"No!" Elmer said in a faint whisper. His eyes blinked away the sickly green, but they did not change back to the blue of the powerful magic. Instead, they turned almost grey, ashen, as if the sap of life was all but drained from them. One final blue tear rolled down his cheek as he spoke one last time. "North, my friends. Seek the light. Seek only His ... light."
His dying words hung for an eternity of moments in the brightly lit, dust-filled air of the hall. Finally, the sound of a great exhale caused the light to fall from the columns, like the last breath of a dying beast. It gathered and grew, collecting itself into a pinpoint of brilliance in the center of the dead Arborist. Then it shot through his outstretched hand and split a channel straight through the glittering, black rock of the holy mountain. As the amber shockwave coursed through the bowels of Mt. Aureole, the whole of Aiénor groaned a sorrowful groan while the light of the THREE who is SEVEN departed completely from the holy mountain.
Blackness threatened to suffocate the small, gathered remnant in its heavy silence until Portus finally called out to the lot of them. "Look!" he said in mystified wonder. "Over there ... the arrow, the one Elmer made appear ... it still glows. The amber magic lights the arrow."
The eyes of the hopeful friends found the glowing arrow. What seemed to have been the darkest of all moments now became illuminated in a new and unexpected way.
"He did it!" Kahri exclaimed. "He made a way North!"
"You did do it, didn't you?" Margarid whispered to the Arborist, though she knew in her heart that he would never hear her words.
Suddenly, the air around the small remnant prickled and glimmered with the faintest violet light. The blackness of the moment lifted, and in the dim yet palpable illumination, they could see that there was indeed a way of escape.
"Come on now," Margarid said. "Gather what is useful … it is time that we say farewell to Haven." She placed her hand on the smoldering timber face of her Arborist friend. "I, for one, will not waste the sacrifice made to set us free."
"Aye," Portus said as Kahri nodded her agreement.
The seven of them gathered what few cloaks and leather satchels they could find, then passed under the amber arrow into the glittering granite bowels of Mount Aureole.
Chapter Twenty-Six
"DISAPPEARING IS EXACTLY WHAT WE need to do at the moment, my friend," Michael said, recognizing the wisdom in the Arborist's plan.
"Where does it lead?" Timorets asked nervously.
"The Capital, if I am not mistaken," Celrod replied.
"The walls are stronger there, and if Jhames is still within them …" Michael reasoned.
"Out of the smoke and into the flames if you ask me," Celrod muttered.
"I'll take my chances with the swords of my countrymen over the fangs and fires of dragons any day," Timorets said decidedly to the large schoolmaster.
"We will take the pathway of the forgotten, under the mighty Abonris," Engelmann instructed. "We must endure … and if we hope to have a fighting chance, we must flee this fallen place at once."
The five men, the beaten and bedraggled lot of them, all nodded in fearful understanding of the plans of the Arborist. The rumble of a not-so-distant crash startled their senses and woke them into action as they beheld their once-bright city glowing anew in a wash of green fire.
"Come on! Quickly now!" Engelmann urged.
The company of six began to make their way, though their wounds and weariness made difficult the trek towards the largest keep there at the center of the courtyard. The way was littered with broken battlements and flaming ruins. A charred ox-cart was turned on its side, making a gruesome mess of the once meticulous grounds. And yet, in a small turn of fortune that came at just the right moment, the cart also created a shallow cover by which they might hope to avoid the ravenous eyes of the twin dragons.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! The pounding gales of wind from the leathery wings of the flying serpents reached their bodies as they took refuge behind the cart.
"Everybody get down, here they come again!" Engelmann whispered.
The company of prisoners waited and watched as the two dragons circled high above the Capital like a pair of carrion birds, claiming their ground and waiting for their long-tracked prey to finally give up its life and die.
"What are they doing now?" said the oldest and tallest of the two rescued brothers. "What are they waiting for?"
