by Toni Cox
“They want to pass,” the man shouted, “or they will kill all of us.” The man was silent for a moment, then yelled, “Please, help us!”
The Vampyre slit his throat in one quick movement and the young Elf slid silently to the ground.
Maia gasped.
“Do as told, or zee others will encounter same fate as ‘im.”
The Vampyre’s voice had a strange quality to it. Quiet, yet strong, and it carried well. It sent shivers down Maia’s back. She watched him retreat back into the forest.
“We have to help them, Evan,” Maia pleaded. “They still have three hostages, we have to do something.”
“We cannot go in there with our dragons. And we are outnumbered. Going on foot could be suicide.”
Maia felt Midnight tremble as her outrage started to affect him too. Thick smoke poured from his nostrils and she knew he was ready for a fight. Even the Battle Dragons were becoming restless, itching for a fight with the smell of Werewolf in their nostrils.
They waited. Nothing happened for another hour. The moons disappeared behind the mountains and to the east there was now a faint glow of the coming sun.
Evan frowned. “We need to move closer. Otherwise the sun will blind us once it rises above the forest.”
He gave the signal and they moved as one toward the tree line. Someone screamed. They stopped.
Two Vampyres stepped out of the trees dragging another Elf between them. They stopped short of where the dead Elf lay.
“Please,” the man said, “they have already killed one son. My wife and younger son are still in there with them. They want to go across the bridge. You need to let them pass, or they will kill them.”
Maia could see the man had been beaten, badly. His face was already swollen and starting to discolour. Blood was flowing from a wound on his temple and the way he held his body, Maia surmised he had at least two or three broken ribs.
“We have to go in there,” Evan’s voice was thick with emotion, but so low, it did not carry to the forest’s edge. “It is the only way to get to them.”
Dywar shook his head. “We’d be walking into a trap.”
“I am aware of that, Dywar. But we cannot let them cross and we cannot let them kill these people. We have to risk it. We know this territory, are used to the woods. Their Werewolves are too big to manoeuvre freely amongst the trees. We will storm the tree line with the dragons on my signal. Once at the forest, we will dismount and charge. Stay together. Watch each other’s back. Are you ready?”
Maia heard the soft acknowledgments from the men and then, at Evan’s shout, they were running for the forest. The sound of thirty dragons galloping over open ground was terrifying. Maia briefly noticed the look of surprise on the Vampyre’s faces, before they fled, dragging the Elf with them.
The Dragon Battalion came to a sliding stop as they reached the trees. Midnight let out a small stream of fire as he stopped, briefly lighting up the scene, casting eerie shadows all around them. Maia ran down his leg and jumped down. The others were already on the ground. As one, they all stepped forward into the forest, shields raised, swords at the ready. The dragons clacked and roared their displeasure behind them. Midnight shot another stream of fire high into the sky.
It could not be helped. The dragons could not go into the forest. The underbrush was thick and the trees hung low.
Carefully, they advanced. Maia’s nerves were strung tight, all her senses alert to any noise or movement. Midnight took to the sky. She felt him circling overhead, every now and again roaring his displeasure.
As the sun rose slowly in the east, the light within the forest strengthened marginally. It was just enough for them to see by, but still, the shadows prevailed under every bush, every shrub. They were walking in twos and threes, their backs to each other. The forest was thick and they had to spread out. Evan gave quiet orders as they moved on.
The Vampyres had gone, but their spoor was easy to follow. The Werewolves left deep gouges in the soft earth with their claws. For another hour they followed the retreating enemy. The tension was tangible and the worry that they were walking into a trap weighed heavily on their minds. Maia tried to keep her mind open to their enemy’s Eläm. Although the Vampyres’ Eläm were faint, she should be able to pick up those of the Werewolves, but she was so tense she struggled to concentrate. They continued unchallenged.
The sun finally broke over the horizon and sunlight filtered through the canopy. Immediately, the forest looked a little friendlier and they stepped forward with a bit more confidence. As they went deeper and deeper into the woods, they noticed that the underbrush was thinning. Small, open clearings allowed them to regroup every twenty paces or so. It made them wary, expecting an ambush at every turn.
“Halt,” Daran whispered.
He had taken the lead from Evan only moments before and now held up his fist for them to stop. Everyone held their breaths while they listened to what had alerted Daran. A stifled sob, then a moan. Maia picked up a faint Eläm and her immediate instinct was to run to aid the person in pain. She felt it as her own. The sharp bite of the broken wrist and ribs, the dull throb of the head wound, the burn of the abrasions on his face, arms and thigh and, finally, the pain in his heart from losing his son.
Evan laid a restraining hand on her, cautioning her with his eyes.
