by Ben Hale
Arrows flew overhead, quare snapped and shrieked, sipers darted through the haze of smoke from stonesap explosions. Krakas appeared and disappeared, charging the wall. Skorpian spears streaked by, thudding into the glass walls of the city.
Light winced as he saw the breadth of the damage. Cracks spread across the city walls, some so dense the wall appeared white. They’d been fighting for less than an hour, and already the city walls looked like they were about to fall.
He glanced over his shoulder to Elenyr. “How are we—”
A wounded kraka burst from the haze and crashed into the side of the war machine. Already teetering on the top of a slope, the wagon rolled into a shallow ravine between fallen trees, shedding enchantments, gears, and splintered wood on its way to a bruising stop. Light caught a glimpse of a wolfsteed disintegrating, a large root protruding from its flank. He grunted in pain and dragged himself from beneath the broken wagon.
“Everyone alive?” Shadow groaned and pulled himself free.
Light shook the confusion from his thoughts and sought for Willow—and found her half buried in the dirt. Panicked, he scrambled to her side and pulled her free. Blood seeped from a gash in her side, and a wound on her head looked ugly.
“Willow!” he cried.
Her eyes fluttered and focused on him. Then she grimaced and reached to her stomach. He tried to stop her, but she pulled the small hand crossbow from her flesh, the ink pooling in her hands. She raised it over her shoulder and fired.
A quare whined and collapsed adjacent to Light, the bolt through his mouth. Willow grimaced.
“You were always bad at watching your surroundings.”
Elenyr appeared and slashed her sword, killing a siper that found them. She caught the reins of the remaining wolfsteed and slashed the bonds holding it to the wrecked wagon. Then she reached out and pulled Shadow to his feet.
“Shadow, help Willow get back to the city. Light, you need to follow them and make sure they make it. They’re going to close the gates at any moment, so hurry.”
Light helped Willow onto the steed, his worry bordering on panic. Willow slumped against him, and he had to lash her to the wolfsteed so she wouldn’t fall. He’d never seen her so injured. Then Light noticed the urgency in Elenyr’s voice and followed her gaze.
A cloaked figure advanced from the haze, his eyes burning red beneath the cowl. A splinter arrow exploded just feet from his body and he swung the scythe, absently slashing through the missiles.
“Go,” Elenyr said. “I’ll meet you in the city.”
“Are you sure?” Light asked, casting an uncertain glance at Willow.
“Stay with Willow,” Elenyr said, stepping between them and Death.
“I’m not leaving you,” he said.
“Yes we are,” Shadow said. “This isn’t a duel we are part of.”
The normally amusing Shadow had a serious expression, and Light realized he was right. Reluctantly, he slapped the side of the wolfsteed and then leapt into a sprint, rushing to keep up with his brother and Willow. He cast a look over his shoulder, and watched Elenyr draw her sword as she prepared to face the mightiest assassin on Lumineia.
Chapter 38: Allies
As Light raced away with the heavily laden wolfsteed, Elenyr circled Gendor, looking for an opening. But the assassin came to a halt. The sounds of battle cascaded over them, yet the fiends did not seem inclined to attack Elenyr, and flowed around the gully containing the two combatants. Elenyr flicked her sword out and bared her teeth.
“What are you waiting for?”
Gendor was turned toward her, and seemed to be looking at Ilumidora. She frowned, disliking his lack of attention. What was he looking at? She began to circle him but he rotated in place, never meeting her gaze.
“You cannot win this battle,” Gendor said.
“I know,” Elenyr replied, frowning at his posture. “But we have a plan to succeed.”
She glanced skyward. Three hours until noonday. Three hours to locate the four generals, and kill them at the precise moment the Dark Gate was destroyed. But the walls of Ilumidora were already cracking. The cavalry charge had given the walls time to heal, but not enough. The next wave crashed on the city walls like a wave on a boulder, each blow sending more cracks spreading across its surface.
“Will you be triumphant?” Gendor asked.
