Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant #1)(109)

The massive catapult on top of the keep whined. A rock the size of a small car streaked over their heads. The undead scattered, making a hole in their ranks. The stone thudded into it.

The woman moved, fast like a whip, snapping into a new pose, and spat a single word.

The stone pulsed with orange and exploded. Rock shrapnel pelted the undead. Some fell, but more were coming, fast, scurrying forward like ugly twisted lizards.

The ballistae spat more bolts. The air smelled of sorcerous smoke, crackling with expended magical energy. It felt as if she were caught in some magical storm made of explosions, screams, and war horns. It called on her to do something, to run, to scream, to kill. She glanced at Hugh. He stood next to her, immovable like a rock, his face almost relaxed.

“Archers, fire at will.”

The horn howled.

The first line of vampires jumped into the moat and sank. One by one they dove down, disappearing into the water, while the archers peppered them with bolts and arrows.

She leaned against the parapet to get a better look. Everything rode on this moment.

Nothing. Only placid water.

Hugh leaned forward, his expression impassive.

A hint of dark red floated to the surface from the moat’s depths. The water boiled, and the color vanished.

Seconds ticked by, slow and viscous.

One.

Two.

Five.

Ten.

She fought with herself to stand still.

Fifteen.

The water at the inner edge of the moat swirled. A vampire emerged. It dragged itself forward, its movements sluggish, reached with one long muscular arm, hooked its claws into the wall, and pulled itself up. She watched it climb slowly, each stretch an effort. It was almost directly under her now.

Elara backed away.

The undead heaved itself over the wall onto the tower. It landed heavily on the stones. The flesh on its frame sagged, as if it had gone liquid under its hide.

It worked. It actually worked.

The vampire swayed.

Hugh stepped forward, pulling his sword out and striking in a single explosive move. The black blade sliced through the vampire’s torso, cleaving it in two. Black, foul smelling fluid gushed on to the wall. The top half of the undead tumbled back into the moat.

Hugh grabbed the bottom half by the leg and hurled it over the wall. A splash followed.

She sidestepped the dark puddle and looked over the wall. All along the moat vampires staggered to the wall, slow and shaking. Some moved faster, others slower.

Blood red sparks shot out of the trees, a meteorite shower in reverse.

Hugh grabbed her hand and jerked her down, covering her with his body. A red missile shrieked through the air, landed in the bailey, and exploded. The walls of Baile shuddered. Red fire splashed on the wall to the left of them and an Iron Dog vanished in the glow with a sharp cry. All around them the magic missiles fell with a high-pitched whine, crashing against the stones of Baile.

Elara wedged herself against the wall, trying to make herself smaller.

Hugh grinned at her. “Fun!”

The man was a maniac. She had married a raving lunatic.

A deep bellow shook the castle, as if some god blew an enormous trumpet.

Hugh raised his head and she squirmed from under him, trying to see.

The trees snapped, parting. Something snaked between the crowns, a long dark thing that swung and coiled. It caught a tree and yanked it out of the ground, turning it sideways. Clumps of soil rained down from the root ball. The tree flew aside and through the gap Elara saw a moving darkness. It leaned left, then right, still hidden by the forest. Five-foot wide trunks snapped like toothpicks and crashed aside, carrying branches with them, giving way to something impossibly large. A blunt head emerged, level with the top of the forest canopy and crowned by a mesh of braided golden ropes, each as thick as her wrist. A brilliant blue jewel embedded in the flesh sat in the middle of the forehead, where the net came to a point. Two more heads joined it and a creature emerged into the open. It had three heads, each flanked by wide ears. Six ivory tusks thrust into the air, each large enough to impale and carry off a truck. Its hide was solid black, as if it swallowed the evening sunlight.

Erawan.

The colossal elephant took a step forward. The armored cabin on its neck rocked. A huge chain was coiled around his legs. The ground shook. Lightning dashed along Erawan’s hide, spattering in bursts of electric blue, and in the light of those explosions, Elara saw long white scars crossing the elephant’s hide.

Armed people emerged from the woods, ants next to a giant, and trotted toward the castle. Above him, a rain cloud boiled, just large enough to cover the hill. It ended abruptly, and beyond it the sky was the clear beautiful blue of early evening.

“Elara,” Hugh called.

She felt Erawan’s mind, dark and turbulent like a storm cloud. It called to her.

“Elara!”

She reached out and brushed the edge of the storm with a wisp of her power. Agony exploded in her mind, images bursting one after another: blood on the tusks, bodies under feet, the trumpet screams, flesh and bone collapsing under the immense weight, forehead smashing a house wall and emerging streaked with concrete dust, blood and rain, buildings, shredded and destroyed, people, tossed and trampled, pain, chains, and blood, the stench, the feel, the vivid red of human blood.

“Honey!” Hugh snarled in her ear.

She jerked, breaking the contact, and clamped her hand over her mouth. The horror of it stained her.