The fear in the man’s voice was unmistakable. It sickened Regulus to his stomach. They were useless here, defending a gate that was never going to be assaulted, while to the north their aid was sorely needed.
He turned to his warriors, and each one stared back with anticipation burning in his eyes like a hot brand. Akkula, Kazul, Hagama, Janto, each looking fiercer than the last. Each lusting for battle and ready for the kill.
Who was Regulus Gor to deny them?
They needed no words. Regulus drew his black blade and placed his helm over the locks that cascaded over the pauldrons of his armour. As he turned and made north, his warriors followed, donning their own helms and brandishing their weapons eagerly.
‘You there,’ shouted the Coldlander sargent. ‘Where do you think you’re going? We’re to hold this bloody position.’
Regulus and his men ignored the weary cries of the man. His voice rose in pitch with every word but it was clear he could do nothing to stop them.
With every step Regulus increased his pace. Nobul Jacks the armoursmith had done his work well, and Regulus hardly felt slowed or restrained as his stride widened until finally he and his warriors were sprinting along the walkway towards the battle.
Coldlanders moved from their path, only too eager to allow the Zatani to run towards the fray. Janto roared his battle lust, and Regulus bared his teeth as the war cry filled him with excitement.
Ahead the city’s defenders fought a desperate battle as the painted savages swarmed over the wall. Here and there loose masonry lay across the walkway, and Regulus dodged rubble and bodies as he searched for his first enemy. He didn’t have to search for long.
Four warriors, tattooed and scarred and with an animal stench about them, were hacking at the corpses of men they had recently slain. Their frenzy filled Regulus with a hatred he had not felt for many days, and he welcomed it — embraced it — as he leapt forward, his black sword raised.
Two of them fell before the others realised Regulus was even upon them. To their credit, the remaining two raised their weapons to defend themselves before Regulus could cut them down, his blade hacking against their iron axes. One lifted a shield, and Regulus smashed his sword against it three times in succession until the Khurta retreated from the assault in desperation.
The other Khurta made to attack, but before he could strike, Akkula’s spear tore through his throat. The young warrior whooped with joy as the Khurta staggered back, his weapon forgotten while he desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood.
Regulus saw the remaining Khurta look up with fear as he saw the formidable Zatani charging towards him. All thoughts of slaughter seemed to fly from his mind and he turned tail, leaping over the battlements to his death rather than face being hacked to pieces by the black-armoured daemons who charged at him.
‘Look,’ shouted Hagama, raising his blade towards the ramparts further along the wall.
Taking a step forward, Regulus squinted through the night. In the dark he could see not only the desperate sights of battle, but also fell magicks. A writhing mass had covered the wall and was assailing the magick users of the Coldlands. It attacked remorselessly, hacking apart armoured men and robed sorcerers alike.
Regulus smiled, baring his white fangs to the night. This would be the glory he had waited for. This was where he would earn his name.
With a snarl he raced towards the thrashing beast, his warriors at his shoulder. He hacked through the first squirming branch as he ran past, seeing it die in a shower of dried foliage. He ignored the screams from all around him. Ignored the sorcerers retreating in their panic, ignored the armoured knights as they vainly tried to fight back against the onslaught. His only thoughts were of the glory of the kill.
A screaming Khurta charged out of the night, and Regulus hacked him down almost without thinking. He ducked as a twisting branch of foliage swept overhead, knocking Kazul off his feet. Janto leapt in, hacking at the branch with twin axes, roaring above the sound of battle, his cries carrying over the curtain wall and down towards the Khurtas below.
As though seeing them as the greatest threat, the thrashing foliage turned on the Zatani, focusing its assault on the fiercest fighters. The five warriors roared in unison as they fought, hacking at the branches, sending white sap flying as they fought desperately.
Regulus felt something grip his leg, but before he could hack at it he was pulled off his feet and hoisted into the air. His helm flew off into the night though he managed to keep hold of his black blade. Before he could hack at the branch that held him, another wrapped itself around his arm, pulling tight and threatening to tear him in two. Regulus growled against the pain, feeling his muscle and sinew strain as the branches tried to pull him apart. The growl turned into a roar of agony as he was lifted higher. As he was hoisted up he saw out over the battlements, facing the horde that had come to take this city.
So much for glory. So much for making a legend of your name. Just another rotting corpse for the carrion crows.
There was a blinding flash of light, and Regulus felt the branches suddenly release him. He fell to the stone parapet, his armour clanging as he landed. The limbs that had tried so effortlessly to pull him apart fell dead beside him.
For a moment all he could do was heave breath into his lungs as the battle raged all around, and before he could stand a robed figure came to kneel by his side. At first he thought they might offer aid. Then he saw the face of an old woman, her expression bereft of sympathy.
‘Find the wytchworker that controls the beast,’ she said slowly, as though Regulus were some kind of simpleton. ‘Kill him and it will destroy his conjuration.’ At first he thought he should be offended that this old crone would talk down to him in such a manner, but as he gazed into her eyes he found himself strangely drawn to her, irresistibly compelled to do whatever she asked of him.
‘Don’t just sit there,’ she said, and waved him off.
Regulus leapt to his feet, sword still in hand. ‘To me,’ he cried as he ran past his warriors, hacking at a branch as he went. The rest of the Zatani pulled themselves away from combat, following as Regulus ran blindly towards the lip of the battlements. He didn’t pause as he reached the edge of the wall, leaping over the lip and grasping one of the limbs that had crawled up the hundred feet from the ground. With his warriors close behind he began to climb down the mass of foliage, jumping from branch to branch with the sure-footedness of a forest animal. He passed several Khurtas making their way up the wall as he did so but he paid them no heed — the words of the red-robed witch were still at the forefront of his mind. He had to find this ‘wytchworker’ and despatch him. That was all that mattered.
Ten feet from the bottom of the wall, Regulus could see a huge gathering of Khurtas making their way towards the base of the foliage. He paused, his eyes following the green mass of branches as they snaked from the base of the curtain wall and past the waiting Khurtas.
In the distance he could just make out a single figure kneeling in the dirt. He was surrounded by a guard of around a dozen huge warriors, bigger than any other Coldlanders Regulus had ever seen.
‘There,’ he said, pointing through the night, showing his warriors their target. ‘Kill the shaman.’
Before any of them could move, Hagama gave a howl, leaping from the greenery and into the mass of bodies waiting at the bottom of the wall. Akkula was quick to follow and Regulus felt his heart begin to race before he also threw himself into the fray.
The last thing the Khurtas had expected was to be attacked at the base of the wall, and Regulus took delight in the fact he had cut down half a dozen of their number before they realised what was happening.
Though they fought with fury, Regulus could still see no way through to the shaman. For the most fleeting of moments he wondered whether he would die here, cut down in a flurry of Khurtic blades, until there was a tumultuous noise from above. Blue fire cut the sky from atop the battlements, searing a corridor through the Khurtas. It blasted them aside, cooking flesh and blackening the earth.