Blades of the Banished - Robert Ryan Page 0,68

sorcery being unleashed upon it.

Aranloth stepped to the edge of the battlement. He raised his staff. From the wedge, the same sickly green light as lit the ram, flashed in a bolt of lightning that sizzled through the air.

A dome of silver light flared. Aranloth stood in its center. The two powers of elùgai and lòhrengai met with a blinding flash. A crack of thunder sounded. Men reeled. Aranloth staggered back. The elùgroths fell and sprawled to the ground, all save Gar-galen. A mighty crash filled the air. It was not sorcerous thunder, but the ram smashing into River Gate.

A tremor ran through the tower. Wicked green light flared from below, yet blue fire contended with it. But on the dawn of that dark day fate was stronger than lòhrengai. The ram, prepared overnight, laden with dark sorcery, wielded by inhuman strength, smashed the gate thrice, and on the third blow struck it down in screeching ruin.

Atop the battlement Lanrik heard it, and he felt the footsteps of doom. Yet no faint heart was his. Gathering a score of men to him he raced down the tower stairs. Aranloth ran with him. No more sorcery would be expended on the walls. A breach was made at the gate, and the entire force of the enemy, elugs, lethrin, Azan and elùgroths would drive against it.

They raced down through the dark of the tower, and then into the open. A hundred of Esgallien’s finest axemen stood guard. At their head were Erlissa and Aratar.

The lòhren’s staffs flickered with light. Just before them was the second gate, built on the inner end of the killing tunnel.

The passageway was not dark as normal. Wicked green light filled it. In that eerie glow Lanrik saw the ram, propelled forward over the rubble of the first gate by lethrin. Immune to arrows shot through the killing slots, hindered little by oil and fire, they drove the ram onward. Behind, several sorcerers stood. Gar-galen was first among them.

Flame sprouted from their wych-wood staffs. The ram smote the gate. Erlissa and Aratar strove with all their might, weaving blue lòhrengai among the gate bars. To their help Lanrik and Aranloth sought to go, but the axemen were in their way and no path could be found in time.

With a boom and crash the gate splintered. The great ram tumbled forward onto the Hainer Lon, there to rest on the cobbles. A wreck of metal was about it; its dark surface smoldered.

Erlissa and Aratar dove to the left. The lethrin released their chains and hefted their maces. The axemen charged.

A furious battle started. Axes flashed. Maces smote. Sorcerous light streaked through the air, and lòhren-fire answered. All hung in the balance, but only for a moment.

Swiftly elugs joined the fray, darting in and out among the larger lethrin, pouring through the killing tunnel and flooding onto the Hainer Lon.

Many of the axemen were slain in their valiant defense against a foe greater than they. Reinforcements came, but ever the enemy pressed forward and the battle pushed back along the Hainer Lon.

The ranks of the enemy swelled. The southern army was inside Esgallien, and nothing would throw them out. And the fighting continued.

Lanrik and Aranloth were free to act, for many of the defenders that had been ahead of them were now dead. The enemy came on. A wave of them surged forward, separating him even further from Erlissa. He saw her in combat with Gar-galen. She was pressed hard, for Aratar was out of sight, stricken down somewhere and trampled beneath the boots of the enemy, and two other elùgroths joined forces against her.

For a second their eyes met through the host of enemies between them, and he saw the recognition of death in her eyes. The enemy seethed ahead, and she was lost from sight.

A moment Lanrik paused. The masses of the enemy lay between him and the girl that he loved. Grief struck him as a blow. The strength drained from his arms. He bowed his head, and hope died in his heart.

But something stirred within him. It rose through his body and flared like sudden fire in his eyes. The darkest hour of his life was upon him, but in that moment he knew that even without hope, in the face of certain death, yet still would he fight. He would defy the world if he must to reach her.

The sword of Conhain felt suddenly light in his hand. He swung and stabbed and spun among