“I do not know.” She came to a halt and regarded him. He still would not meet her gaze.
“Would you trust me?” the assassin asked.
“Why would I do that?” Elenyr asked.
“Because it’s the only way you can win.”
“I bet on my sons,” she replied.
She began to advance on the assassin but his hand shot up, barring the way. His pulsing scythe hung behind him, low and ready. She came to a halt, and then recognized the reluctance to his frame.
“You are choosing not to fight,” she guessed.
“I’m choosing not to look,” he replied. “I must obey Draeken’s commands, and he ordered me to kill you—and anything that stands between us. I must strike the moment I see you.”
Elenyr realized the man’s clever interpretation of the order. He had to strike and kill Elenyr, but only when he saw her. Until he did, his will remained his own. But if his focus lapsed for even a moment, if he so much as glanced in her direction, he would turn against her.
“What do you want?” Elenyr asked, a skorpian spear passing through her ethereal body.
“I know you cannot heal me,” he said. “And I have accepted my fate. This is my penance for my life of blood. My one chance at redemption is to destroy Draeken from within. We were once foes, but if you will allow it, I would be your ally.”
Elenyr recognized the weight behind the question. Gendor could have simply attacked the fiends, or even the other generals, but he’d come to Elenyr. The man was smart enough to recognize that killing fiends was not the purpose of the battle, and if he wanted to offer aid, he could only do so if he understood Elenyr’s plan.
But to share the truth with Gendor represented a massive risk. If Draeken asked, he would be forced to respond, and their slim chance at victory would crumble. And there was the chance he would look at her, and then go for the kill.
“We must endure until noon,” she admitted.
“You will not,” he said simply, and pointed to the nearest wall.
The aquaglass cracks had spread between the tree towers, and from the base all the way to the top. Fiends hacked at the barrier, bits of magic flying in all directions. Even beneath the blistering fire from ten thousand arches and crossbowmen, they pushed through and struck the barrier. The cavalry swept by in another charge, clearing the ground once more, but many riders were torn from their saddles by the next wave of fiends.
“When the time comes,” she said, “I will ask for your aid.”
“I cannot help you if your walls crumble,” Gendor said. “Your forces are too small.”
“Not all of our army has arrived,” she replied.
Over the din of battle and the screams of the dying, one sound gradually rose, the sound of an enormous object charging across the ground. Both Gendor and Elenyr turned as a giant form burst over a western hill and plowed into the back of the fiends. So dense were their bodies that for a moment the fifty foot Titan disappeared from view. Then it swung its sword, the blade cleaving through the ranks of fiends and sending them flying.
“The Titan from the Assassin hall?” Death sucked in his breath. “You got it working?”
“That would be the fragment of Mind,” Elenyr said.
A distant roar pierced the battle din. Deep and throaty, the roar signaled a challenge, and many of the fiends slowed. Defender and attacker turned their eyes to the sky, where from a cloud descended a large golden dragon. Two figures sat on its back, and the sight of them drew a smile to Elenyr’s lips.
The great golden dragon roared its challenge, and another dragon dropped from the clouds at his side. And then a
nother. And another. Dragons abruptly filled the sky, all dropping from the clouds and landing on the ground outside of the city, their maws opening and spilling fire and frost into the ranks of fiends. Lightning exploded from the throat of a blue, while acid came from a black dragon. Thousands of dragons, all come to join the war against Draeken.
“Now our forces have arrived,” Elenyr said.
“Draeken may have the might,” Death said, his tone tinged with praise, “but you have the cunning to win. I will be your ally when you say the word.”
He retreated back into the ranks of fiends, still keeping his gaze averted. Then he was gone. Elenyr turned and sped toward the Titan, relishing the cheer swelling up from the defenders. Thousands of dragons had come, their combined breath filling the battlefield with lethal elements, scorching the broken trees and earth. Elenyr phased to flesh and back, slashing across fiends as she sprinted for the Titan. For the first time, she dared to hope.
