions while under the witch’s spell. They hurried down to the main gate, or where the main gate had once stood. It was completely destroyed, but most of the rubble was there. Commander Hausey was still organizing the defense. He had a dent in his helmet, and blood was trickling down from under it.
“Zollin, it looks like they’re going to push hard here,” Hausey said.
“I expected as much,” Zollin replied. “We need to be ready for them. What can I do?”
“Can you heap this rubble up, so that it makes the entrance narrower?”
“Sort of like a bottle neck?”
“That’s right, and if we can station men on top of the rubble, the enemy will try to break through the center and we won’t have to fight so many at once.”
Zollin was feeling stronger, although his magic was still churning like a forest fire. He let his power flow out and began to levitate the rubble. Quinn helped him figure out how to build up the piles so they were most secure, and, when they were finished, the opening where the gate had been was now wide enough for only five men to pass through walking side by side.
“Do you think they’ll attack?” Mansel asked.
“They should,” Hausey said. “They won’t have a better opportunity. We beat back their attempts to scale the walls. Am I right in assuming you had a hand in that, Zollin?”
“I did what I could.”
“It was a big help. If they had gotten inside the city all would have been lost. We simply don’t have enough men to cover every part of the wall, not now that most of our reserve troops were called in to help hold the main gate. To answer your question, Mansel, I think they will attack again, but they could revert to a siege. If they do, though, we’ll need to find a way to drive them away. A siege would allow us to make this gate stronger, but we can’t fully rebuild it.”
“And if we give them too much time their wizard will recover and nullify the advantage that Zollin gives us,” Quinn said.
“That’s absolutely right. We need to end this, as soon as possible.”
“Can you tell what the wizard from the Torr is up to?” Quinn asked Zollin.
“No, I can’t sense him. He’s got defenses as I do,” Zollin admitted. “What if we could get our heavy horse cavalry out to attack them? Could we disrupt them enough to drive them back?”
“It’s possible, but we would need a way to get the horses out of the city,” Hausey said.
“I think I can manage that. And then, I can use magic to mimic the sound of charging cavalry and disrupt them more. At this stage I think illusion is a better weapon than anything else we’ve got.”
Commander Hausey gave the order for the heavy cavalry to form up at the main gate. Half an hour later, Commander Corlis in full armor rode up and raised his visor.
“Tell me what you have in mind, Hausey,” he said.
“Zollin is going to create a distraction for you, then do your best to kill as many as you can,” Hausey said.
“I’m going to create a massive dust cloud to hide your troops,” Zollin told him. “Then I’m going to do my best to scare the hell out of them, but it’s up to you to get them scattered and running.”
“That should be no problem, if we can get out of the city. From what I’ve heard you put most of their cavalry out of commission earlier.”
“Yes, I hope that was most of them,” Zollin said. “Where were you, by the way?”
“Ask your father,” Corlis said, turning his horse and riding back to his men.
Zollin looked at Quinn who just shrugged his shoulders.
“What?” Quinn said, trying his best to sound innocent.
“Do I want to know?” Zollin asked.
“Let’s just say your old man has a mean right hook,” Mansel said.
“Oh, boy. Let’s get started.”
Chapter 36
Offendorl was moving as quickly as his withered legs could carry him. Healing his sprained ankles had taken what little magical power he had left. He was sure that Zollin had moved back toward the city, but that didn’t mean he was out of danger. His chest was heaving, and his center of magic felt as if it were eating him alive. He hadn’t been tested in magical battle in decades, and the effort it had taken to withstand Zollin’s unrelenting attack had almost broken the ancient Master of the Torr.
He could see the kings and their generals, all still on horseback. None seemed interested in coming to his aid, which only made the elder wizard more angry. He had been caught off guard, and even though he knew it was a simple mistake, he felt embarrassed. In the Torr he maintained total control over himself, his circumstances, and the other wizards. It had been years since he had been forced to work the kind of magic he had used just to survive his duel with Zollin. Now he was exhausted, his mouth parched and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His legs shook, so that with each step they felt as if they might collapse beneath him. His arms ached, and worst of all, his breathing was becoming difficult. He needed to stop, to rest, to eat and drink, even take the time to heal himself, but he had no time. Nor did he have the magical strength to do any sort of magic at the moment. All he knew was pain and urgency.
When he finally drew close enough to the group of kings and generals they took note of him. King Belphan looked down his nose at the ancient wizard.
“It seems you were wrong again, Offendorl,” he said.
“Don’t. .” the wizard said between gasps for breath, “mock. . me.”
“I’m not mocking. I’m simply stating a fact. Every step of this entire invasion has been a disaster. Now it is up to our armies to do what you could not.”
“What is happening?” Offendorl said.
He turned back to look at the city for the first time since he had fled the battle with Zollin. He watched as the army marched toward the city. Seeing thousands of troops storming a castle was a spectacle, but the wizard had no interest in the battle.
“I need a horse,” Offendorl said.
None of the officers moved.
“What happened to yours?” Belphan said in a mocking tone.
“You know what happened,” Offendorl said. “Or were you too busy running away to notice?”
“Do not try me, old man. I’ve listened to your condescension for the last time.”
“And I your impudence.”
“General Varlox, bring me the wizard’s head!” Belphan shouted.
One of the men next to King Belphan drew his sword and spurred his horse forward. Despite the intense heat and pain it caused, Offendorl reached out with his magic and snapped the general’s neck. The soldier toppled backwards off his horse, dead before he even reached the ground. The horse, sensing it no longer had a rider, trotted to a stop next to Offendorl, who took hold of the animal’s bridle.
“You are a fool, Belphan,” Offendorl said.
Then Belphan, King of Osla, burst spontaneously into flames. He shrieked in agony, and his horse bolted away from the city, its rider roasting to death on its back.
“What the devil are you doing?” King Zorlan cried.
“I am finished dealing with your kind,” Offendorl said, but even as he said it he felt something deep inside of him break. It was like a dry twig that snaps under foot. Offendorl doubled over in pain as his magic spread like fire through his gut.
“What does that mean?” Zorlan said. “Are you meaning to kill me, too? I am of royal blood.”
There were three generals from Osla and two from Falxis. They looked at one another anxiously, their horses stamping nervously and resisting the riders who tried to calm them down.
“I need food,” Offendorl snapped. “Get it,” he said through teeth clenched in pain.