Morigu: Book 01 - The Desecration Page 28

"The Morigunamachamain leads them, the Morigu comes!" The goblins' ranks broke as all tried to flee the vengeance that was upon them.

  A few miles from the city the army of the Stalkers spread out. It was broken into two wings, the strongest led by Donal Longsword. With him rode Brasil ap Fin, Bronwen, Sean of Inlit, the destroyer, all of Brasil's men, two hundred of the Stalkers and three hundred warriors under the Baron.

  Mearead rode up to Margawt, who stood by his horse, staring at the city ahead.

  "Margawt," the dwarf said. There was no answer. "Margawt, tell me what you see."

  "I, I see," his voice was rough, cold, mortal, "I see the Earth Goddess, she holds her hands out to me imploringly. She is naked and her breast runs with blood as do her thighs." The Morigu turned from his vision, taking great gulps of air.

  "It's almost time, lad. Mount up."

  "I can't. The power flows from the earth through the horse to me. It will kill it."

  "Did I hear someone say 'horse'?" The maker's cheerful voice interrupted. "Ta dah," he said, and behind a great bulk pulled itself from the shadows. Margawt's heart leaped. At first he thought it was Anlon, for the horn was clear, but then he realized it was a thing of stone, a magical fabrication that moved.

  "This is your mount, Margawt," said the maker.

  "Why did you parody Anlon?" Margawt asked bitterly.

  "Parody? Parody?" The maker looked shocked. "You misunderstand. You are the only being his lordship has ever allowed to ride him. This construction was built this way in honor of that. The unicorn is ever a strong token for a warrior."

  I thank you, then, and in memory of my friend, I will ride it." He climbed upon the stone unicorn's back and moved to the front of the ranks.

  "'His lordship'?" Mearead raised a white eyebrow.

  "Oh, didn't you know?" asked the maker. "Anlon is the son of the Hunter and the Earth Goddess." He smiled at the dwarf lord. "Speaking of horses, are you going to be able to ride that one okay?" Mearead realized how silly he must look, balancing on top, the horse so much larger than himself.

  "Just let this thing get me to the battlefield, then I'll be all right. She's there. I can smell her." He patted the horse, his eyes deep in shadow. "Just get me there."

  Donal looked around at all the riderless horses, and shook his head. He planned as best he could, and if those in the city followed his orders, they could win, but not without the illusion. As the last of the globe's motes settled to the ground the Stalkers broke the mirrors. Donal watched as dark, small shapes flew to each empty saddle, then stretched and molded into human figures. As the elven horns were heard the figures gained color, then movement. The Warlord looked behind him to see. Waving their swords in impa-tience were, or seemed to be, thousands of warriors, awaiting his orders. He turned to the diminutive Stalker, next to him.

  "We are ready, my lord," said the man. "We await your orders." Donal turned to his troops, and waving his sword three times above his head, cried aloud, "For vengeance, for victory!" And with a roar the army charged.

  In what seemed like a minute--no longer--Donal saw the enemy ahead. The elves were cutting through them like a knife. The goblins were running around in aimless patterns. He picked out a chieftain riding a giant wolf and spurred his horse on. His men had the hardest job, for they had to clear out the whole east wall and get to the north side where they would be joined by defenders of the city.

  Donal knew at the comer of the east wall lay a large detachment of undead. There were bound to be several mages among them. He had few magics to fight them with, and only hoped the confusion would keep the enemy from breaking the illusion until they had reached the other side.

  His sword swept across the chieftain's throat, geysering its blood into the air. The troops rode over the goblins and continued on.

  Margawt urged his mount on, but it would not let him get too far ahead of the others. Behind him rode the rest of the Stalker army. He realized the stone unicorn was cutting off some of the power of the earth somehow, shielding him from the corruption that the enemy had infused into the land here, but still his veins filled with madness and he shook with his need.

  The goblins dared not face the Morigu and fled from his charge. A giant troll stepped up to meet him, but was gored by the mount and beheaded by Margawt before it realized what had happened. Margawt plunged into the middle of the enemy ranks, his sword moving so fast that it seemed to be just a flash of color. A line of power splashed against his chest, but did no damage. He just charged the dark mage who had cast the spell and with a casual backhand of his shield, smashed its head to a pulp.

