The western gates swung open with a crash, releasing not a neat cavalry wedge, but a bloodied, desperate fist of two dozen riders. The idea of "flanking" had been stillborn. A sea of bones and rotting flesh lapped at the very walls, filling all the space to the horizon.
Valos, sitting in the saddle and gripping the spear-halberd, felt a wave of nausea. This was like trying to cross an ocean in a bathtub. «Madness. Pure madness.»
— FORWARD! WE DON'T NEED TO BREAK THROUGH FAR! JUST TO HIM! — Eldrid shouted, his sword arcing to decapitate a zombie trying to grab his stirrup.
But breaking through this wall of bodies was impossible. Valos's horse stumbled over a skeleton, and the young baronet barely kept his seat. Bony fingers were already reaching for him, trying to drag him to the ground.
— CORVUS!
He understood without words. In an instant, the rapier vanished into its scabbard, and his hand grasped the shaft of Valos's staff alongside his own.
— FIRE, BECOME A WALL AND CLEAR OUR PATH! — Valos shouted, pouring all his fury and fear into the spell.
The crystal on the staff flared with blinding white light. From it erupted not a sphere, but a whole cone of purifying flame — a wide fan that incinerated a semicircle before them. Skeletons turned to ash; zombies burst into flame like torches. For a few precious seconds, a passage opened before them.
— AT A TROT! — Eldrid commanded, and the squad surged forward across the still-smoldering ground.
They raced like phantoms, leaving behind a trail of ash and molten metal. Valos could feel the mana draining from him like water from a shattered jug. A little more, and he would become an empty shell.
And there he was. Nazrik. He stood on a small hillock, motionless as an idol. His black robes did not stir in the wind, and his retinue of translucent, moaning wraiths swirled around him, forming the first living barrier. But the main barrier was the second — a shimmering, translucent sphere of dark purple, within which energy churned. Through it, the necromancer's distorted face was visible; his gaze was empty, his entire consciousness out there, controlling the undead.
«This is it,» Valos thought, struggling to catch his breath. «We made it. And we're faced with the impossible.»
The wraiths, howling, rushed at them. Steel blades passed through them, only briefly disrupting their forms.
— My turn, — Corvus said quietly. He released the staff and drew his rapier once more. Closing his eyes, he whispered something, and the blade flared not with magical fire, but with *sacred* flame — pure, golden-white. — Light that burns within me, burn also in my steel.
His first strike was not at the wraith, but through it. The creature of darkness screamed not in pain, but in annihilation, and dissolved into shreds of mist devoured by the holy fire. Corvus moved forward, his rapier tracing deadly patterns, and with each thrust, another wraith vanished with a cry. This was not a battle; it was an exorcism.
Now only the magical barrier separated them. Valos struck it with the Artifact. The shield's energy did not even waver, and the backlash nearly knocked the weapon from his hands.
— Father! — he shouted. — Take the staff! Corvus, cover us!
Eldrid, not understanding but trusting, grabbed the artifact, simultaneously incinerating the surrounding undead with a jet of flame. Valos dismounted, dropped to his knees, and planted the artifact into the ground.
— Just pour everything you have into it! All your mana! — Valos commanded, grabbing the staff lower down. He did not aim at the barrier. He lowered the crystal tip into the ground beside it.
— EARTH, WIND, HEAR ME! — he poured the last of his strength into the spell. — BECOME A STORM AND REMOVE THE GROUND AROUND THIS SHIELD!
This was not an attack. This was delicate, exhausting work. Valos was not trying to break the barrier. He was making the earth beneath it vibrate and crumble. The stream of mana tore from him; he felt dizzy and nauseous. The stone and soil around the glowing bubble began to subside, forming a pit. The shield, anchored to a point in space, remained in place, but the ground beneath Nazrik's feet was giving way.
Inside the sphere, Nazrik suddenly shuddered. His eyes regained consciousness. He felt the soil crumbling beneath him.
Valos, his face contorted by inhuman effort, made one final push. The ground beneath the barrier subsided, exposing bedrock. The necromancer on his little island of earth staggered. The sphere distorted, flattened… and with a deafening crack like shattering glass, it vanished.
Silence fell.
The roar of battle that had been deafening a moment before was replaced by a deafening, ringing silence. Skeletons froze, weapons raised. Zombies stood in mid-growl. Even the Skeletal Dragon, which had been battling Balin in the city, stopped mid-swing; its green eye sockets dimmed. The army was like a machine whose power had been cut.
In this ringing silence, Valos, Eldrid, and Corvus stared at the figure slowly rising from the bottom of the pit. Nazrik raised his head. In his empty eye sockets, a crimson fire blazed. Not cold calculation, but ancient, boundless rage.
The true battle was only beginning.