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the wall, the Chancellor General had the impression that he was leaping into the hot-
breathed mouth of some enormous prone Abyssal, its awful gums lined with long, fiery
teeth. And then he saw that terrible beast's teeth loose themselves and launch in short, fast
arcs directly into the riders.
aimed, it seemed, at the soul-beasts they rode. And as soon as the hands had released one
incandescent javelin another appeared. Some immediately found their mark, penetrating
deep into the breasts of the oncoming souls, disappearing with a brilliant, orange glow
within their bodies, and cleaving them from within. Their bubbling screams of pain rose
above the sounds of the battlefield as they turned and twisted in agony. The soul-
centurions were barking orders incessantly, guiding the blind weapon-wielding hands to
their targets. Adramalik clenched his jaws as he wheeled his mount. This was not meant
to have happened; we were meant to have breached the wall and streamed into the enemy
forces. He felt an uncontrollable mixture of anger and disappointment rising within him
and found himself beating his moaning steed upon the head with the hilt of his saber in
frustration. Furcas! It has to be Furcas the Pyromancer's doing!
The heavy cavalry was in complete disarray. With their forward momentum checked
there was no chance of them bounding over the wall and into the ranks of troops beyond.
Instead their bodies crashed into one another and the buckling wall and made turning
extraordinarily difficult. But turn they eventually did, amidst a deadly rain of fiery
missiles that took a heavy toll upon them. And from the corner of his eye the Chancellor
General saw that even though it had suffered minor damage, the wall still stood firm.
A red command-glyph soared skyward and split into a dozen smaller replicas of itself.
The command to retreat and regroup!
Within the tangle of demons and soul-steeds he looked for the order's source. He found
Moloch by his size and brilliant sigil-corona, some distance away and visible in his own
maelstrom of pivoting cavalry, spinning away as well, and Adramalik could only imagine
the blinding rage that must have been filling the general. That the general, for all his
boldness and ferocity, had been brushed so easily aside by a simple subterfuge spoke
volumes about both him and Sargatanas. Adramalik's hatred for Moloch cut so deep that
even as the cavalry began to regain a semblance of order he found this inglorious retreat
an ironic, bitter pleasure. Favorite or not, Moloch would hear much about it from his
Prince.
The javelins were now arcing higher, whistling up over Adramalik's head and landing
among the rearmost mounted demons. Without waiting for orders, they were breaking
and heading back toward their camp, forming up into ragged, surging groups, which
suddenly found themselves heading directly into their own oncoming legions. Adramalik
saw javelins hitting his demons, blasting their heads from their shoulders, sinking deep
within their chests, and blowing them asunder, the shattered chunks of their bodies falling
all around him. The din of destruction seemed ceaseless, the missiles limitless, until
Adramalik had finally drawn out of range. Decimated as the cavalry was, he knew, as he
plunged ahead, that those legions marching directly in their path were about to experience
the unchecked impact of the panicked battalions. He saw his Knights issue hasty orders
and thought he saw the great formations begin to turn. But he knew it would be too late.
A thousand steps back from the wall the two forces collided and, just as he had
anticipated, the foot soldiers suffered beyond measure. Trying desperately to evade the
cavalry, Moloch's legions' orderly ranks were torn apart, dragged under the hands and
feet of the frantic mounts, and crushed into rubble. Adramalik's own soul-steed leaped
and dodged wildly and he dug his horn-shod heels in to stay atop it. Growling, he shook
his head angrily.
The destruction lasted just as long, the Chancellor General guessed, as it took Moloch to
realize that a complete disaster would ensue if he did nothing. Adramalik was waiting for
the order, and when it did rise into the sky he raised his saber high overhead, pointed it
downward at the back of his steed's head, and plunged its fire-hot length deep into the
beast's skull. As it crumpled to the ground with a whining exhalation of breath, he felt no
remorse, no sense of loss. These were souls, skin-sacks; they were meant to be used and
destroyed. Let the Abyssals pick at it, he thought as he extricated himself from the saddle
and walked away.
Looking across the field, Adramalik saw the other cavalrydemons dismounting from their
now largely inert soul-steeds. Some demons were hacking angrily at their twitching
bodies in a rage of frustration.
With the destruction of the mounts, the havoc within the beleaguered legions of Dis
ended abruptly and for a few moments the only sounds were those of the seriously
crushed soldiers crumbling away. Adramalik and the other cavalrydemons found
themselves standing among the barely controllable legionaries whose fury had been
aroused by the frenzy of annihilation that had swept over them. But so cowed were they
by the presence of the scarlet-armored Knights of the Fly that they dared not act on their
rage.
Adramalik ordered his Knights to integrate themselves and the remaining dismounted
cavalry into the legions and to assume command. Thus bolstered, the legions would come
closer to their original strength and under the leadership of his Knights, resented as they
were, might regain their confidence. Or so he hoped.
The Chancellor General saw the cohesion of the legions returning and then saw Moloch
approaching, baton in hand, striding easily upon his wing-stilts over the rubble and
towering above the infantry. The anger was written upon his blood-dark face and his eyes
bore something aside from the normal film of resentment. Is it disappointment?
Adramalik could barely repress his satisfaction.
"What, Chancellor General? Have you something to say?"
"Not I, Grand General. But our Prince surely will."
Moloch snorted.
And then, almost to himself, the ex-god said, "Even without the cavalry we have
sufficient numbers to absorb casualties. We will overwhelm them and finish this ... in the
name of the Prince."
