'Exactly. Victory sometimes depends on nothing more than illusion,' Bahl replied. Sheathing White Lightning, he reached out his hands and muttered under his breath. Isak felt the words slide out through the air as they were spoken, rushing forward to the advancing elves. The magic inside him was crying out to be wielded again, but he resisted, heeding Bahl's words.
Up ahead, a line of fire flared up from the grass in front of the nearer enemy unit. Isak could hear the screams of fear and alarm as the flames grew taller, and the whole mass of figures struggled and fought to a halt. Bahl shuddered suddenly as the enemy mages dispelled the magic and the illusion vanished from their path, then he chuckled dryly to himself. 'That was a stupid thing to do. Don't they know dragons like the taste of mages better than trolls?'
A ripple of magic echoed out from the rocky ridge behind them. Isak turned in the saddle; he was just able to make out the scarlet robes of the Farlan battle-mages within the ranks of archers. They'd seen what Bahl had done and followed suit. The subtlety of illusion came much more easily to a mage than a white-eye, while they in turn lacked the strength to hurl real fireballs as Bahl could.
Soon shapes started appearing in front of the hesitant troops, who crept forward slowly: a gigantic ice-cobra reared up and lunged at them. A pair of huge eagles began to circle above the further unit and that too faltered.
'And now to actually hurt them.' Bahl began to mouth words again, but this time Isak could see the sounds escape as wisps of black smoke from the Lord's mouth. They fell to the ground and began to merge into one, growing as Bahl repeated the words again and again. A fat oily cloud was forming, turning and wriggling like some awful blind maggot, until it suddenly appeared to get the scent of the elves ahead. With a dreadful rustling slither it began to glide over the plain with deceptive speed, its thin tail propelling it onwards with each grotesque flick.
By the time the elves noticed Bahl's magic they had no time to move. The shape surged on into their ranks and sudden shrieks of pain began to come from the enemy lines. Isak saw the elves fighting with each other to get out of the way, frantically swatting at their arms and bodies to try to remove whatever was hurting them. It looked like those whom the shape passed over had been sprayed in acid as they screamed in agony and panic.
'What was that?'
'Something nasty. Who's got a horn?' Suzerain Fordan, riding beside Lord Bahl, offered his. Bahl waved it away so Fordan shrugged and raised it to his own lips and looked to Bahl for his orders.
'Sound the full charge.'
'But we're not formed up yet,' he protested.
'It doesn't matter. What does matter is that we hit them now, while they're wavering.'
Fordan nodded his agreement and sounded the order, which was echoed by the infantry's drummers. Bahl looked around, then raised White Lightning and kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse. The men around him followed suit and a throaty roar spread through the mass of horsemen as they hurtled after their Lord, headlong into the enemy ranks. Paralysed by the spells cast upon them, the elves stood still and unprepared. The powerful hunters, their armour turning each one into a battering-ram, smashed through the infantry lines, kicking and stamping, while their riders split skulls and lopped off limbs with equal ease.
As he cut and slashed the scrawny elves, Isak could hardly feel
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any impact in his arm. The light armour they wore had no effect on Eolis – he could have been hewing a path through a field of nettles rather than living creatures. The sensation stirred something inside him. These elves were nothing more than long grass rustling against his calves. As his armour turned aside spears and arrows and his sword cut limbs into bloody chunks, the gnawing beast of magic in his belly screamed to be released.
A spear thrust under his horse's armour, drove deep into its lung. The animal reared up, screaming in pain, and Isak tumbled off. As he rose to his feet, unhurt, three elves lunged for him at once. He dodged the first blow, then beheaded the second enemy and turned the third elf's spear with his shield. None of them got the chance for a second strike. The elves were the size of children next to Isak; their shoulders were hunched by the curse of the Gods and their features twisted.
Isak hardly needed his sword. His huge arms were saturated with lethal strength and raw magic. He forgot the steps and strokes Carel had drummed into him since he was a child; the press of bodies meant all he could do was to strike out at everything within reach. Nearby he heard Suzerain Fordan's throaty laughter. He had lost his helm somewhere, and his horse: the barrel-chested man was on foot, swinging a huge war-hammer so powerfully that it was taking elven heads clean off.
As Isak watched, the man's broad smile faltered as a spear spitted him, piercing the join between his breastplate and backplate. The suzerain staggered and tried to lift his hammer again, but the elf twisted his spear in the wound and a paroxysm of agony flashed over Fordan's face. He fell to his knees and another elf stepped up and stabbed down with a short but lethal stroke. Before Isak could move, Duke Certinse's burning sword flashed into view, cutting through both elves, before he was off and moving deeper into their ranks. Behind him followed three of his hurscals; there were mounted knights behind them.
Isak turned and launched himself at the enemy again. The choking odour of death, sweat and excrement made his human self recoil, but there was something else to replace it. He tasted magic on the air and embraced its fury. Encased in the liquid grace of Siulents, Isak flowed over the bodies and started dealing death with an artistry that belied his brutish desire.
He hardly noticed when the enemy began to flee. The slow-moving elves died, whether they faced him or ran. Eolis sliced through swords and shields to reach the flesh. Fire and fury burst hot and savage from Isak's fingertips as a torrent of magic lashed and swirled around him. Spectral shapes hovered at the edges of his sight as he killed again and again. The ground itself opened up to receive the dead, deep furrows in the earth groaning open like yawning funeral barrows.
Finally a burst of pain in his skull stopped Isak dead. A cold weight appeared at the back of his head, as though he'd been clubbed, and his body was shocked into numbness. As he dropped to his knees the beast inside him faded, sated by the destruction it had wrought. Isak gasped for breath he could no longer find. Dropping Eolis and throwing aside his shield, he scrabbled desperately at his helm. For a moment he couldn't move it, through weakness or some sort of resistance, and then off it came.
Tearing off his hood, Isak sucked in great heaving gulps of air. He had been so immersed in the sea of battle that he had almost drowned in its dark depths. Now pain lanced through his body and his lungs cried out for more air while his mind howled at the slaughter around him – and the pleasure it had spawned in him. He bent over and retched, tears of pain and anguish dripping to mingle with the blood that ran from his body. With the taste of puke still in his mouth, he pitched forward and collapsed on to the ground, not even feeling himself hit as a numbing darkness washed over him.
CHAPTER 15
Dragons soared overhead, emerald, diamond and sapphire scales shining in the summer sun. The monsters radiated an unearthly beauty as they gouged and tore each other apart. He laughed as he plunged his blade into beautiful men with wings for arms, their soft feathers charred and matted with blood. Insectoid figures bearing huge bronze hammers leapt eagerly to their deaths. The sun cast rainbow hues off their dark chitinous bodies. The coppery tang of magic melded the panoramic riot into an intoxicating and corrupting exhilaration. He crafted agony in his hand and cast it out among the mortals beneath him. The song of fear rang out in his mind, drowning out the wind and the clash of steel. The sun itself drew back and hid from the slaughter. And still he laughed. Still he killed.