***
Deep in the thrall of the magic, the fragment of Mind did not control the Titan, he became the war machine. He stood fifty feet tall, his head even with the battlements of Ilumidora. A hundred men could not have lifted his blade, but he swung it with ease, slashing across the ranks of fiends as he raced for the fortress.
He felt more powerful than he ever had, even as Draeken. The sheer power in the Titan’s flesh made him invincible, and he savored the swing of the sword, the strength of his legs as he kicked a skorpian. The beast flipped end over end, flailing before it crushed a pair of quare leaping over a streambed.
He roared his challenge, the voice carrying the joined timbre of three speaking as one. Merged as he was with the girl and her father, Mind could feel their excitement and fear. Fiends clawed at their legs and scaled their back, digging their claws into the ancient flesh, but Mind dove to the ground and rolled, crushing hundreds before he regained his feet.
He charged through the ranks, avoiding the dragons. Skorpian bolts soared in his direction, plunging into his body or bouncing off his armor. A kraka swung at his leg but Mind stepped on him like he was an insect, and then Mind dragged his sword through the fiends charging his flank.
He picked up a tree in his free hand and used the entire tree like a club, bashing fiends on all sides. Mind had trained for combat for thousands of years, and used both weapons to the pinnacle of his skill, slashing and striking, moving with such agility and speed that fiends could hardly touch him.
He hurled fallen trees, leveled thousands with a sweep of his sword, and shattered an entire charge. A boulder from a catapult fell nearby and he picked it up and sent it hurtling into a collection of skorpians, the great stone crushing hundreds before it finally came to a stop.
He felt the kinship with Stella and her father, their unity empowering the Titan to greater efforts. The host of fiends were like insects scratching and biting his skin, but his might would not be constrained.
He expected one of the generals to appear, but the minutes stretched into an hour. Wherever the fighting was thickest, he fortified the defenders. He saved dragons and city walls, and held the horde at bay. Several times he spotted the generals, and once Bartoth came in his direction. Each time he glanced to the sky, and knew it was not yet time. He kept his distance from Plague and Famine, and never saw Death. In his great black armor, War seemed content to watch the Titan, and Mind made no move to engage. Between the Titan, the dragons, and the alliance, they stood against the endless horde and refused to yield.
Twice he spotted Draeken flying above his fiend army. He did not engage on his own, and Mind was grateful. For now, it seemed Draeken wanted to wait until the walls were destroyed before risking his generals. But as the second hour passed it seemed Draeken grew impatient, and Bartoth appeared in his path.
Unhurried, Bartoth advanced across the ground. At twelve feet tall he’d always seemed enormous, but not this time. Now he seemed small and insignificant. He spun his sword in lazy circles.
“You want me?” he called. “Come and get me.”
Mind charged, sprinting through the ranks of fiends and tossing them aside. Others were trampled beneath his boots. Bartoth did not deviate, he accelerated his sword until it began to whine.
Mind closed the gap in a rush and swung his sword like a woodsman chopping a tree. Bartoth jumped and flipped over the blade. Landing on his feet, he darted in and slashed once, cutting deep into the Titan’s knee.
Mind sucked in his breath. Connected as he was to the Titan’s magic, he could feel the pain in his own knee. He spun and lashed out, and this time his sword struck Bartoth on his side. The general blasted through a group of quare, bouncing and tumbling until he slammed into a boulder. He fell to his knees and Mind raised his hand, motioning an invitation. Bartoth rose to his feet with a snarl and charged, closing the gap in a rush.
Mind swung his sword again, but Bartoth swung his own blade, knocking the giant weapon upward. Mind leaned down and struck the ground, but Bartoth dodged and swung, slicing deep across Mind’s hand.
For several furious seconds they dueled, their conflict spilling into nearby fiends. Mind possessed the greater strength, but Bartoth’s magic gave him agility and speed, both elements that the Titan could not match. But what the war machine lacked in speed, it made up for in brute strength.
