Vaegon could only laugh half-heartedly at the dwarf as he started away.
After fighting his way through the crowded hallways and corridors, Vaegon spotted the pixie-man, Starkle, hovering over an aggressive dispute among nobles. The sight of the strange looking, one-eyed elf coming down the corridor silenced Starkle, and drew the notice of the argument long enough for him to get the pixie’s attention.
“Can you tell me where I can find Hyden Hawk?” Vaegon asked.
“He’s gone into the Tower of Dahg Mahn,” Starkle replied.
A hushed whisper rolled out from the epicenter of the crowd. Everyone was focused on them. The sensation alarmed Vaegon, as did the way Starkle had made it sound as if the tower he spoke of was on the other side of the moon.
“How do I get there?” the elf asked.
Somewhere in the crowd, a woman said loudly, “The hawkman is lost.”
Another voice echoed in agreement, and the murmur turned into an argument of grim speculation over what Hyden’s fate might be.
“Only the wizard, Targon, can tell you that,” Starkle answered Vaegon’s question in an almost regretful tone. “Targon is on the outer wall, making ready for the coming attack.”
“Thank you,” Vaegon said, with a sinking feeling in his chest.
He squeezed into the crowd, and as he parted his way toward the castle’s main entryway, the lady’s voice echoed in his head: “The hawkman is lost.”
It took forever to work his way through all the people crowded in the torch-lit streets between the castle and the secondary wall’s open gates. From there to one of the many ramps that led up the inside of the outer wall, wasn’t so hard to manage.
The streets between the two walls were occupied primarily by soldiers, and the occasional magi. Even though it was dark, it was clear where one should travel, because there was a torch lined throughway. Everywhere else, there were men and soldiers posted, warning of places that had been booby-trapped to burn.
The physical exertion of his and Dugak’s run through the hills was taking its toll on Vaegon’s body as he started up one of the ramps. Men were starting to shout above him. It was clear that something was happening. Despite his exhaustion, he began to run up the ramp to see what it was. The excitement and fear of the moment filled his body with a rush as he went.
Just as he gained the top of the wall, a roar sounded. The call was terrifyingly deep, and Vaegon reflexively crumbled to his knees, like a frightened child might.
A bright and thunderous blast, a jet of orange flame, so hot that he felt its heat from over a hundred feet away, shot across the wall. Reflected in its own fire’s light, was the swooping plated head, and breast of a sparkling crimson beast. It was so daunting, that it could only be one thing: a dragon. Vaegon had thought the Choska demon they had fought in the forest a formidable creature. The dragon, which had just obliterated everything in the path of its fiery breath, could have bitten the Choska in half.
Thunder sounded in the distance, and rumbled closer with unnatural speed. In an explosion of blinding white energy, a not-so-distant section of the outer wall shattered, and crumbled away. The structure underneath Vaegon’s feet shook with the force of the blast.
Claret’s mighty roar sounded again from somewhere behind the elf. Men screamed and shouted in a cacophony of disorder. The deep “Thrum” of the machines loosing flaming spears sounded from nearby.
Vaegon managed to get back on his feet, as an explosion of fire erupted outside the wall. In its flaring light, he saw huge wooden towers rolling up close. The men pushing, and climbing them, seemed oblivious to the flames that threatened, and clung to them.
A barrel came down out of the darkness, into the throng below, and when it crashed, it splashed liquid in a great radius. A moment later, another flaming arrow went streaking from the wall, down into the huge circle, and a yellow-orange fireball erupted with a resounding “Whump!” The undead soldiers caught in the inferno, writhed and twisted on the ground. The ones only partially burned, came on as if nothing had happened.
Down the length of the wall, Vaegon saw one, two, no, three of the ladder towers, resting against it. The stench of sun-rotten flesh hung in the night air like a blanket of fog. The undead were swarming the wall already, and the battle had only just begun.