  Lonnlarcan turned his men west to fight alongside the troops following the Morigu. Great magics flew from him, wiping out entire ranks of the enemy. He did not draw the elven sword, but his magic, combined with Bairbre's and Dermot's, did more damage than even that talisman could have.

  His elves glittered with a silver and gold witch light. The human warriors with them were engulfed in this protective shield also. The elven magic infused the men, giving them unnatural strength. The enemy could not slow them down, never mind stop the Ard Riegh's advance.

  The Shadow Lord formed his troops at the southeast corner of the city. He threw all the magic he could control at the enemy even as he tried to keep his army from fleeing. His thoughts were cold. Had not his sister and brother fallen before this rabble already? He redoubled his efforts. He had not finally escaped his age-old prison to die.

  The demon general that controlled the troops in front of the main gate quickly sent reinforcements to the Shadow Lord, leaving only a handful to hold the line in front of the gate. He looked despairingly behind him, where he knew Apkieran and the witch waited behind the ranks of the Undead Lord's best. He saw lines and wedges of magic fly from the hill, but this time he knew magic wouldn't be enough. He needed those troops.

  The maker was nearly knocked off his horse as he strove to blunt Arianrood's magical attack. 'She is so powerful,' he thought, but he knew her magic and she was hopelessly confused by his. He attacked with all his power, linking up with the lesser magics of the other Stalker monks. They had to keep her and the Shadow Lord off balance so they could not shatter the illusion of the warriors.

  Lonnlarcan rode to the front of the reinforcement army, his elves taking the vanguard. The enemy fled before them and their whole southern flank was rolled up. The Shadow Lord sent a desperate counterattack led by the elite goblin wolf-riders that slowed the assault down for a little while.

  Meanwhile, Donal's men smashed into the ranks of the undead. The Stalkers were not sure whether the illusion would fool the undead and the Warlord couldn't tell, but the weight of the horses, massed as they were, was enough to push the enemy back. The slow-moving zombies--horrible as they were--could not fight cavalry effectively. But through the smoke of the battlefield, Donal could see that the zombies were just a screen, while a quarter-mile away the enemy was organizing a defense.

  Donal slowed his troops, and after seeing that the zombies were decimated, he reorganized his ranks. He motioned to the hunter who clapped his hands twice. In response, behind the army a great red streak flashed into the air.

  Cucullin saw the flash leap across the sky. He nodded to an elf mage and again a great rending was heard as the part of the north wall in front of them collapsed. Cucullin charged with all the remaining elves behind him. On his right rode Ceallac, leading the Green Branch knights and some thousand other warriors, and on his left rode Niall and Oidean leading another twelve hundred men. All were horsed and burst out on the unsuspecting enemy. In little more than fifteen minutes of fighting, they scattered the goblins, and turned east to meet up with Donal's troops.

  Lonnlarcan's army's mad charge was slowed by the Shadow Lord's defense, but with no reinforcements, the dark army was forced to withdraw. This, despite the fury of the elves and men, they were able to do in good order.

  Cucullin's men smashed into the rear of the troops fighting Donal, and caught between the
hammer and anvil, the enemy was destroyed. Quickly the two armies merged and faced east along the north wall.

  The Ard Riegh halted his warriors. It took Mearead's strength to contain the Morigu. Though the blood price pounded in the dwarf, he knew the necessities of battle. As Donal and Cucullin came around the north edge, the barricade at the broken gate was thrown down, and Fin marched out with the remaining eight thousand defenders. The troops at the barricades fled and joined what was left of the Dark army, ringed around the hill where Arianrood blazed in anger.

  The two armies stood silently, glaring across the field at one another. The sun rose higher over the city and right into the eyes of the Dark Ones, and they despaired to see the apparent size of their enemy. For no more than twelve thousand of the invaders were left, ranged around the blasted hill where Arianrood, Queen of Aes Lugh, General of the army, premier wizard of the age, High Priestess of Fealoth, Ead, waited.