"Is it a display of power, I wonder?" Michael asked as he looked the lanky, dark-haired man in his smoke-reddened eyes.
"Haven't they done that already?" the brother replied.
"Come on, lads!" Celrod beckoned as he motioned for the two of them to move towards the keep, following Engelmann's lead.
The question bothered Michael. While he and the remaining prisoners did their best to traverse the massive courtyard of the prison hold, he could not help but worry as to the twin monsters' intentions. As he pondered the movements of the dragons, the moment took another turn for the worse. There, marching down the street in front of the prison hold with banners unfurled and eyes glowing green, the Raven Army approached in the deadly rhythm of invading doom. Michael's hand shot out and grabbed Timorets on the shoulder. With eyes wide, he motioned at the army that was passing a mere forty paces from where they stood. The men signaled each other and they took cover as quietly and completely as they could back behind the ox cart in the middle of the courtyard.
Their breath came in desperate gasps as they willed the marching invaders not to look their way through the iron bars of the prison hold's mangled main gate. Just then the sky spilt once again in a storm of green fire. The sickly horns of the invading army sounded their ominous tones and the very ground of the city shook and rumbled in offended protest.
"Look there!" Timorets mouthed the words to his friends as he pointed eastward toward the glittering, granite hill on Mount Aureole. The company turned in stunned unison, and what their eyes beheld nearly stopped their beating hearts. There, above the sacred hill where once the great burning tree of Haven stood, the twin dragons circled. The massive, lifeless trunk was a stark reminder of what had once been the light of Aiénor, the beacon of hope that had illuminated all the world with its unmade brilliance. Now it stood, hopeless and broken, surrounded by the screeching of the vile beasts who seemed to celebrate its demise.
"NO!" Michael screamed with involuntary protest. "Get away from there you damned devils!"
"Quiet, groomsman! Do you want to get us killed?" Celrod whispered in disgust. But it was too late. The sound of his voice had caught the attention of the invading Raven Army. Within moments, a dozen pairs of green, glowing eyes had parted from the marching ranks and turned their direction. By the faint light of the green flames, the six of them saw the soldiers raise black, iron crossbows and point their raven-fletched darts in through the portcullis.
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. The sounds of arrows flying through the iron bars threatened more than the skin of the small company of fleeing prisoners.
"What do we do now?" Timorets asked the Arborist. "They have us pinned down."
Engelmann raised his eyes above the over-turned ox-cart to see whatever it was that he hoped to see, and nearly a dozen black arrows raced passed the top of his head. He fell back down in hurry, and for the first time in all these last months, Michael saw fear in the eyes of his friend and teacher.
"Can we move this cart?" Michael asked, trying to offer a solution.
"Not unless we flip it right side up again," the older brother replied.
"Very well then," Michael said determinedly. "If we can right it, then we can push it all the way over there to the entrance to the keep—and then we can take our chances in the Menashe."
The men nodded their agreement, looking to Engelmann for his approval. He smiled a nervous smile at Michael. "To the tunnels."
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. The incessant sound of flying darts spurred them on, and relief revived their spirits as they saw that the arrows did not pierce through the burnt sides of the cart
.
"Now, how are we going to move this blasted thing without one of us becoming a raven-fletched pincushion in the meantime?" Celrod asked.
"And what about the beast?" Timorets said as he pointed to the charred flesh of the large ox that lay lifelessly tethered to the cart.
"We will have to cut it loose!" the older brother replied.
"With what?" Celrod countered. "In case you have forgotten, the Citadel's guardsmen are not too keen on keeping sharp blades within reach of their prisoners."
ROARRR! The black winged monsters breathed fire in the sky above them. Their green blaze lit up the reflective wall of the granite mountain in the most terrifying of ways, and the company of prisoners knew that their time was short if they hoped to escape this fallen place.
"Underneath!" The older brother suggested. "If we are going to have to push this thing, let's at least cover our backs from the aim of the archers."