Carefully, she looked around. They were almost at the edge of a small clearing. The trees were still thick overhead and no sky was visible, but below, the clearing was about twenty or thirty paces across, with a small, mossy boulder in the centre. It looked as if it could have been an altar during another time. If she looked carefully, she thought she saw runes etched into the stone. The moan came again and Maia noted that it came from behind the altar. Every fibre of her body told her to go to the aid of the man she knew was there, but she stood rooted to her spot, studying the forest around them. There was no movement in the trees opposite, at least nothing she could see, and she was unable to pick up any Life-Forces close by.
Even the insects have retreated, she thought.
Evan motioned for his men to spread out left and right. Daran and Eyvin stayed with her and Evan. All their senses were alert as they cautiously moved forward. Nothing happened. They moved another few paces until they reached the edge of the clearing. They waited. After a few long moments, the man moaned again.
“I have to go to him, Evan,” Maia said quietly. “Will you cover me?”
Evan did a quick check on his men. They had moved around in a semi-circle to their left and right. He gave them a small signal and then nodded to Maia.
She slung her bow over her shoulder and drew her Twin Blades. Slowly, she stepped onto the grass into the open. Somewhere in the forest, a twig snapped. She froze. Then a bird started to sing and she moved slowly forward again. She reached the boulder without incident. The man huddled behind it looked up at her with pleading eyes. He was gagged and bound, unable to speak, but he shook his head and his eyes filled with sadness. She knelt by his side to undo his binds.
“Look out!” Evan yelled behind her.
She whirled around, swinging her blades and came face to face with the snarling teeth of a Werewolf. Until now, she had only seen them from dragon-back and had not realised how big they were. She breathed in its foul breath as it looked down on her, drool dripping onto her chin as she looked up at it. There was no time to wonder as to how long its teeth were or whether its claws were as sharp. Without thinking, she sliced through the beast’s throat with her blades and then ducked, rolled and came up next to the fallen animal to drive the blades into the chest of the Vampyre still on its back.
Vaguely, she noticed fights going on all around her. Evan clashed swords with a Vampyre, Daran fought off two Werewolves at the same time. Then the next Werewolf was upon her and she had to defend herself again. Sharp teeth grazed her shoulder, opening a burning gash. She lost her bow. The heavy impact of the Vampyre’s long swords jarred her arms as she parried each stroke with h
er Twin Blades.
Again and again, they came for her. Again and again, she killed to save her life. Each time she felt herself take a Life-Force, she felt herself weaken. Although she felt it more with the Werewolves, she was now also aware of the Eläm of the Vampyres. Her arms trembled, her knees were weak and tears ran down her face.
She looked around desperately at the men she had led into this slaughter. Many were down, lying on the ground, bodies torn open, blood seeping into the soil. Evan was still standing, but she could see he was faltering too.
Then there was another Vampyre before her and she lifted her tired arms to deflect the blow aimed at her head. The heavy sword came down on her, hit the blades and knocked them out of her hands. Her arms went numb from the shock of the impact. She scrambled across the ground, looking for a weapon as the Vampyre lifted his sword again. Her hands found a sword lying on the ground. She grabbed it, but it was too heavy for her to lift.
She looked up at the Vampyre standing above her, sword raised. In her mind’s eye she saw Death standing at the edge of the field where they had trained with Midnight and she knew that this was her end; he had been telling her all along that he was there to take her. She had been right. She closed her eyes. The end would come now.
She flinched as the sound of sword striking flesh and bone reached her ears. She felt no pain. Startled she looked up. The Vampyre still stood, staring down at her, but as she watched, his sword dropped out of his hands and fell to the side. Then, slowly, his head slid off his shoulders and made a dull thud as it hit the ground. His body followed a moment later. She just managed to avoid it landing on top of her. A small cry of pain escaped her as she scrambled to her feet. Her body ached and she was so incredibly tired.
Frantically, she looked for her blades. There! If she could just reach them. She stumbled towards them, the sound of fighting loud in her ears and the smell of blood heavy in her nose. She gagged. She bent to pick up the knives as another Werewolf knocked into her. She fell, winded.
The beast stood over her, growling. She held her arms in front of her face as it bent down to bite. But the bite never came. Instead, a terrifying yelp came from its throat as suddenly a long, slender blade sliced through its shoulder, knocking it off her. Maia stared as Death followed the beast and ended its life with another swing of his blade. More Werewolves converged on him and he twirled and swung his blade with such speed that Maia was unsure about how many blades he actually wielded. Death dealt death with such precision, it was beautiful.
Something knocked into her then and she became aware of the fighting that still carried on around her. The men that were left, had formed into a tight knot around the altar, close to where she was lying. They were holding off what seemed to be at least another twelve Vampyres. She got bumped again and turned to her other side. A Werewolf was mortally wounded and barely able to move, yet it still struggled with its last breath to kill her. Pity welled in her and she finally managed to grab her Twin Blades off the ground and stabbed them into the heart of the beast that wanted her dead. It used up the energy she had left and, as it took its last breath and its heart pumped a final beat, she finally lost consciousness and lay still.
