Pools of Darkness - James M Brown [86]
"You wizards and clerics, advance on those infidels and dispel their pitiful magics. What do you think I'm paying you for? Get busy!" Marcus's voice boomed instructions.
Ston, Tulen, and the other defenders on the wall snorted throaty laughs upon hearing the rantings of the enemy leader. Few things were better than knowing your foe was unhappy with the turn of the battle.
An ancient, grizzled warrior named Rakmar lifted his mask to spit over the wall, aiming at one of the minions. He was well over seventy years old and should have been retired to easier work, but Rakmar had a special duty in the most critical battles. No one could rival Rakmar's skill in the task he had performed for over forty years. He ordered his team to ready their catapult for an extra-long shot. Then his graveled voice barked out the order his men had been waiting for all day. "Load Big Brors into the dish, boys. I'm going to hit me some wizards." The men cheered and busied themselves around the catapult.
Big Brors was rolled out. It was an enormous, cone-shaped sculpture of solid granite. Ten men were needed to load it into the catapult. No one could aim Brors like Rakmar. The old warrior had a sixth sense about that weapon of granite death.
Rakmar patted the cone fondly. Over its many years of battle, the boys of the catapult team had lovingly named the huge rock and had chiseled and painted personal mementoes on its coarse surface. Now the warrior ran a callused hand over forty years of memories and victories. Used in every battle, Big Brors was always collected after the skirmish was over and returned to this same catapult unit.
Rakmar carefully checked the position of the granite cone in its cradle. With the experience of four decades, the old warrior scurried around the catapult, adjusting cranks and levers, checking and rechecking, until he was sure everything was just right. Grunting in satisfaction, he stepped back and told the boys to wait for the signal to fire.
Ston and Tulen took turns watching their post and the catapult team, anticipating the rock's flight and glorious devastation. The catapulters stood silently and nervously, awaiting their moment of glory.
Back on Marcus's side of the field, wizards and clerics surged forward. They were not a united group; it was every man for himself as each wizard hustled to be the first to create a spectacular effect that would attract the attention and gratitude of Marcus. Fellow spellcasters were as much the enemy to these selfish men and women as were the citizens of Phlan. Their desire for fame prevented them from working as a team and instead fostered a dire rivalry.
One evil wizard, Thar Kuul, had risen to a high station in the red mage's forces. He despised Marcus and thought him a fool, but the Red Wizard of Thay was the best chance for power anywhere in Faerun. Thar would play anyone's game if it meant success in the end. This dark wizard had even coerced the pit fiend into teaching him some powerful spells. After several lengthy conversations with the fiend, Thar Kuul had decided he would some day take control of the fiend from Marcus and dispose of the little Red Wizard. That was an endeavor for the future. Right now, he had to play obedient servant.
Thar charged forward in determination. He would show the clerics and wizards around him what a truly talented wizard could do. He had selected his most powerful and most spectacular spells for the occasion.
As the dark wizard neared Phlan's walls, he immediately noticed the blackened stone. Oil, he assumed. The defenders obviously planned to torch the walls during the assault. But he knew a spell that would extinguish that effect before the pathetic defenders even knew what happened. Striding ahead of the pack of spellcasters and moving around the