Black wizards - Douglas Niles [154]
The ogre brigade had moved down from the north to camp at the base of their hill on that side, and to the east the human mercenaries of the Scarlet Guard had made camp, cutting off escape inland.
The Prince of Corwell knew that his victory over the king's force, if it were to happen, would have to come here. But he faced the fact with grim acceptance: It was far more likely that the battle would lead to the deaths of them all.
* * * * *
The hard ground prevented Alexei from sleeping comfortably, as it had for the last several nights. He awakened well before dawn, chill and stiff beneath his woolen blanket, listening to the sounds of the slumbering camp.
And then he felt something else – a presence not of this camp, but near it. It settled upon him uneasily, banishing all thoughts of sleep. He arose and threw a robe over his shoulders, shivering in the pre-dawn chill. He suspected the nature of his uneasiness, but he stood still for several minutes, staring to the north until he could be certain.
Cyndre was near.
Alexei had studied and mastered the spellbooks of Annuwynn. His hands, while not as limber as they once were, had recovered sufficiently to allow him to use his magic quickly and easily. And now was the time.
A startled sentry saw Alexei disappear from sight. No one saw him reappear several miles to the north on an empty stretch of coastline. His intuition had served him well – he heard the rumbling of wagons and the tread of heavy footfalls nearby.
Invisible, the mage walked toward the column that gradually materialized out of the darkness. He stepped to the side to avoid a galloping outrider. The man did not slow down as he passed, but his horse gave a startled whinny as it caught the unseen wizard's scent.
Alexei stopped less than a hundred feet from the road and watched the king's army. He saw the ogres tromp past, and then the rest of the Scarlet Guard. The king's coach rolled into sight, and he saw the green aura surrounding it. No matter – he had a different target in mind.
Finally, he saw the eight black horses and the long wagon that carried the council of sorcerers. Many times he had ridden in that wagon with his companions to serve some whim of Cyndre's. Now, he expected, Wertam, Talraw, and Kerianow were in there. They had done nothing in particular to arouse Alexei's anger, but that was quite unnecessary. Their deaths would anger Cyndre, and that was justification enough for the sorcerer.
"Pyrax surass Histar," he said, pointing at the coach.
The little marble of fire floated from his fingertip, wafting casually toward the council's wagon. He waited until the spot of light touched the door of the long coach.
"Byrassyll."
Light shot through the darkness, casting long shadows over the members of the king's army. Searing heat followed as the fireball expanded to engulf the coach and its horses. The fire was too hot to grant its victims more than the briefest of tormented screams.
Moments later, the coach and its occupants were nothing but ashes on the ground. Panic spread through the column as troops and outriders scurried to find the attacker.
But he was already gone.
The hand of Bhaal reached forward. Eagerly, the god nudged the players in his game. Things were progressing splendidly, and he relished the approach of his ultimate victory.
The sahuagin swarmed from the surf at a dozen little villages along the coast of western Callidyrr. They emerged awkwardly from the rolling breakers, stumbling onto the gravelly beaches and struggling to adapt their gills to breathing air. But this they did quickly, flexing those wide organs open as they slipped among the houses and harbors of the villages.
They killed quickly, without emotion. Any man, woman or child they met was swiftly slashed to death by claws and razor-sharp teeth, or impaled. The younger bodies were devoured, and any items of gold or silver were plundered. Then the sahuagin returned to the sea.
Searching, they swam along the coast and gathered