When the Seventh Company had been reported safely away, a soldier entered the room. He was dressed in leather, but it was clear he was an auxiliary, one of the herders or farmers. His red hair was tied back, falling past his shoulders, and his face was covered by a full red beard. “Protector! Come, see this!”
Guy and the others hurried out after the warrior to a window in the long hall, overlooking the burning city. The insane inferno had subsided, but fires still burned out of control throughout the city. It was supposed that it would be another hour before Murmandamus could send more soldiers in to make their way along the gutted streets. But now it seemed they had misjudged. Between the still burning buildings near the market, figures could be seen moving toward the citadel.
Guy quit the balcony, hurrying toward the wall. When he reached it, he could see a company of soldiers in black silhouette against the flames. They moved at slow pace, as if they were being careful to stay within a clearly denned area. While they watched, another courier reported that the Eighth Company was beginning to move out of the citadel. The approaching figures came to the edge of the outer bailey, and Guy swore. Large companies of goblins stood within protective fields, invisible except for an occasional glint of reflected light upon the surface. Murmandamus came riding into view.
Jimmy said, “What is he?”
Without any apparent difficulty, the moredhel leader rode unprotected, ignoring the still-intense heat, and the beast upon which he rode was terrifying to behold. Shaped like a horse, it was covered in red glowing scales, as if some serpent skin of steel had been heated to near-melting. The creature’s mane and tail were dancing flames and its eyes were glowing coals. Its breath seemed explosive steam. “Daemonsteed,” said Amos. “It’s a legend. It’s a mount that only a demon may ride.”
The creature reared and Murmandamus pulled out his sword. He waved it, and before the first companies of his army a black something came into existence. It was an inky darkness that obliterated light. It formed a pool on the stones of the bailey, flowing like quicksilver, then it ceased movement, forming a rectangle. After a moment it was apparent to those on the citadel wall that it had become a ten-foot-wide platform of jet blackness. Then it slowly rose, foot by foot, forming an ebon ramp above the moat. A piece of blackness broke away from the base of the ramp and flowed a short distance from the rising bridge. It stabilized into another block and began to grow. Another bridge began to form from it. After another wait, a third, then a fourth span began to form. Guy said, “Damn! He fashions some sort of bridges to the wall.” He shouted, “Pass word to hurry the evacuation.”
When the ebon bridges were near the midpoint of the moat, the first companies of goblins mounted them and began to move slowly toward the leading edge. Foot by foot the black bridges advanced toward the defenders. Guy ordered the archers to fire.
The arrows sped across the gap but were deflected away, as if hitting a wall. Whatever protected the attackers from the heat also protected them from bow fire. Lookouts atop the citadel reported that the fires in the outer city were dying and more invaders were entering Armengar.
Guy shouted, “Off the wall! Rear guard to the first balcony. All other units to evacuate at once! No one is to wait!”
The now orderly evacuation would soon turn into a headlong flight. The invaders were going to breach the last defence an hour or more before Guy had thought possible. Arutha knew it possible there would be room-to-room fighting within the citadel, and he made a mental promise to himself that if it came to that he’d wait to face Murmandamus.
They dashed across the courtyard and hurried up the inner stairway to the first of the three balconies, to the sound of windows and doors being shuttered and barred. As they left the long front hallway, Arutha noticed a stack of barrels placed before the lift opening. More barrels were placed at each doorway, and everything that could burn had been left in doorways, all blocked open. Arutha knew that the last act of Guy du Bas-Tyra would be to fire the citadel in the hope that more of Murmandamus’s army would be taken. For the sake of the Kingdom, Arutha hoped there was some limit on Murmandamus’s ability to shield his soldiers from fire.
Soldiers came running down the hall, smashing odd-looking panels in the wall, covered by simple boards painted to match the white stones. Behind, black holes could be seen. The faint odour of naphtha could be detected as the breeze from the open bolt-hole pushed the pungent fumes up the vents. As they walked out upon the balcony, Amos noticed Arutha looking back. “They run from the basement to the roof. More air to feed the flames.”