  Margawt could feel her black hunger, and breaking from Mearead's hold, leaped upon the stone mount and rode to the front of the ranks.

  Arianrood hissed when she saw him, spittle flecking her perfect lips. Apkieran strode up.

  "I will kill him," she moaned. "I will drink his soul."

  "Lady," said the demon prince, pulling back from the look she gave him, "hold your wrath a moment. There is something wrong."

  "I know there is something wrong, you dolt, and once I kill that mongrel, we can make things right!" She began to move toward the battlefield.

  "No," he said, daring to grab her arm. She turned on him, her hair flying madly about, streaked with the green of her power. "No, lady, those troops, they are not right."

  "What do you mean?" she said. Her voice was a deadly threat.

  "I don't know, but some of those warriors are not there. They have no souls." He dared to meet her glare.

  "You mean they are undead?" she asked.

  "No, I mean they are not there."

  "Illusion," she laughed. "Of course, where could they have gotten all those warriors? It has to be an illusion." She signaled to the thirteen cowled figures at the bottom of the hill. They approached her.

  "The battle is yours, Apkieran. You are in command until I defeat this magic." He bowed once and strode down the hill.

  The Morigu rode out midway between the two armies. He halted his mount and just stood there. Waiting. Behind him, the sun fought the smoke of the many fires, and the army glittered and bristled with armor and weapons. The enemy waited about the hill, restless, like some great storm cloud, fighting to pull itself together, as the wind tries to tug it apart.

  "I have come," cried the Morigu. His body gave off great waves of power as if he radiated a fierce heat.

  "The earth has called and I have come." He moved closer. "Give me Arianrood and I will let the rest of you live. Now, today, I want only her." No one laughed at the outrageousness of his demand, for in that moment none truly doubted that he could defeat the enemy alone.

  "Once more I ask, give her to me, or die." He rode closer. The front ranks of the army were composed of goblins, and they edged away from the Morigu. But behind them lay the rest of the undead, and the goblins' fear of the zombies was enough to force them to keep ranks. Suddenly, at the stone unicorn's foot, Dorrenlassarslany of the pyridin showed up.

  "Great unmaker," it said, for once giving a proper bow. "Hurry. Evil. Black traitor, witch, is choosing the path. It leads to the undoing of, great lords people's magic." Margawt looked uncomprehendingly at the little creature for a moment.

  "Arianrood," he hissed, "she is finding a way to break the Stalkers' illusion." Dorrenlassarslany bobbed his head once. The Morigu looked back at the warriors behind him. He smiled, showing no teeth. Margawt turned back to the enemy and drew his sword, kicking his stone mount's flanks.

  For the first time, the construct made a sound.

  "Give 'em hell, Kondo-s," it said. But Margawt did not hear.

  The human/elven army was caught by surprise when Margawt turned and alone attacked the enemy. They stared in disbelief as a shower of arrows rained on the Morigu. Those that hit the stone mount bounced off, and none hit the Morigu. Only the elves had sharp enough eyes to see Margawt dodge the arrows, with a speed that no creature of the earth could ever match.

  The Morigu smashed into the enemy's dark ranks. Straight through them he plowed. It was as if he splashed through a giant river of blood, for such was the destruction he caused that on either side of him great geysers of red gore sprayed up. With an animal cry of pain, Mearead charged after Margawt, and with a deep, hoarse shout, the army followed him.

  Death rode at Margawt's right side, and every stroke of the Morigu's weapons took a life. But Lord Death did not laugh.

  He had expended a great deal of power so far and he dared do no more. None had detected him yet. After all, in such a slaughter as this all would expect to feel Lord Death's interest. But the Dark Ones were still holding, and many of their units were reforming to join the fight at the hill. They were not defeated yet.

  "Forgive me," he said. But he could not say who he hoped would hear him. He spread his power again to support the charging warriors, and in his heart he said a silent prayer, though there was no god for him to pray to. Still, the thought was agonizing. Would they become aware of him? Would he be responsible for starting the final battle?

  And the Morigu stained red by his enemy's blood chanted, "Death! Death! Death!"

  C H A P T E R

  Nineteen

  Apkieran watched quietly while the Morigu rode toward him.