For a moment the two demons' eyes locked. Would it be so hard, right here and now, to
order this legion to destroy him to send him to the Pit where he belongs? They would
obey me ... and follow me into battle. But, Adramalik reasoned, there would be too many
questions from the Prince regarding his champion, too much suspicion. There were easier
ways. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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the wall, the Chancellor General had the impression that he was leaping into the hot-
breathed mouth of some enormous prone Abyssal, its awful gums lined with long, fiery
teeth. And then he saw that terrible beast's teeth loose themselves and launch in short, fast
arcs directly into the riders.
aimed, it seemed, at the soul-beasts they rode. And as soon as the hands had released one
incandescent javelin another appeared. Some immediately found their mark, penetrating
deep into the breasts of the oncoming souls, disappearing with a brilliant, orange glow
within their bodies, and cleaving them from within. Their bubbling screams of pain rose
above the sounds of the battlefield as they turned and twisted in agony. The soul-
centurions were barking orders incessantly, guiding the blind weapon-wielding hands to
their targets. Adramalik clenched his jaws as he wheeled his mount. This was not meant
to have happened; we were meant to have breached the wall and streamed into the enemy
forces. He felt an uncontrollable mixture of anger and disappointment rising within him
and found himself beating his moaning steed upon the head with the hilt of his saber in
frustration. Furcas! It has to be Furcas the Pyromancer's doing!
The heavy cavalry was in complete disarray. With their forward momentum checked
there was no chance of them bounding over the wall and into the ranks of troops beyond.
Instead their bodies crashed into one another and the buckling wall and made turning
extraordinarily difficult. But turn they eventually did, amidst a deadly rain of fiery
missiles that took a heavy toll upon them. And from the corner of his eye the Chancellor
General saw that even though it had suffered minor damage, the wall still stood firm.
A red command-glyph soared skyward and split into a dozen smaller replicas of itself.
The command to retreat and regroup!
Within the tangle of demons and soul-steeds he looked for the order's source. He found
Moloch by his size and brilliant sigil-corona, some distance away and visible in his own
maelstrom of pivoting cavalry, spinning away as well, and Adramalik could only imagine
the blinding rage that must have been filling the general. That the general, for all his
boldness and ferocity, had been brushed so easily aside by a simple subterfuge spoke
volumes about both him and Sargatanas. Adramalik's hatred for Moloch cut so deep that
even as the cavalry began to regain a semblance of order he found this inglorious retreat
an ironic, bitter pleasure. Favorite or not, Moloch would hear much about it from his
Prince.
The javelins were now arcing higher, whistling up over Adramalik's head and landing
among the rearmost mounted demons. Without waiting for orders, they were breaking
and heading back toward their camp, forming up into ragged, surging groups, which
suddenly found themselves heading directly into their own oncoming legions. Adramalik
saw javelins hitting his demons, blasting their heads from their shoulders, sinking deep
within their chests, and blowing them asunder, the shattered chunks of their bodies falling
all around him. The din of destruction seemed ceaseless, the missiles limitless, until
Adramalik had finally drawn out of range. Decimated as the cavalry was, he knew, as he
plunged ahead, that those legions marching directly in their path were about to experience
the unchecked impact of the panicked battalions. He saw his Knights issue hasty orders
and thought he saw the great formations begin to turn. But he knew it would be too late.
A thousand steps back from the wall the two forces collided and, just as he had
anticipated, the foot soldiers suffered beyond measure. Trying desperately to evade the
cavalry, Moloch's legions' orderly ranks were torn apart, dragged under the hands and
feet of the frantic mounts, and crushed into rubble. Adramalik's own soul-steed leaped
and dodged wildly and he dug his horn-shod heels in to stay atop it. Growling, he shook
his head angrily.
The destruction lasted just as long, the Chancellor General guessed, as it took Moloch to
realize that a complete disaster would ensue if he did nothing. Adramalik was waiting for
the order, and when it did rise into the sky he raised his saber high overhead, pointed it
downward at the back of his steed's head, and plunged its fire-hot length deep into the
beast's skull. As it crumpled to the ground with a whining exhalation of breath, he felt no
remorse, no sense of loss. These were souls, skin-sacks; they were meant to be used and
destroyed. Let the Abyssals pick at it, he thought as he extricated himself from the saddle
and walked away.
Looking across the field, Adramalik saw the other cavalrydemons dismounting from their
now largely inert soul-steeds. Some demons were hacking angrily at their twitching
bodies in a rage of frustration.
With the destruction of the mounts, the havoc within the beleaguered legions of Dis
ended abruptly and for a few moments the only sounds were those of the seriously
crushed soldiers crumbling away. Adramalik and the other cavalrydemons found
themselves standing among the barely controllable legionaries whose fury had been
aroused by the frenzy of annihilation that had swept over them. But so cowed were they
by the presence of the scarlet-armored Knights of the Fly that they dared not act on their
rage.
Adramalik ordered his Knights to integrate themselves and the remaining dismounted
cavalry into the legions and to assume command. Thus bolstered, the legions would come
closer to their original strength and under the leadership of his Knights, resented as they
were, might regain their confidence. Or so he hoped.
The Chancellor General saw the cohesion of the legions returning and then saw Moloch
approaching, baton in hand, striding easily upon his wing-stilts over the rubble and
towering above the infantry. The anger was written upon his blood-dark face and his eyes
bore something aside from the normal film of resentment. Is it disappointment?
Adramalik could barely repress his satisfaction.
"What, Chancellor General? Have you something to say?"
"Not I, Grand General. But our Prince surely will."
Moloch snorted.
And then, almost to himself, the ex-god said, "Even without the cavalry we have
sufficient numbers to absorb casualties. We will overwhelm them and finish this ... in the
name of the Prince."
For a moment the two demons' eyes locked. Would it be so hard, right here and now, to
order this legion to destroy him to send him to the Pit where he belongs? They would
obey me ... and follow me into battle. But, Adramalik reasoned, there would be too many
questions from the Prince regarding his champion, too much suspicion. There were easier
ways. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]