‘The show’s over. We attack now and kill every last man, woman and child within these stinking walls. No mercy.’
No mercy. Yllandris took a deep breath, glanced at her sisters, and prepared to bring the King’s justice to Frosthold.
The sounds of clashing steel rang out ahead of her. Snow continued to fall, obscuring her view of the fighting, but it was clear that Frosthold’s defenders were offering scant resistance. Mehmon had not been lying. Famine had brought the town to its knees.
A shape loomed out of the darkness up ahead. It was a cart, overflowing with snow from which frozen limbs jutted out at odd angles.
A corpse wagon, Yllandris realized. They had piled the dead on the back of the cart but lacked the strength or will to carry them away.
They passed a cooking pit. She glanced down and saw the bones of various animals, most of them oddly sized. It took a moment before Yllandris realized they were the remains of the town’s dogs. She half expected to see a human thighbone or skull among the grisly remains, but it appeared things hadn’t quite become that grim. Not yet.
To her left, Shranree was breathing heavily. The woman was winded already by the short walk from the town gates. Flanking their circle to either side were the sorceresses from the two Reachings. They were a motley collection of the young, the old and the ancient: soothsayers and healers and wise women from numerous backwater villages and towns hastily assembled for the war party. In Heartstone, sorceresses lived alongside one another and formed a permanent circle out in the Reachings, they were permitted to gather only for specific occasions.
Sorcery was tolerated and occasionally even honoured, but it was not liked, and it certainly was not trusted.
A grunt ahead drew her attention. One of the town’s defenders was running towards them. The filthy furs he wore engulfed his wasted body, but there was fury in his eyes and he had an ugly club raised and ready to strike.
Old Agatha raised her walking staff, mumbled a quick incantation under her breath, and then pointed at the man with a bony finger. Fire leaped out from her extended digit and wreathed him in red flame. He screamed once and then toppled to the snow with a loud hiss. The flames sizzled out almost immediately, leaving a charred mess of bone and roasted flesh.
One of the sorceresses from the East Reaching retched. Yllandris narrowed her eyes. He had been coming straight at her. Had Old Agatha not acted…
I would have done what was necessary. The future Queen of the High Fangs will not perish here in this forsaken place.
‘Stop!’ Shranree hissed suddenly. The group halted abruptly. ‘Magic is being worked ahead of us,’ she explained. ‘I can sense it. Sorceresses from the Reachings, now is the time.’
Yllandris felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The tang of magic was in the air. There was a flickering in the distance, and phosphorescent green globes of energy suddenly appeared in the black sky, moving closer at terrifying speed. She held her breath.
A translucent blue barrier sprang into existence above the heads of the sorceresses. Yllandris watched the women from the Reachings straining with effort as they maintained the magical shield above them.
It was not a moment too soon. The globes splattered down and struck the barricade, where they exploded into bubbling ooze that hissed and popped. One of the women from the Lake Reaching slid on a patch of ice, causing the section of barrier above her to wink out of existence. Green slime rained down, covering her head and shoulders, which began to steam. She uttered a high-pitched shriek and clawed madly at the corrosive material, but it had already eaten through her flesh and was now dissolving bone and sinew.
Yllandris tore her gaze away from the terrible sight. There was a glimmering in the sky up ahead, and then more globes were rising in the air to arc towards them.
‘Sisters, lend me your power!’ shrieked Shranree. In response, Yllandris drew upon all her magic, felt it shoot down her veins and make her skin prickle with energy. It begged to be unleashed. Instead she held it there, until she felt Shranree’s gentle probing. With a shudder, she surrendered the magic.
Shranree’s head tilted back in exultation. She raised her arms high into the air, fire dancing around her hands. Euphoric with the accumulated power of her sisters, she thrust her arms in the direction of the enemy circle ahead.
Motes of orange streamed skywards and then disappeared. All was silent. Nothing seemed to happen. Yllandris glanced at the round little woman and felt her lip curl.
You exhausted us for that? A pretty display of dancing lights? You aren’t fit to lead this circle, you useless lump of-
Glowing spheres of golden fire suddenly appeared in the sky. There were thirteen of them, forming a pattern hundreds of feet above the town. The central sphere floated directly above the spot where the green globes had appeared. It vibrated violently, seemed to shrink down on itself-
A towering pillar of flame roared down from the sky. They were bathed in a warm glow as superheated flame incinerated everything it touched.
The other spheres began to vibrate and then they, too, transformed into columns of raging death. The entire northern half of Frosthold had become a furnace. Yllandris’s breath caught at the sight of the devastation before her.
Shranree clapped her hands together happily. She wore a self-satisfied smile on her glistening face. ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame we had to lose a member of the Lake Reaching circle. Such are the perils of carelessness.’
Yllandris stared again at the unfortunate sorceress who had slipped on the ice. The body had stopped twitching and now the corpse lay huddled up on the snow like a child. She had barely been more than a girl — a couple of years younger than Yllandris herself. Fortunately, the look of hatred she shot Shranree at that moment went unseen by the senior sister.
‘We should begin cleansing the rest of the town-’ Shranree began, but she was interrupted by shouting. Fleeing the carnage to the north, a mob of Frosthold’s defenders appeared, rushing furiously towards them.
Bestial shapes suddenly emerged from the shadows and several of the shouts turns to shrieks, but even the intervention of the Brethren couldn’t stop some of the mob from reaching the sorceresses.
Starving men and women fell, torn apart by magic. A warrior managed to bury his axe in the head of one of the East Reaching sorceresses. Two more grabbed Old Agatha and dragged her away from her sisters. They beat her into the snow with their spiked clubs even as magical flame stripped the flesh from their bones.
Madness, Yllandris thought. They have gone mad. A woman lunged at her, a long gutting knife in her hands. She evoked enough power to thrust her attacker away from her, but her reserves were nearly empty and the effort almost made her scream. Her attacker hit the ground. There was a blur, and suddenly a snow leopard had its jaws locked around the woman’s skull.
‘Retreat,’ Shranree cried, and they fell back. The bulk of their own warriors had caught up with them by now. They met the desperate men and women of Frosthold head on, cutting them down without mercy.
The sorceresses retreated until they were almost at the gates. They were safe now, shielded by lines of their own warriors. With the town’s circle burned to a crisp and their chieftain already captured by the invading force, Frosthold’s defenders were lambs to the slaughter, caught between the fires raging in the north of the town and the warriors under the command of Krazka and Orgrim to the south. Desperate and weakened from lack of food, they fell like wheat before the scythe.
Yllandris tried to catch her breath. The sheer carnage had shocked her. Breathing deeply, she examined the smattering of structures nearby. The taverns, longhouses and other important buildings were all in the centre of town where the remnants of the fighting were taking place. There was nothing here but modest homes and hovels. She saw a small face peek out from behind the door of one and then dart back inside.