Only after the elemental giant had hacked apart a gap more than a hundred feet wide did the monster enter the courtyard of the gatehouse. It kicked through a company of archers-those few men who had survived the shower of rock from collapsing walls-and Cedric realized that it would shortly decimate those men, cross to the far wall, and smash down that barrier as well. With that, the route into Solanthus would be open.
Now, however, the creature appeared to hesitate, whirling back to peer at the only fragment of the outer wall still standing. Sir Cedric and a few brave survivors were standing there, waiting. The captain dutifully raised his blade, the sword that was the legacy of his father’s fathers’ fathers. He felt the heat of those coal-ember eyes as their inhuman gaze fastened upon him, and the monster drew back a boulder-sized fist.
“By the Oath and the Measure-you shall not pass!” cried the Captain of the West Gate.
He hurled himself from the parapet, his sword extended. The blade struck the monster’s face… and shattered in a fiery burst.
Sir Cedric himself met exactly the same fate.
The gatehouse was now a ruin-a great fan of rubble spilling out from the shattered wall, filling the moat, and making a passable, if rugged, path for the first company of ogres. Ankhar felt a sense of admiration and awe, mingled with no small measure of terror, as he witnessed the great destruction wrought by the elemental king.
Already events were moving beyond the half-giant’s control. After smashing the outer wall, the drawbridge, and two of the tall towers flanking the West Gate, the elemental king had advanced out of sight. Ankhar hastened forward, keeping pace with Hoarst and Bloodgutter, just to the rear of the first company of ogres. The drums were booming now, and the commander unconsciously matched his own gait to their increased cadence. He saw rocks flying through the gap in the wall, and watched in wonder as the top of another formidable tower began to sway. It eased to the left then tilted back to the right. When it swayed again, it just kept going, plunging from Ankhar’s view. A few breaths later, a great cloud of dust billowed into the air, rising far above the height of the wall.
There were some humans remaining on the flanks of the breach, he noted. Their counterattacks started with desultory arrow volleys, a few longbowmen recovering their wits and courage enough to snipe at the block of ogres, while the packed warriors struggled over the broken ground within the gap. Even this light fire was effective, as the steel-headed missiles inevitably struck home among the close ranks, the heavy shafts striking with enough force to drive their razor-edged tips through shields, armor, and bone.
With startling speed, the archers reorganized, and as the ogres put their heads down and surged toward the breach, concentrated volleys of arrows began to shower the front of the formation. Ogres fell, crippled, writhing, or stone dead, and the next attackers stumbled and dispersed as they veered around the obstacles formed by fallen comrades. The attack slowed as the ogres raised shields in a vain attempt to halt the lethal shower. Half of the first company had dropped, and more were dying with each relentless volley. The survivors hesitated, some glancing back toward the safety of their own lines.
Where was the monster, the elemental king? Ankhar wondered, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the creature amidst the melee.
“Charge, you miserable cowards!” roared Bloodgutter. “Carry this place by storm-or die trying!”
He lunged ahead, ready to personally lead the assault, but Ankhar laid a restraining hand on the ogre’s shoulder. “I need you alive,” the commander told his captain, who looked at him furiously.
The situation was equally maddening to Ankhar. He could see the gap, the huge breach in the wall leading right into the city! But how many warriors would he have to sacrifice in that breach? The carnage would be horrific.
And still there was no sign of the elemental king. From the broken, rocky ground rose a din of ogres howling in pain, bellowing commands and challenges, while the humans on the wall shouted and cheered. Behind it all, the drummers kept steady cadence. Ankhar turned to Hoarst, who had come up beside him and was now looking at his commander questioningly.
“Call him back!”
The Thorn Knight shook his head and looked at the wand. “The wand will allow me to direct him away from us, but it won’t summon him.”
“Where did he go all of a sudden?”
“He could be slaying ogres now, for all we know. He is gone from my sight, too.”
Hoarst’s insolent tone, under other circumstances, would have sorely tried the half-giant’s patience. As it was, he glowered at his lieutenant then snorted in exasperation.
“Laka!” he bellowed, looking around anxiously in the smoky, dusty chaos. “Where are you?”
“I am here, my son.” He was surprised to see that the old hob-wench was, in fact, right behind him. “What is your command?”
“The king has moved too far away from us. Open the box; bring him back.”
“As you wish.” Laka immediately knelt and gently placed the ruby box on the ground before her. Slowly she lifted the lid, and as she did so Ankhar felt a chill penetrate his skin-like a wind from the Icereach that had wafted all the way to central Solamnia. It was the glacial sensation of someone opening the door to a long-cold tomb.
Beyond the ruined gatehouse, Ankhar saw that the murky air was churning, the smoke and dust was gathering like a tornado, rising into a dark funnel that stretched to loom over nearly all the city, challenging even the granite massif of the Cleft Spires in its grandeur. The sound that accompanied the churning air was that of a howling gale, the kind that drowns all speech, uproots the trees, and drives men and beasts to seek shelter.
But Ankhar stood firm, planting his fists on his hips, leaning forward slightly to brace himself against the building force of the funnel. He blinked, wiped a hand across his tearing eyes, and tried to peer through the murk. Bits of debris pelted him, stinging his skin, and his great cape flapped behind him. Laka nearly tumbled backward, but he put his big hand on her back and held her firmly, all the while staring into that gusting gale.
There it was, finally: a hellish glow of fire billowing and brightening within the interior of the cloud, drawing closer and growing more intensely hot as it neared. The half-giant could feel the fire against his skin now, and at last he could make out the returning shape of the elemental king, which towered high above the army commander. It slashed back and forth in obvious fury as it fought the confinement of its magical bonds.
Hoarst also stood fast, raising his wand to admonish the king before they were immolated. Laka laughed shrilly, a cackle of pure pleasure, as she held the lid of the box open. Slowly, thrashing in palpable frustration and fury, the immense column of stone and flame writhed and condensed and contracted, sucking slowly downward until, with an abruptness that left them gasping for breath, it vanished into the stone-covered box.
In the abrupt silence, Ankhar shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Laka showed no hesitation, however; she slammed the lid.
The king of the elementals was back in his prison, and the outer walls of Solanthus were breached.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The manor in Palanthas was dark again, except for the enchanted glow in the central room, the alcove off of the wizard’s laboratory. Here Coryn stared into the white porcelain bowl, studying the surface of slightly bubbling white wine. The bowl glowed with its usual pearly incandescence, but now there was a green tint to the light in the shadowed room, a viridescent light that emanated from the small emerald the wizard held between the thumb and index finger of her right hand.