the ground steamed violently.
It was well after midnight when he returned to his quarters. He washed the grime from his face and hands and fell onto his cot, too tired to even remove his boots before falling fast asleep.
No attack came the next night; it appeared that even the Morne were exhausted from the constant fighting.
In the early hours of the morning the ground shook and a deep rumble came from the west. The sky turning a fiery orange upon the western horizon, and with the coming of daylight a dark smudge stained the sky.
Snow fell late in the day, the temperature dropping well below freezing. Even with the cold the smell of the dead tainted the air.
Prince Jerudan wrapped his cloak tightly about him as stepped out of the tower and out onto the southern arc of the wall. There he found King Gaelan moving among his men. He greeted each of them in passing, exchanging words of encouragement and praise.
“We have a problem,” He told Gaelan when they met.
“You’ve noticed the army at our gate as well?” Gaelan asked with a grin.
Jerudan could see that the new king was far from jovial and was merely putting on a front for the men. “It is the dead.” He said changing the subject, indicating the piles of slain Morne with a tilt of his head.
Gaelan looked down upon the carnage. “They do not appear to be threatening us in any way.”
“I speak of disease.” Jerudan coughed, he had acquired a cold a few days past and was still suffering from it. “Even with this cold the dead will bring disease upon this keep, it may even taint the wells beneath the walls.”
Gaelan looked once more upon the bodies. Hundreds of large crows were busily tearing at the flesh of the dead with their dark beaks. “They’re too many to bury, and I doubt the Morne would allow us to walk out and do so.”
“Burn them.” Prince Jerudan responded. “We have oil enough to do so. Pour it along the walls where the bodies lie thickest. The flames will spread given time.”
Gaelan nodded. “Make it so.” He said approving of the Princes plan.
An hour later the last kegs of lamp oil were poured over the wall onto the bodies of the slain. Torches were thrown after and flames reached high into the sky as thick oily smoke stained the walls. The smell of burning flesh forced the men upon the wall to cover their mouths and noses.
The Morne stirred at their encampment and formed a large line chanting solemnly as their brethren were cremated.
“Have the men stand down,” Gaelan told his captains. “No attack will come while the fire burns.” Turning his eyes to the cloud laden sky beyond the combs overhang. “Fifteen days until the new year, Jerudan.” He said looking back at the sick Prince. “I wonder whose standard will fly above these stones?”
“Will it matter to the dead?” Jerudan asked before coughing.
Gaelan leads the ill Prince back into the relative warmth of the tower. On the roof of the tower D’Yana stands looking through the billowing smoke to the west, her eyes moist with tears. Below her on the field hangs the beaten body of a great man, the father of the man she has come to love.
Chapter Twelve
Up the smooth stairs they ascended. The tower was deathly still, the sounds of their boots scuffing upon the stone echoing loudly in their ears.
Casius’s heart pounded, he knew they were nearing the top of the tower. With their goal only a few flights above their heads, he was beginning to have doubts. How was he going to find the strength within himself to slay an immortal.
Their ascent slowed as they could see the stair ending in a room above them. Casius dropped his hand to the sword’s pommel and all sense of fear fled him. The blade was warm filling him with the confidence he was lacking.
After a brief pause Suni led the way into the chamber above. He moved silently, a shadow in the pulsating green light that filled the room.
They entered slowly; the chamber was circular in shape with the stair at its very center. Twenty feet above their heads the ceiling was a dome of crystal. Suspended beneath its apex a shimmering globe of green light spun slowly. Along the walls narrow columns rose from the floor ending in points only a few feet from the ceiling. Resembling the ribs of some great beast their ends