Alongside unusually high Intelligence, she also had a reasonably high Constitution and — linked to her Skill — solid Dexterity. Most of the Skills she inherited from her family were various flavours of , and , and she had done everything she could to raise their levels.

  Thus, stood before Swinford’s walls, Angharad had been the epitome of a Withertop Mage. But something had fundamentally changed under that attack.

  It was not just that she had lost some Skills; she had enough of them, after all. It was more that she had become less . . . versatile. On the other hand, she seemed to have become much better at a few very specific things.

  For someone who had spent their life being a jack-of-all-trades, there was something quite intriguing about potential mastery.

  The others in the command tent, who had fled when her power started to leak out of her in such an unnerving way, had returned. She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Mage, are you well?”

  Angharad looked up into Souit’s broad face, noting genuine concern in his eyes. “I think so, my Lord. Someone within the Keep would appear to have reacted poorly to my interference.”

  “But you were able to drive them off?”

  “Hardly. Such was its power that — if we did not know differently — I would have assumed the Duskstrider himself was behind it. However, for whatever reason, the attack ended just as my end was assured. But . . .”

  “Mage, pregnant pauses are not exactly welcome at this stage of proceedings.”

  “Apologies, my Lord. I am trying to make sense of what has occurred. Their attack, somehow, has made changes to my build. I do not believe this was an intended effect — they surely were seeking my death — but the outcome is quite extraordinary.”

  “Which is?”

  “I appear to have evolved into an Archmage.”

  *

  Degralk rolled his neck and took another deep breath.

  He pushed his memories of the last few minutes away. There would be time to process the horror of battling the undead. He could not let his mind, nor those of his soldiers, pause on that right now. After all, it was one thing to cut down an enemy; it was quite another to fight against the corpse of a comrade.

  No, he could not think about it.

  For now, he had a mission to complete.

  Swinford’s defenders had done what they could to barricade the door to the Keep, but he was confident they could retake the ground they had abandoned. He just had to hope there were no more unwelcome surprises.

  And what was that damn rattling noise?

  Looking around, he saw his Sergeants pulling the men back into something approaching an appropriate formation. There was a wariness in the eyes of the men, though. And who could blame them after what they had just been through? It would take a heart of stone to order them to attack again. But that was what he was going to do.

  What he would not give for a Motivational Skill right now.

  Well, the situation was not going to improve by worrying about it. He strode to the front of the forming line, turned and drove his pike into the ground.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get back to killing some flesh-and-blood traitors!”

  There was a lukewarm cheer, with most avoiding his eyes. It was as bad as he thought.

  “I know how you feel, but somewhere in that Keep is the person who has just put us through that. They think they’ve won. They can see us shuffling about and think they’ve broken us. Are they right?”

  Silence.

  He added an edge to his voice. “Hear me. No one should have to experience what we’ve just gone through. No one. All of you have just had to fight the remains of your friends. And I am so, so sorry for that.”

  More silence.

  “But whose fault was it? Was it yours?”

  A few no’s chorused back.

  “I said, was it your fault? Did you deserve to go through that?”

  There was a louder response this time.

  “How about those we had to slay again? Did they deserve to have their rest disturbed? Did they, who had so bravely fought and died, deserve that desecration?”

  Men were standing straighter, and their voices barked their defiant answer of no.

  “No. I don’t think so either. I think I want someone to pay for that. And all I know is that person is in that building. And I would like to make their acquaintance. Albeit briefly. Any of you fancy joining me on that mission?”

  Shields struck the ground in a cacophony of anger.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  A knot released in his stomach. He was not wholly sure what to do next if they did not get behind him. A solitary lone charge, perhaps? “Pikemen, you’re with me. Form up at the front. We advance in a staggered line, double-marching to that barricade. No matter what happens, we will hold that door.”

  He turned towards his small group of saboteurs, grim men and women who were, largely, what was left over from the Spymistress’s force. They had their own scores to settle with the defenders of the City. “Sappers, you’ll be coming in with us on that first push. We need swift clearing out of that debris. Be vigilant for traps, hidden dangers, and anything that smells like a rune.”

  They all nodded in reply, faces set in expressionless masks.

  “Captain Gukrun, you have the reserve infantry. You stand ready to charge the moment we have a sufficient opening. Nothing fancy; as soon as the door goes down, you start clearing them out. I don’t want any quarter offered to anyone who tries to fight back, but neither do I want civilian deaths. We’re the King’s Army, after all. They’re the traitors who’ve just used Necromancy. Let’s ensure everyone knows who the good guys are in this.”

  Gukrun raised her chin in acknowledgement. She was a solid choice for such hot work. Vicious without being uncontrolled. Speaking of which . . .

  “Sergeant Cristum, get yourself up and on those walls. Take anyone with you that you fancy has a talent for that work. I was minded to let those blasted archers be, but they enjoyed themselves far too much during that last assault. I don’t need any prisoners.”

