Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,54

these mounted madmen.

Demos cried out in rage and struggled to bring the Heart of Ra to bear on the battling men. A wave of dizziness swept over him as fatigue began to exact a heavy toll from him. He leaned against the weapon for a moment to regain control and as he did so he wondered where general Valshin and his troops were. He was supposed to have met the rest of the army here at the border when he had destroyed the Torran rebels. Had he been defeated? Demos shook his head, he couldn’t’t believe that the Torrans had prevailed over a large, well armed, Akonite Army. No, Valshin would arrive soon and then these Draskians would be defeated.

Grimly he resumed his task of destruction, determined to smash his enemies down. Yet ever they defied him and struck back again and again. His soldiers, disheartened by the ferocity of their foes, fell back before the continued assaults. They were far from home and they knew of the peril their homeland faced from her enemies and they wished to return there. They had no real desire to give their lives for Demos and his dreams of empire. Only their fear of his demonic magic kept them at their posts.

They could see now though that their sorcerer king was not as all powerful as he had led them to believe. For despite his magic and the terrible weapon he controlled, the Draskian army remained undefeated and here and there along the lines of battling warriors gaps appeared in the ranks as the Akonites started to turn and flee from their enemies.

Demos saw what was happening and snarled an order to general Dremin who stood beside him.

‘Dremin, take your reserves down to strengthen the front ranks. Go now!’

General Dremin looked at the melee and frowned.

‘My lord I do not think my reserves will make any difference to the battle. Why not order our men to fall back and regroup. With less ground to defend we will stand a much better chance. As it is, our men are being slain to no good end.’

Demos shrieked with fury,

‘Dog! Animal! Do as I have commanded or I will kill you where you stand.’

Dreaming blanched with terror as he saw the tyrants ring begin to glow.

‘I go at once, my lord.’

He leapt into the saddle and galloped off towards the fighting followed by his men.

Demos watched them as they rode forward to grapple with the enemy. Many fell to the deadly sting of Draskian arrows before they gotten anywhere near the fighting. Dremin, more afraid of Demos than he was of the Draskians led the charge, urging his men to follow until they merged into the distant, milling throng of battling warriors. To his satisfaction Demos saw the Draskian forces fall back before that frenzied assault.

Somewhat recovered, Demos turned once more to the deadly weapon he had created. Once again he started sending bolt after bolt of red death among his enemies. He saw a group of Akonites throw down their weapons and turn to flee pursued by triumphant Draskians. His eyes glittered with malevolence as he swung Deathbringer around to face them. Again red death spat forth and this time both Draskian and Akonite fell before it. Demos laughed madly as he watched men burst into flame and fall shrieking to the ground. Now the rest of his army would know the fate that awaited them should they break before their foes.

Then another wave of dizziness swept over him and he staggered and clutched on to Deathbringer for support. His aides rushed forward to help him but he shook them off with a savage curse and straightened up. Yet despite his determination to continue to deal death he knew that he was almost spent.

Drawing upon his last reserves of strength he turned again to the Deathbringer. Sweat glistened on his face as he concentrated and once more the weapon sent forth its bolts of destruction. The roar of battle filled his ears and a black surge of fury filled his soul as he saw that, despite all his efforts, The Draskians were gradually forcing the Akonites back.

As if in confirmation of their success arrows began to fall around him, speaking of the nearness of his foes. His aides were being struck down by the whistling death and curses sprayed from his lips. It could only be a matter of time before his army broke and ran and then it would be all over. He knew