Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [67]
A sword Joram bore, but it did not shine. When he called for battle and the people gathered around him, it seemed to those watching that he held a fragment of the night in his hands. His face was dark and unyielding as the metal of the weapon he carried. There was no call to glory in his words or the grim tone in which they were spoken.
“This will not be a day celebrated in legend and song. If we fail, there will be no more songs….”
He was dressed in the white robes of those who escort the dead to their final rest—the white robes of a pallbearer. The magi and the catalysts who heard his words that day knew that they went forward without hope, even as he had gone forward into Beyond.
“You are fighting an enemy who is not of this world. You are fighting an enemy who is Dead, an enemy who can deal death with the swiftness of a lightning bolt. Your only advantage is your Life. Use it wisely, for when it is gone you will be at their mercy.”
When Joram’s voice ceased, there were no cheers. Silence shrouded the magi, silence broken only by the hissing of the light beams cutting through the ice and the fearsome rumblings of the creatures of iron. When the magi went forth into battle, they went in silence.
According to Joram’s orders, the wall of ice came down. Spells had to be cast, and the wall was draining the Life from the magi and their catalysts. Each warlock, witch, and wizard from that point on was responsible for his or her own means of protection from the deadly light beams.
Acting on Joram’s advice, some became invisible. Though this would not protect them from death should a beam strike them, he said, they were not obvious targets and they could sneak up upon the enemy unobserved. Others protected themselves from the heat-seeking “eyes” of the monsters by surrounding themselves with their own ice walls or causing their body temperatures to drop drastically. Still others turned themselves into were-animals, fearsome beasts who attacked their prey before the victims knew what was upon them.
As in the ancient days, catalysts were changed into familiars—small animals who traveled with the magi, able to hide easily in bushes or the limbs of trees or beneath rocks.
Using the Corridors that Prince Garald forced the Thon-li to open, the magi took the field, dividing up, spreading out, fighting in small groups. There had not been time to plan complex strategy. Joram ordered hit-and-run tactics designed to confuse the enemy and keep him off-guard. Once on the field of battle, he and Prince Garald traveled the Corridors, going from group to group, advising them on the best means of fighting.
Joram showed the Duuk-tsarith how to cast lightning so that it would kill the creatures of iron, not strike their iron scales harmlessly as it had done before.
“See that part of the creature where the head is attached to the body? Like the soft underbelly of the dragon, that is the place where it is most vulnerable. Cast the lightning bolts there, not against the scales.”
The warlocks did so and were astounded to see the creatures of iron explode, catch fire, and burn.
“Use the Green Venom spell,” Joram counseled the witch “The creatures have a vulnerable spot on top of their heads. Cover that with the poisonous liquid and watch.”
Though this seemed absurd—after all, the poison affected living flesh, not metal—the witch did as she was ordered. A gesture of her delicate hand caused the green, burning liquid to coat the top of the creature of iron as it would coat the skin of a human victim. To her amazement, the witch saw the head of the creature burst open. Screaming in pain, the strange humans flung themselves out of it, their skin covered with the green poison that had apparently seeped through the top of the creature’s head, dripping on the humans concealed inside.
At Joram’s command, the druids sent the forest into battle. Giant oak trees with the strength born of centuries heaved themselves from the ground and lumbered forward to the attack. Catching one of the creatures of iron, their huge roots