Animals screamed in the remaining cages as Seton moved away. The malign spell picked up intensity, and a giant elk charged the centaur from the side. Its sore-matted hide still covered impressive muscles, and it threw itself at the druid with horns lowered. The line trailing from a ring in its nose caught a wagon wheel, and the heavy oak circle skidded through the dirt as it came at Seton. The centaur threw himself sideways, his flanks heavy with effort after the fight and his grief.
Kamahl threw spears of fire that formed a barrier against the approaching animals, covering the druid's escape. The barbarian looked to his penned elemental, the boundless hunger of the primal being perhaps the only answer to the carnivores that struggled from the cages and pens.
Bears, cougars, and wolves moved together toward the pair. Two Krosan dragonettes struggle from their enclosure, the six-legged reptiles ignoring the surrounding carrion as they closed.
The mountain warrior eyed the ambassador. Perhaps killing the merman would end the unnatural animosity. But the aristocrat and his escort had already disappeared, lost behind some piece of landscape or illusion. He readied his sword and the elemental-the coming slaughter of spellbound beasts a foulness to his soul.
"On my back," Seton commanded as he threaded through the flaming barriers Kamahl had formed to stop the animals. "If we stay, we only do the ambassador's will."
The barbarian looked for his horse, but it was lost in the madness.
"We can return once the spell has run its course, or I have turned it, but for now we must be away."
Kamahl paused only to free the elemental from his call. "Another time you will feed," he promised the flame. The ruby shafts in the creature seemed to pulse in agreement, and then the glass and ash collapsed to the ground in a superheated pile of debris. The barbarian sheathed his sword and swung himself up on Seton's back. The centaur's muscular body was as wide as a draft horse, and Kamahl resolved to reclaim his mount as soon as possible.
"We will meet again, Ambassador," he promised.
The animals came around the flaming barriers.
Seton left at a run.
CHAPTER 12
There was a stillness to the air around the camp. Lieutenant Kirtar sat in his tent wondering if he dare look into the orb he had won in Cabal City. The globe brought visions, dreams of glory and control. He had imagined such possibilities throughout his life. He ached to smash the power of the Cabal, to finally order the restless mages of the Pardic Mountains to the southwest. Everything seemed possible if he just had time to investigate the orb, experiment with it. His huge hands clenched as he restrained himself from digging through his baggage for it. The visions became so compelling that he lost himself, and he could not afford the time-these meaningless patrols along the forest.
Kirtar stood suddenly and went outside, breathing deeply to calm himself. A fragrant breeze brought him a whiff of the forest, and his face pinched at the smell. Give him the cold, clean air of the plains, he vowed. He moved to the camp perimeter, absently accepting hails from his soldiers. The forest had always been chaotic, unstructured. He regarded the line of trees with a deep ambivalence. The tribes and races of the forest interior cut themselves off from the rest of the world. Kirtar felt contempt for such behavior. The world cried out for a firm hand, he thought, and his knuckles cracked as his fists tightened once more.
"Lieutenant," said a soldier bringing wood in from the trees. The fires for the night were being laid. Another day spent here.
"I saw bison moving deeper in the trees," the soldier volunteered uncertainly, obviously new to the unit. Kirtar wondered that the sergeants had not beaten such hesitation from the new recruits. Let the lower ranks police themselves, he thought to himself.
"Bison are no danger except when surprised or in breeding season," Kirtar reassured the soldier.
The sentry still looked nervous, but the bird warrior ignored him and walked on. The anxiety in the lower ranks was quite disgusting, the aven thought. He must admit that the sheer number of attacks, sometimes from animals well known for their timidity, was unsettling, and the frequency seemed to be increasing. Nevertheless, it was no excuse to be a coward. Nature was chaotic, and it was only natural that it must, occasionally, be curbed.
The rumble of thunder made him look to the darkening sky. No sign of rain clouds. The rumble became stronger and more continuous, never breaking. He turned to the forest. The soldier he left dropped the gathered wood and ran for his gear. The bison came out of the trees, a dumb relentless tide.
"To arms!" Kirtar yelled, echoed by others throughout the camp. The Order tents and animals were atop a small rise, and the lieutenant could look down to the forest's edge. As far as he could see in the dimming light animals were coming out, not driven by the weather or any sign of fire.
"Stand your ground," Kirtar bellowed, as he move to the line of men and bird warriors forming in the path of the bison. The beasts were coming up the rise, slowing but still advancing. Why, he wondered. A raypen launched himself into the sky, his wings spreading in the setting sun as he flew over the camp.
The sergeants in the line began chanting, a song of the Order's glory. Magic flared as warriors united their will and cloaked themselves in power. The bison slowed but still came closer, the leaders not pushed by those behind but advancing on their own.
"They are only dumb animals!" Kirtar cried as he strode to the head of the line. The mass of animals seemed a personal attack after his words to the sentry, and he responded as he would to any attack. The magic flowed to his hands and left them as golden birds. The power flew to the leading bison and struck like a catapult burst, killing the animals instantly. There was a moment of silence as others looked at him.
"Attack!" Kirtar yelled, and other projectiles followed. Arrows and javelins arced into the air, but the dead were lost in the mass of new animals, and Kirtar howled in anger, determined to stop the assault. Perhaps if the ground were better, he might have succeeded, but the animals lapped around the growing bulwark of corpses.
Kirtar's cries to his men were lost in the noise and confusion of battle. Bison circled through the camp, their humps more than eight feet off the ground. Calves bawled and tripped, finding their feet with difficulty as the torrent of animals ebbed and flowed like a river.
Kirtar wondered how thousands of animals might remain unseen in the forest. They continued to leave the trees, all apparently aimed for him and his men. The beasts were disorganized and showed little of the frenzy of previous attacks, but the sheer number of bison made them dangerous.
Ten-foot-tall elen stood with long pikes set, a steadily growing wall of corpses protecting the hooded bird warriors. The massive soldiers were proving useful, despite their lack of magic. Simple muscle might carry the day.
The line of soldiers contracted as sergeants tried to form a perimeter. Now relentless pressure spilled bison into the lines. Trapped bulls gored the men who turned to oppose them. Kirtar watched a soldier fall to the ground, the sudden thrusts of the heavy horns splintering the man's chest. The lieutenant leaped forward, his fist encased by power, and broke the bull's spine. He called out in triumph as he stood over the beast he killed with a single blow. However, the victory was lost in the unrelenting tide of animals
In the skies above, the raypen swooped and dove. Kirtar could see them exulting in their flight. The flyers swept down and plied their long maces and lances before rising again, untouched by the sprawling chaos below. The rumble of hooves made speech impossible as the animals milled, fresh reinforcements constantly coming to test the camp's defense. Aven were lost in the midst of the herd, occasionally appearing atop animals they killed, but soon disappearing back into the crush of bodies. Kirtar felt a thrill of pride at how the bird warriors succeeded while the other races vanished under the milling hooves.