  "It's not over yet, mad one," he said. He saw a bright gold light shining about the enemy host. 'The same,' he thought, 'as in the battle of Greenway.' But what it meant he did not know.

  The demon prince was sure his undead would stop Margawt but the Morigu began to cut through them with the same maniacal fury that had thrown the goblins in such confusion. Behind Apkieran, the hill was covered in a swirl of natural light in colors--if they could be called that--that were unfamiliar even to the demon. Arianrood could not help until she pierced the veils of the illusion. It was up to him.

  In front of him, staked to the ground, were thirteen figures inside of a hexagram. On the six points rested males: a baby, a child of four, a boy of twelve, a young man of twenty-one, an older man of forty, and an old one of seventy years. Staked in the six small triangles, heads nearly touching the others, were six females of the same ages. In the middle lay a priest of Fealoth; he represented the hope of supernatural intervention.

  Apkieran nodded once and his twelve most powerful wraiths descended upon the terrified humans in an orgy of violence and pain. The demon prince strode to the center and with his bleeding ax began to flail the priest. As the humans' cries reached a peak, Apkieran soaked in the horror and transferred it to his troops--undead, goblins, and wolves. All went into a berserk fury. Screaming in foul voices they charged to meet the host attacking them.

  The attackers were stopped short by the enemy and repulsed completely. As the warriors tried to regroup a horrific shriek was heard, and Dorrenlassarslany's voice reverberated about the field.

  "The unmaker! The unmaker!" Men and elves watched in horror as the Morigu and his mount were buried under an avalanche of the undead. The tiny pyridin sped through the enemy's ranks, nearly matching the Morigu's speed as he tried desperately to'get to Margawt. Dorrenlassarslany did not fight; he dodged and pranced, ran, crawled--his voice a long wail that brought shudders to both armies.

  "Arianrood!" Mearead's voice boomed out, and the host cried as one and charged again. The dwarf king leaped off his mount and pushed through the goblins, his ax a great scythe of destruction. On came the men and elves, foot by bloody foot. The enemy contested every step, and imbued by Apkieran's magic, did not retreat. The Shadow Lord led a great charge of undead on the left flank, and Cucullin and Donal were pushed back.

  The cries and crashing of weapons were deafening. Niall, Mathwei at his side, countercharged the Shadow
Lord and forced the undead back. The center and right flank of the human/elven army merged and pressed on. Under the weight of numbers they pushed the enemy back.

  Then a great light blinded everyone momentarily, and with a cry, a third of the Stalker mages burst into flames. The maker, who rode at the front of the army, was thrown to the ground, his horse dead beneath him. The hunter leaped to protect him, and using only a pair of clawed cestus, defended the unconscious body of his friend.

  The men despaired as the illusion was broken and many found themselves fighting alongside an empty saddle; or worse, both horse and man disappeared. The horses, freed from the Stalker power, went berserk, many fleeing toward the city.

  Mearead pounded the earth with his hands, and calling all his power, shattered the ground into great rifts for a hundred yards in front of him. Just then, the Morigu, covered with gore, rose up on his mount.

  'To me, to me!" he cried, and as one, every elf spurred his mount and moved toward the center. Lonnlarcan and Bairbre blasted the enemy's magic and the Dark Host's left flank collapsed.

  For another hour the battle seesawed back and forth. Arianrood used her strength to hold her army together, freeing Apkieran to take command.

  Such was the terror of the demon prince and his twelve dark wraiths, that again the defenders of Tolan were thrown back. Several of the Stalkers were able to retreat with the wounded maker. In order to give them a chance to escape Conlath ap Lathe led a charge at the undead lord. The brave warrior was impaled on a black spear and his men retreated in confusion.

  But the hunter continued forward, supported by a handful of his own monks. Right into the ranks of the wraiths they pressed, but their powers were useless against such creatures, and the hunter's broken body was thrown at Apkieran's feet.

  The Morigu rode through but was unhorsed by three of the wraiths and his mount was separated from him. Even as he strove to rise, Margawt heard Dorrenlassarslany's piercing cry and the little creature threw itself at Apkieran.