  The rest of the men rumbled their approval.

  “Listen up, everyone. We’re angry. We want revenge, and by the Goddess, I mean to get some. But the only way that happens is that we maintain our discipline. We’re the King’s Army, not a barbarian rabble. Our strength lies in speed, ferocity and commitment. We go through that breach swiftly and forcefully and then take it from room to room. You all know your roles and it’s going to be messy. Maintain your formations, watch for ambushes, and trust in your training.”

  He took one last moment to look down the lines. “Beyond everything else, remember who we are.”

  Well, time to go all in. “And go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Rallying Cry”

  Daine descended the stairs of the Keep as if walking in a dream.

  With every downward step, the strange novelty of her new Class was again brought home.

  She could tell that her Strength had significantly increased: after all, she had accidentally ripped Donal’s room door off its hinges when she left. Following her Class Evolution from a Farmer, it had taken her several weeks to be less casually destructive to Gant’s fittings and furniture. She sincerely hoped she would adjust more quickly this time around. The middle of a battle was hardly the time to figure out new physical limits.

  However, beyond just being stronger, she was already noticing distinct differences in other aspects of her mind and body. As a Knight of the Road, she had felt . . . there was no better word for it than “bulky”. Her Orban genes already ensured she was tall, wide-shouldered and broad of beam, and then her Class had further emphasised those features, making her move with all the subtlety of a siege engine. Of course, much of the time, the situations in which she found herself benefitted from her uniquely robust frame.

  When she’d asked about the physical change following her first Evolution, Gant had explained that “none of you Knights have got enough Dexterity to balance up your Strength. You’re quick in a fight, aye, but there’s a difference between being fast and being supple. It’s why you all walk like you’re carrying barrels under your arms.”

  But now . . . now Daine felt like she was moving with a grace quite alien to her previous experience. Indeed, the simple act of walking was proving to be a revelation. She found herself instinctively placing her foot in just the right place. With each step, she was always perfectly balanced on the balls of her feet and knew that if the occasion demanded it, she could spring forward or leap back instantly. As someone used to pressing uncompromisingly forward, it was not quite like learning to walk anew, but it was not too far away.

  She was assuming a commensurate improvement to her Constitution. But she would need the coming fight to retake the gatehouse to learn more about that. Thinking of those fighting below, she quickened her — exceptionally well-balanced — steps.

  However, it was in her Skillset where there had been the most radical changes. She had known she would gain two new Skills — and . Both of these were considered superb — and extremely rare — party buffs. The first helped boost the offensive Stats of all troops fighting in the caster’s party. Considering its powerful effect, it had a reasonably quick cooldown, and was intended to be used to decisively turn the tide of battle. She had expected a fairly small casting area for such a significant boost, but it did not seem like that was the case. She could be wrong, but it felt like she could cast this over a substantial portion of Swinford in one go. Daine had often heard Gant swear about the “broken Skills” some Classes possessed. looked like it might well be one of them.

  Her second new Skill was less welcome. It appeared to be linked to drastically improving morale. It was not quite the mirror of the rune that Donal had carved into the length and breadth of Swinford’s walls, but it was in the same conceptual area. From what Daine knew of this Skill, it was usually gained by the High Priests of the more fanatical cults. When triggered, it would ensure that those in its effect area — which was again very broad — would fight well past the time when injury and pain should cause them to fall. Having had to slaughter more than one cult whose members were empowered by , Daine was not sure she would be casting that any time soon. She felt a great distaste for what Donal had done with the fallen this day, and was just creating more Soulless but by another name.

  However, it was not the new Skills that startled her the most, but one that had undergone a profound change.

  was not a Skill she had ever much enjoyed using. With her size, Strength, and reputation, it always felt like overkill when she chose to activate this aura. It was somewhat like throwing a man from the top of a high cliff and shooting an arrow after him as he plummeted. She only tended to use it when she wanted to be left alone — which, of course, was most of the time — but she had never found it especially helpful for discharging her duties.

  With her Class Evolution, however, had been upgraded to something called .

  Daine had not heard of this Skill, which was unusual in itself. It was one of the central tenets of the training of the Knights of the Road: they needed to be familiar with everything that could possibly be brought against them. Being Resistant to magical effects did not mean you could become blase about such things. The last thing a solitary Knight on Tour needed was to come up against an exotic Skill and have no idea how to combat it. “Those that don’t study get dead” was a pretty on-the-nose bit of advice from the past that she had seen come true on more than one occasion.

  Daine was aware of other Skills but had never heard of one that appeared to be so explicitly connected to the Goddess. Judging by its cooldown of a day, it seemed likely to have a powerful effect. But, again, it did not seem that the middle of a battle was the best time to explore it. If she hoped for her patron to have any words of advice about the new Skill, she was to be disappointed.

