Pools of Darkness - James M Brown [40]
The crazed red mage was right about one thing, the skeletal warrior thought. The ogres, orcs, and trolls were the best troops he commanded. They would carry the day if anything could.
"Look there, Brittle," Marcus said, pointing, "why aren't those two hundred skeletons in the front lines with the rest of the undead troops?"
Brittle's answer was short and curt. The less he said, the less his chances of revealing his contempt for the wizard. "Reserves. In any battle, reserves are crucial." Then, staring down at his leader, the skeleton took the opportunity to end Marcus's lecturing. "I must go now to lead the ogres into battle. With your permission?"
"Of course-go, you tower of bones. Do me proud, and I will command the pit fiend to restore you to life. I will personally lead the reserve forces into the fight when needed. You needn't worry about them. They will be well commanded."
A shudder slithered up the fleshless spine of the skeletal warrior. The thought of this bag of water leading anything didn't please him. In centuries past, Brittle had controlled a hundred wizards like Marcus and had forced them to do little more than ensure clear weather. Now, he was forced to follow such a man's orders.
Although the skeletal commander hoped the mage wouldn't lead the reserve units to disaster, Brittle gave up the notion of depending on that portion of the army to do anything worthwhile. He marched down the hill to lead the waiting army.
Up on the rise, Marcus was still giddy with anticipation. His armies had to win today. Bane wouldn't tolerate many more delays. In the few communications the pit fiend had had with the god, Marcus learned that some of the other captured cities had also managed to resist the god's grasp. He was relieved that Phlan wasn't the only city holding out. One town filled with spellcasters had even managed to transport itself back to Faerun. The Red Wizard hoped the distraction of the other cities would help fend off the god's wrath until Marcus could conquer Phlan.
The wizard's mood was dampened slightly as he surveyed his troops. "Where is that fourth squad of mercenaries? I thought we counted about fifteen hundred human troops coming up to the tower. I hope that pit fiend didn't eat them or something. It would be just like him to eat the best troops. Well. No matter. It's time to put the fear of Red Wizards in the hearts of my enemies. Xanotos, kartaalomi, tysrius flarigraasi!"
The upper third of the huge cave was suddenly filled with a ball of fire thousands of yards tall and wide. The blinding light of the magical flames blasted forth as bright as the sun. The inferno at the top of the cavern gradually began to form familiar images and scenes.
The flames writhed and created blood-red towers and gates identical to the walls and towers of Phlan, which rested a mile below on the floor of the cavern. More flames took the forms of molten figures of men, orcs, ogres, and trolls, taller and more powerful than the real things. The scorching armies charged against the flaming towers and walls high in the sky. A magical battle began between the flaming forces representing Phlan's guards on the walls and the molten armies of the Red Wizard. In seconds, the molten forces tore down the gates and broke through the walls, streaming into the city like a river of lava.
"A splendid effect!" sighed Marcus. The spell was a bit more than he had planned, but if his magical show of power frightened the defenders and inspired his own troops, his efforts were well worth the cost of his magical reserves.
Waves of searing heat blasted down on the Red Wizard's army. The trolls, particularly vulnerable to fire, cowered in fear. The orcs, ogres, and humans stood at sweaty attention, frightened by the display. Hundreds