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Instead, he faked interest in the wiz-ard's babbling. Skeletal warriors
couldn't be choosy about whom they served.
"The gates of Phlan must fall in this attack. The gates will fall in this
attack. There are thousands of men out there ready to die for me. After the
gates are dust, we will sweep into the city and decimate the rabble trying to
defend their homes. But remember, as tempting as it may be, we can't kill them
all. Most of the pathetic hu-mans must be captured and taken to the dark pool.
I have some enticing rewards planned for my commanders who prove themselves
today." Marcus's eyes gleamed.
Brittle was irritated. He had heard all these plans be-fore, over and over.
All seven feet of his undead body crackled with mystical energy.
The bony commander knew what would really hap-pen. The mercenaries would run
at the first sign of real resistance. Even the piles of gold the pit fiend had
prom-ised them after a victory wouldn't be enough to make them hold rank.
Against Marcus's wishes, Brittle had placed better troops behind the puny
humans to cut off the inevitable retreat and force the mercenaries to keep
fighting.
"Look at those ogres, trolls, and orcs. There must be a thousand of them. With
these monsters as the backbone of my army, I know we can't lose today. I wish
I'd had these troops a month ago when we first attacked Phlan. All I had were
those dozen fiends, just like Bane gave the attackers of the other cities. The
troops of Phlan crushed them and the other armies I hurled at their walls. But
I'm not going to lose this time. By the gods, this army is ten times stronger
than the last one."
The crazed red mage was right about one thing, the skeletal warrior thought.
The ogres, orcs, and trolls were the best troops he commanded. They would
carry the day if anything could.
"Look there, Brittle," Marcus said, pointing, "why aren't those two hundred
skeletons in the front lines with the rest of the undead troops?"
Brittle's answer was short and curt. The less he said, the less his chances of
revealing his contempt for the wizard. "Reserves. In any battle, reserves are
crucial." Then, staring down at his leader, the skeleton
took the opportunity to end Marcus's lecturing. "I must go now to lead the
ogres into battle. With your permission?"
"Of course go, you tower of bones. Do me proud, and I will command the pit
fiend to restore you to life. I will personally lead the reserve forces into
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the fight when needed. You needn't worry about them.
They will be well commanded."
A shudder slithered up the fleshless spine of the skele-tal warrior. The
thought of this bag of water leading any-thing didn't please him. In centuries
past, Brittle had controlled a hundred wizards like Marcus and had forced them
to do little more than ensure clear weather. Now, he was forced to follow such
a man's orders.
Although the skeletal commander hoped the mage wouldn't lead the reserve units
to disaster, Brittle gave up the notion of depending on that portion of the
army to do anything worthwhile. He marched down the hill to lead the waiting
army.
Up on the rise, Marcus was still giddy with anticipa-tion. His armies had to
win today. Bane wouldn't tolerate many more delays. In the few communications
the pit fiend had had with the god, Marcus learned that some of the other
captured cities had also managed to resist the god's grasp. He was relieved
that
Phlan wasn't the only city holding out. One town filled with spellcasters had
even managed to transport itself back to Faerun. The Red Wizard hoped the
distraction of the other cities would help fend off the god's wrath until
Marcus could conquer Phlan.
The wizard's mood was dampened slightly as he sur-veyed his troops. "Where is
that fourth squad of merce-naries? I thought we counted about fifteen hundred
human troops coming up to the tower. I hope that pit fiend didn't eat them or
something. It would be just like him to eat the best troops. Well. No matter.
It's time to put the fear of Red Wizards in the hearts of my enemies.
Xanotos, kartaalomi, tysrius flarigraasi!"
The upper third of the huge cave was suddenly filled with a ball of fire
thousands of yards tall and wide.
The blinding light of the magical flames blasted forth as bright as the sun.
The inferno at the top of the cavern gradually began to form familiar images
and scenes.
The flames writhed and created blood-red towers and gates identical to the
walls and towers of Phlan, which rested a mile below on the floor of the
cavern. More flames took the forms of molten figures of men, orcs, ogres, and
trolls, taller and more powerful than the real things. The scorching armies
charged against the flam-ing towers and walls high in the sky. A magical
battle began between the flaming forces representing Phlan's guards on the
walls and the molten armies of the Red Wizard. In seconds, the molten forces
tore down the gates and broke through the walls, streaming into the city like
a river of lava.
"A splendid effect!" sighed Marcus. The spell was a bit more than he had
planned, but if his magical show of power frightened the defenders and
inspired his own troops, his efforts were well worth the cost of his magi-cal
reserves.
Waves of searing heat blasted down on the Red Wiz-ard's army. The trolls,
particularly vulnerable to fire, cowered in fear. The orcs, ogres, and humans
stood at sweaty attention, frightened by the display.
Hundreds of skeletons raised hollow eye sockets to the flames, show-ing no
expression on their fleshless faces, but nonethe-less impressed.
"Stupid wizard," hissed Brittle, "now I have to use the ogres to get the
trolls moving. And he's destroyed any element of surprise we might have had."
The skeletal leader commanded powerful ogres to move toward the gibbering
trolls. Trolls were awesome fighters and difficult to kill, but fire prevented
them from regenerating damaged limbs. The lumbering green creatures feared
fire above all things. Gods help him, if Brittle survived this fight, the
enchanted commander wouldn't ask to be made human again. Thinking un-speakable
thoughts, the skeleton imagined it would ask for the heart of the wizard
instead. The undead leader snorted a dry chuckle at the thought as he directed
the army to attack the gates of Phlan.
* * * * *
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The defenders of Phlan were unimpressed by the mag-ical display. None knew why
their town had been taken by the gods and sent to this place of evil. None
knew when their torture would end. But all knew how to fight, and the force
rising against them wouldn't be much trouble. They had endured worse.
"Think they'll attack over here, Ston?" Tulen asked, spitting a chaw of
tobacco over the wall. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