"But the ox?" Timorets exclaimed. "We can't push this cart and drag a dead beast too!"
"He is right, Engelmann," Michael said, scanning the face of his friend and mentor. But Engelmann did not say anything at all. Instead he placed both of his bark-covered hands on the underbelly of the ox cart. His lips began to form foreign words, words that neither Michael nor any of the other men recognized. Before the groomsman could ask what Engelmann was doing, the Arborist's eyes turned white. The prisoners all stared at the sage in fascination.
The words kept pouring from Engelmann's lips, faster and faster, not audible but certainly powerful. Then his eyes went wild in a wash of blue flame. In that moment, a magic somehow transferred from the Arborist to the wood of the cart he was touching, and the very grains of the dead timber began to wake again in its presence. Within moments, the iron bolts that had held the tongue of the wagon fast to the yoke clinked and clanked their way to the ground, almost as if they had been spat out in disgust from the wood frame of the cart.
The men shivered a little in the wake of the magic, unsettled and awed all in the very same moment.
"Alright then," the older brother finally said. "That takes care of that, I should think … but we still have our work ahead of us. We are going to have to push this thing now. Come on, let's turn it upright."
The men nodded in agreement. They had somehow found their vigor and strength returned to their fear-sapped resolve and within moments they had pivoted the charred shell of the cart up onto its four iron-rimmed wheels.
Engelmann's chest heaved as the old Arborist tried to recover his breath. It seemed to the rest of the group that the magic, though powerful in craft, cost the mossy-bearded sage a great deal of strength. "I'll be alright in a moment, lads. Hurry now, we haven't the time to waste."
All, save Michael and the younger of the two rescued brothers, crawled underneath the blackened ox-cart. Shielding themselves behind the heavy, iron-rimmed wheels, they heaved and strained against its ruined weight while a barrage of ill-intended darts continued mercilessly in their direction.
The younger brother could hardly catch his breath after nearly succumbing to the suffocating strangle of so much smoke. He had just enough strength to walk on his own two feet, and was no help with the cart. Michael's badly burnt hand still raged and throbbed in searing agony, and though he had strength to give, he had not the means to give it. The two of them crouched low and moved along with the cart, willing it with their very spirits to move faster towards the entrance to the Menashe.
"Push lads!" Celrod shouted. "Put your backs into it!" But the weighty structure was compromised and the damaged wheels protested. The cart barely budged.
"All together, now!" Celrod shouted again against the sound of arrows being loosed. This time the cart creaked and groaned.
"Come on! Come on!" Timorets chimed in. "She is moving!"
More arrows, more screams from beyond the walls of the prison hold, and more flames burning hotter and brighter—but in the midst of it all, the hopeful creaking of a damaged cart was the loudest of all noises in the ears of the six men.
"Ha ha!" Celrod bellowed in satisfaction. "Fifty paces to go, lads!"
The small company moved slowly, straining their muscles under the awkward weight of their fractured salvation. The entrance to the large keep was right there in front of them, and for the first time since the boulders and the fires rained down upon them, the small band of six dared to believe that they would breathe the breath of a new day.
"AHHH!" came the agonizing scream of the schoolmaster. Celrod dropped to his hands and knees, and as he did the ox-cart groaned to a halt. "They shot me! The green-eyed devils shot me!"
Celrod drug his bleeding body out from under the cart, and Michael examined the wound. Protruding out from his left calf was a single raven-fletched arrow. The large, pale muscle was as easy a target as any, but thankfully the bolt had gone clean through the leg.
"Blast it all!" Celrod shouted through gritted teeth. "How bad is it, groomsman?"
"I think it will be alright," Michael told him. "But I have nothing to cut the barb with ... so, I ... I can't yet remove it."
Celrod grimaced in pain as he spoke to his friends. "Hurry now, before the rest of you feel the bitter beaks of these ravens too."
