“Get dressed, uh, um, if you please,” Roark stammered, holding out the King’s leggings and an undershirt.
“Bring my chain mail,” Glendar barked, as he took the offered clothes. His stiff attitude did little to hide his confusion, though it did mask is growing fear fairly well.
He could hear the distant sound of battle now, the chink and clang of steel on steel, the clattering of horses, and the occasional death cry. The sound was coming from somewhere beyond the open gates. He could tell, though, by the sounds of his own men riding in from the encampments around the city, and the hustling of his troops outside his tent, that there was not much time to waste.
Suddenly, an explosion shook the earth. A brilliant flash of light lit the morning shade so brightly, that its glow could be seen plainly through the thick canvas walls of the pavilion tent. The sheer volume of the noise was deafening.
In the long, relative silence that followed the blast, the shriek of a man died away slowly. The terrified “oohs” and “aahs” of the men outside of his tent, made Glendar tremble.
What could’ve made that explosion? He had no idea what was happening. He heard the words, “wizard” and “magic,” shouted in fear outside. He remembered vaguely, Lord Brach once warning him about King Jarrek’s old sorcerer Keedle. He had scoffed at the warning, saying that Pael was far more capable. Where is Pael anyway? Glendar needed him right now, and badly.
A few moments later, King Glendar emerged from the command pavilion into a world of utter chaos. This was no dominating rout like the taking of the city had been. Already, some of the Redwolf Cavalry was getting through. The men holding the inside of the outer wall, Glendar’s men, or what was left of them, were falling back. Most of them were covered in something black, soot maybe, or oil, Glendar couldn’t tell exactly what it was.
Roark yanked him out of the way of a volley of arrows that came thumping down in a tight grouping where he had just been standing. The other men of the King’s personal guard swarmed around them then. They forced King Glendar to fall back away from the battle that was taking form right there in the gateway of the outer wall. Glendar looked around frantically for some indication, some sign of what he should do.
More Westlanders were charging in from the north and south to clog the way, some in organized groups, and some in stumbling tangles. From the road that led out to the Locar Crossing Bridge, a huge band of Lord Abele’s Cavalry, came charging past with weapons drawn, and faces set for grim and bloody work.
Seeing them, Glendar sighed with relief. Up until that moment, he’d thought that King Jarrek’s soldiers held the advantage. He had thought it was all but over. Now, with so many of his men in sight, ready to drive the Wildermont soldiers back behind the walls, he began to feel that smug confidence returning to him.
Suddenly, from the top of the wall, a sizzling streak of yellow, blazed down into the crowd of Westlanders at the mouth of the gate. Where it impacted, a man-sized divot of dirt and debris exploded up from the earth, causing the horses and men around it to go flailing blindly into the heated battle. A figure, robed in black, with his hands raised up high, sent another blast, and then another, into the fray below him. At first, Glendar thought it was Pael, but through the smoke and distance, he saw a long, white beard trailing from the sorcerer’s chin. It was Keedle.
As if he had sensed Glendar’s eyes on him, the old wizard stopped his attack, and met Glendar’s wide-eyed gaze. Across the great distance, Glendar could see the rage and hatred burning on Keedle’s face.
Then the moment was gone. The wizard’s next crackling blast was larger than the others had been. It shot like a bolt of lightning from his fingers, across the open air, over the battling men below him, towards the piked heads in front of Glendar’s pavilion. They, and the pavilion tent, exploded in a roiling ball of flame. In the sudden light from the blaze, Glendar could see that the Redwolf soldiers were pressing out of the gateway now. More of them spilled out into the bloody mix, and his Westlanders were beginning to fall.