Darkwell - Douglas Niles [139]
Still the blue flame crackled and sizzled around them. Robyn remained immobile, her mouth wide, her eyes panic-stricken, full of disbelief and pain.
The parchment of the scroll burst into flame, and even Tristan could feel the heat from the fire. Now Robyn broke from her spell, screaming in terror, tumbling back against one of the statues to fall, sobbing, onto the ground. The flames consuming the parchment slowly faded, and the last of the Scrolls of Arcanus fluttered in useless ashes through the air, drifting on an eddy of wind to land in the black waters of the Darkwell.
* * * * *
Randolph spurred his panting mount over the last rise before Corwell Town, thankful that the storm had diminished somewhat. A strong sense of urgency gripped him, and as he crested the low hill, he knew why.
He saw immediately that Corwell was under attack, and the attackers had come from the sea. He kicked the horse into a desperate gallop, and the animal gave its last strength to streak over the snow-covered moor, pounding frantically toward the town.
The captain could see a black haze, almost like smoke, hanging over the town. He saw warriors and women and children – indeed, the entire populace – fleeing from the city through its gates, or even over the walls. Then he heard the droning of the smoke, though he could still not believe its nature.
But as the horse staggered up to the town's south gate, he saw the tiny creatures that made up the cloud, and he instantly realized that powerful sorcery was at work.
"Rally 'round me, men of Corwell!" he cried, brandishing his sword among the crowd of fleeing warriors. He pulled hard on the reins, and somehow the tired horse found the strength to rear, pawing the air with its forehooves in a brazen challenge.
"To the attack!" Randolph leaped to the ground and started toward the narrow gate.
"Wait! You'll be killed!" Lord Mayor Dinsmore, among the fleeing warriors, pushed himself forward to the captain's side. "They have powerful sorcery! The enemy are not even alive! They're walking dead! Flight is the only hope!"
"Nonsense!" growled the captain. "We'll just have to kill them again! Follow me!"
He charged through the gate, heartened by the score or so of men who followed. More and more of the Ffolk saw his solitary advance and fell into rank, until the course of the rout had been reversed.
Randolph still carried the Crown of the Isles in the burlap sack, tied securely around his waist, but he gave the artifact no thought as he plunged into combat with a sea-bloated zombie. Nevertheless, the crown had a most pronounced effect as he moved onto the battlefield.
As the captain pushed into the city, the buzzing and biting insects of the plague began to fall dead in droves. A circle of immunity, with the captain at its heart, broke the effect of the spell in an ever-growing ring around him. Within minutes, not a single of the conjured insects remained in the air.
But the dead of the sea continued to advance. Even without the aid of dark magic, they far outnumbered the fighters of Corwell. Behind them, entering the town and spreading across the moors, came the horrible shapes of the sahuagin, merciless in their killing frenzy, savage in their pursuit of any human foe.
The Ffolk fought bravely, and their captain fed them well. The men of Koart's and Dynnatt's companies rallied with the men of the town, but even together the humans were pushed back, and the dead and their masters claimed the town.
* * * * *
Hobarth cursed the cruel fates that had given him the incompetent aid of Pontswain, for he understood exactly what had happened as his insect plague died away. Somehow the Crown of the Isles was back in Corwell. His powerful enchantments would be useless.
But that certainly did not mean the battle was lost. From his high vantage point, he watched the battle in the streets and saw the Ffolk driven from their town by the combined forces of the undead and the sahuagin.