  There was the sound of increased fighting below, and she moved even faster, again revelling in her complete sureness of foot.

  Within moments, she had reached the ground floor and took in the sight before her.

  The King’s Army had rallied effectively, and the fighting on the threshold of the Keep was proving too hot for the defenders. Donal and the Blacksmiths had fashioned some metal boxes for the men and women of Swinford to fight from within, which explained how they had managed to hold their own against professional soldiers for so long.

  But discipline and training tended to overcome most obstacles, and noting that the defenders were sorely pressed, Daine activated the first of her new Skills and waded into the press.

  *

  Degralk thudded the end of his pike into a defender’s head and watched them drop, as if boneless, to the floor.

  The assault was taking longer than he’d anticipated, as everyone on the other side of the door seemed to be encased in some sort of metal cage. He and his fellow Pikemen were holding the doorway, but the infantry who had surged past them appeared to be making heavy weather of it. He was just preparing to lead a charge to add his men’s weight in support when he heard a change in the sound of the battle.

  A good commander — and he was a very good commander indeed — could literally hear the moment the enemy was about to rout. He would not be able to explain how he knew, but it was as distinct a sound as any in the world.

  But on this occasion, and to his dismay, it was his own men he sensed preparing to flee.

  Eager to shore things up, he shouldered his way through what was left of the door, knocking defenders flying, and cast about to see the state of things.

  At first sight, his sense of impending disaster made no sense. Gukrun’s infantry had established decent positions within the Keep itself. The entryway was secured, and there was fierce fighting around the various other doorways. Although those encased in the ridiculous metal boxes were proving difficult to dislodge, that was nothing that time and training would not resolve.

  And then he saw her, taking the last few steps down from the stone staircase.

  Darkhelm.

  The spreading panic amongst his men now made much more sense.

  Her very presence seemed to be transforming the course of things, with the defenders suddenly attacking with new vigour and energy. If he did not know better, he would have thought those he faced had all, at the same time, taken a whole host of Stamina potions. Their movements were sped up, and their weight behind their attacks seemed much heavier. Even those inside the goddess-damned metal cases were suddenly more mobile than seemed credible.

  But these newly refreshed defenders were the least of his problems.

  His men around the Darkhelm were falling backwards as if they were ice melting in the path of a volcano. He saw Infantrymen falling over themselves to get out of her path, and he could not blame them. He had always wondered what it would feel like to go up against one of these appalling monsters up close. He never conceived it would have been like this.

  And she had not even raised her sword.

  One of his Sergeants tugged on his arm. “Sir, it’s the Darkhelm. We must pull back. We need more support.”

  Degralk shrugged her off. “No. Reform the line. We need to hold here!” He blocked a swinging axe with the shaft of his pike and dropped to a knee to sweep the attacker’s feet from under them. Standing, he turned to carry on issuing his instructions, but there was no longer anyone at his shoulder. Looking back towards the doorway, he could see his men seeking to force their way back through, crushing each other in their desperation to escape.

  The defenders were closing in on him, and he bared his teeth in defiance. He had no intention of letting them take him alive. And then the press of men parted, and the Darkhelm was in front of him.

  He activated his Skill, pointed his pike and planted his feet. Storied warrior she might be, but he’d never been forced to take a backward step in his life. If these were to be his last moments, he was going out the way he lived.

  However, with a movement he barely registered, her hand shot out, taking hold of his weapon, pulling it from his grip. She clenched her fist, splintering the heavy shaft into firewood.

  He met her eyes, golden light pouring from them and framing her face in a halo.

  In wonder, he shook his head. “We never stood a chance. Just get it over with.”

  The voice that answered him did not sound quite human. “On the contrary, Major Degralk. We are only just beginning.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Calamity Upon Calamity”

  The rushing stream of men and women fleeing the Keep did not so much as pause at the gatehouse. Despite the best efforts of those holding that fallback position, there was simply no reasoning with those engaged in a madcap, panicked retreat. It was far more than just the expected temporary loss of discipline during a rout. Whatever had occurred within the Keep had terrorised these soldiers out of their senses.

  Souit shook his head at the news. “I don’t suppose there is any sign of Major Degralk?”

  “He has not been seen amongst those exiting the Keep. There are, however, confirmed reports of him preparing to engage the Darkhelm directly.”

  The messenger was delicate enough not to add what was the assumed outcome of that unwise confrontation.

  Turning to Angharad, the Great General raised his eyebrows. “Does our new Archmage have any words of advice?”

  The young woman pursed her lips in thought. “The Darkhelm is formidable, but our men have faced her during this siege without such a dramatic loss of unit cohesion. It seems unlikely her mere presence would have caused what is being seen. I did, however, sense a significant outpouring of power just before our troops reentered the Keep. I would suggest whatever has so terrified the men will be linked to that. The arrival of the Darkhelm could be a coincidence.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34