Engelmann, Timorets, and the older brother pushed with all their might, but without the force of the large schoolmaster, the cart would not budge.
"Can you manage?" Michael said to Celrod. "Can you manage to walk on your own?"
"Aye, groomsman," Celrod winced.
The desperate grunts of the three men echoed in the courtyard as they strained to push the massive cart in the sandy courtyard.
"Hold on here then," Michael told him, placing Celrod's hand on the wagon's edge. Without so much as another word, the wounded groomsman crawled underneath the cart and took up the vacant spot. Michael gritted his teeth and set his jaw, steeling himself for the pain that was sure to come. "Help us, please." He whispered his prayer and then in reckless abandon he threw the full weight of his strong frame against the damaged axle of the ox-cart. Tears streamed down his face as the shock of immense pain shot through his wounded arm, and he screamed in frustrated agony. After what seemed like an eternity of wasted pain, the cart slowly moved forward.
Thirty paces, twenty paces; the men pushed the broken cart against all odds until the distressed wheels finally broke, rendering the cart useless not ten paces from the entrance to the keep. "ARGH!" Michael shouted as the impact of the splintered wood bit all the harder into his badly burnt hand.
Arrows continued to fly, and the sounds of the siege set the backdrop for a deadly decision. The six of them knew they would have to run desperately and dangerously towards the open entrance to the keep with no cover.
"I'll go first," the older brother said as he squatted in the cover of broken cart, waiting breathlessly in the wake of the great effort it had taken to move it.
Michael nodded his nervous agreement, while Celrod wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve.
"Be safe, Fryon," coughed his younger brother. "Please."
The older brother nodded his understanding and steeled himself for the perils that this journey of just ten paces would hurl at him. Just then, before he could make his move, the startling, otherworldly sounds of the besieging army's horns broke out in echoed unison and stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Wait just a moment, my boy," Engelmann said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"What in the name of …" Timorets said in horror.
Celrod picked up his flint from around his neck and kissed it nervously, his eyes fixed eastward, to the top of the sacred mount. "Help us all," he whispered.
Michael looked to his friend and mentor. Tears ran down his smoke and dirt-stained cheeks as he saw the mockery of the Arborist's life unfolding there before him. The leaf-green eyes of the old tree-tender clouded over in great pain as the reality of the moment came into focus.
The twin dragons that had laid waste to the order and beauty of the
city—the same monsters who had pillaged and sacked the strength of a once-strong people and brutally devoured the shadowed lives of Haven's citizens—now defiled the very icon of a faith in the THREE who is SEVEN. There, perched atop of the massive trunk of the great tree of Haven, the twin dragons clung to its branchless tower with blood soaked talons. Their leathery, black wings were unfurled in an abominable display of power, and their massive green eyes glowed with the gloating mockery of a victory ill-gained.
"Engelmann?" Michael said, his voice cracking under the weight of confused emotions. But all the Arborist could do was stare, eyes fixed on the unfolding desecration.
The dragons turned in unison. Their gaze moved from surveying their city of conquest and resolved in a settled stare at each other as if to signal the next movement in this unholy drama.
Citizens of Haven, their deep voices boomed inside the minds of every man and woman. Behold ... your new light has come!
Without warning, and to the sickening horror of all who watched, a wave of green fire issued forth from behind the fanged dykes of each dragon's massive mouth. The flames poured out in a torrent of deliberate defilement, and though they engulfed each dragon, their fires did not harm nor consume them. The dragons clung to the once holy tree, wings outstretched upward in a charade of the long dead branches. Their forms were alight in the fire of a ravenous evil, and the silhouette broke the hearts of all who had once hoped in the great gift of the THREE who is SEVEN.
The darkness that had shrouded the once bright city now glowed dimly in the green un-light of these winged devils. It illuminated the march of the invaders, the Raven Army advancing towards the Citadel with conquest on their lips and hate in their eyes.
The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2) Page 24