Mind leaned down and punched the ground, the earth bursting in all directions. Fiends were knocked into the air, a pair of logs were thrown thirty feet, where they collided with a trio of krakas. Even War was tossed onto his back, and Mind raised his sword. He brought it down and drove it into the ground, just missing the general as the troll rolled to the side.
Bartoth jumped to Mind’s arm and scrambled up his elbow. Mind released his sword and swatted at the rock troll. Bartoth ducked and jumped, and managed to catch the ridge of armor at Mind’s throat. With his weapon in hand, he plunged the heavy blade into the Titan’s shoulder, driving the sword all the way to where Mind and his friends were locked in a meld.
Mind instinctively ducked as the sword entered their chamber, narrowly missing his ear. Still deep in the Titan’s magic, the war machine also ducked, and Bartoth yanked his sword free. With a savage burst of strength, the rock troll swung. The sweeping attack came from under the war machine’s shoulder, and cut deep into Moren’s leg.
All three cried out, the pain transferring. The Titan stumbled and fell to its knees. Bartoth leapt away and landed nearby. Mind released the meld and reached for Moren. Like a doll dropped by child, the Titan fell forward, landing on a contingent of krakas and rolling down a slope into a shallow recess. Mind yanked a section of cloth from his shoulder and tied it around the gushing wound.
“He needs a healer in Ilumidora,” he said.
“We’re five hundred feet from the wall,” Stella said, her voice worried.
“Hit the rune,” he said.
“Mind!” Bartoth called. “I must say I’m impressed.”
“When he’s distracted,” Mind said, “get your father to the city.”
“I’m not abandoning you.” Her jaw tightened.
“You’re not leaving me,” he said. “You’re saving your father.”
Moren’s eyes fluttered and the cloth Mind used to wrap around his leg was already dark with blood. Stella grimaced at the choice but nodded, so Mind opened the hatch and climbed out. The Titan had rolled down the slope onto its back, and Bartoth stood on the giant statue’s stomach, his armor bent but not broken. Mind stepped into view and noticed the ring of fiends.
“A valiant effort,” Bartoth said. “But not even a Titan can stop me.”
“That’s why I brought someone else,” he said.
Behind him, Stella slammed her hand onto the rune he had placed, and a crackle of energy appeared above the Titan, the threads brightening as an arch drew power from the flesh of the Titan to create the Gate. Bartoth charged, but the Gate shimmered to life, and two figures stepped into Lumineia.
Tardoq and the Bonebreaker.
; Chapter 39: Breached
Benjamin (killing me to switch perspectives here! UGH!)
Shadow spun and cut his sword through two quare that had climbed the wall, darting between them to strike at another just appearing over the battlements. Above him, Lorica dove in front of the wall and slashed her sword across several climbers before banking away from a skorpian bolt.
The battlefield lay in ruins. Dragons roared and breathed their deadly breath. Fiends stampeded in every direction. Cavalry raced about, their ranks in shambles as they fought scattered fiends that made it past the dragons. One aquaglass wall was on the verge of crumbling, the blue material so damaged that crossbow bolts could no longer pass through. Drawn to the weakness, the fiends rushed the spot, led by Famine.
Shadow spotted Famine and shouted to Lorica. The assassin folded her wings and dropped to his side, both sprinting to intercept the general. As they did, Shadow began to feel the hunger, forcing him to turn into shadow form.
All around, soldiers of every race began to wilt. They cried out and grasped their stomachs, their food stores molding before their eyes. Shadow shouted for Light and his brother darted to his side.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
“I know,” Shadow said. “Famine is attacking the wall. Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
His brother grimaced and then turned to his elemental form. Shadow and Light raced together, one a body of smoke, the other a body of light. Shadow grinned and accelerated, motioning Lorica away.
“You know what to do!”
“I didn’t forget,” Lorica called.
Obviously grateful to leave, she leapt into the sky and banked away, flying for Dothlore, the dwarven king. Someone recognized Famine and began shouting orders, calling for a retreat from the breaking wall. The elven mages, lathered in sweat from their efforts to hold the wall, stumbled back, and in seconds the krakas on the other side shattered the glass.