She felt warm and safe. The reassuring motion of Midnight’s flight kept her in a semi-sleep for a long while and it was only when she felt Midnight descend that she fully woke up and wondered what was going on.
She was being held. Tight. Yet she did not feel restrained, only safe. She could feel the sensation of soft leather rubbing against her cheek where she leaned her head against his chest. She blinked. His chest? That’s when she noticed his smell. It was the most intoxicating scent, masculine and dangerous, with underlying notes of leather, forest, earth and fresh water. Not even the smell of sweat and blood of battle could hide his true smell from her and she knew immediately who it was that held her.
Immediately, her body reacted. Mostly in unexpected ways that she cared not to think about. Her heart pounded and blood rushed to her ears. She felt her panic rising. Then, the soothing thoughts of Midnight gentled hers and she calmed down long enough to wonder why Midnight would allow him to fly with him.
Visions from Midnight of the slaughter at the altar flooded her mind and she saw how Death had come into the melee just when it looked like the Vampyres would overpower them all. Midnight showed her how Death had saved her not once, but many times during the fight and how he had finally lifted her and taken her out of the forest to be with Midnight. She knew her dragon felt gratitude for what Death did, which was why he was allowing him to ride with him, but there were other thoughts too. Thoughts that Midnight quickly hid from her and she wondered about it.
Death shifted slightly, aware that she was awake. Her heart beat faster again and she became acutely aware of where their bodies touched and how warm his felt against hers.
“Good morning, Maia.”
His voice had a deep timbre. Warm, yet strangely threatening. It caused her heart to skip a beat. Then she looked up at him and stared into his incredibly blue eyes.
No, she thought, not blue, but violet.
“Who are you?” she managed to say through her bewilderment.
“I’m Blaid,” he said simply, but it caused her heart to flutter once more.
Jaik watched Maia take flight on her dragon and stared after her for a moment. He did not want to let her go, but he knew it needed to be done. If those Vampyres were, indeed, heading into the mountains, then they had to be stopped. He sighed, then took command of his Guard and marched forward with the rest of the army. They had already battled and overcome a host of twenty-five thousand; what was another five hundred compared to that? It made him wonder why they would send such a small force as a rear guard and it made him weary. Something was going to happen, he could feel it.
They marched for another two miles or so before they came upon the next wave of Vampyres. What he saw as they crested the ridge, surprised him. The Vampyres stood facing them in a long line, each next to what looked like a catapult. Jaik heard his father call for a halt and he repeated the order down the line. They had lost most of their horses and, a brief count confirmed it, almost six hundred warriors. Nonetheless, their number still stood at just over nine thousand, so a force of five hundred should not prove difficult. However, as he watched, the Vampyres busied themselves with their machines.
“Shields up!” he yelled.
“Shields up!” came the repeat.
He turned Stormborn and cantered down the line to his father. He nodded to him as he reined his horse to a stop.
“This does not feel right, Father. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“As do I, Son. They must have brought the machines while we were engaged with the first battle. It makes me wonder what else they are bringing through. They have us at a disadvantage. While they delay us here, their reinforcements can come through unhindered. We need to break through this barricade with haste.”
Jaik nodded, then watched as a Scout came running down the line and stopped before his father.
“Lord Longshadow.” He bowed. “As requested, I have looked at their weapons. Some of them are catapults; the others are large, mounted crossbows. The crossbows are fitted with long, barbed spears. I believe those to be for the dragons. Unfortunately, I was unable to establish the ammunition for the catapults. They have caches of ball-shaped objects hidden beneath heavy tarpaulins, but I could not see what they contain.”
“Thank you, Vandamar,” Jagaer nodded.
“My Lord,” Vandamar replied, “there is more.”
“More?”
“Indeed, Sire. It seems that these Vampyres are different from the ones we fought this morning. They are taller, stronger and faster. I watched them for a while and I believe that these are either Commanders or maybe Generals. Their beasts, as well, are bigger and stronger.”
“Very well,” Jagaer sighed, “run down the line and spread the word to our Commanders. I will give the signal to advance in a moment.”
Vandamar took off at a run. Jaik could hear the commotion through the ranks as the news spread. He conferred briefly with his father, then rejoined his Guard. His heart beat loudly in his chest while he waited for the command to march. Then they were moving. The horses snorted, armour clanged against armour and the dragons flapped their wings as they took to the air.
Immediately, the Vampyres sprang into action. Jaik watched with fascinated horror as the first few spears flew overhead with a peculiar whistling sound and then screamed for the men to get out of the way, as the first dragon plummeted to the ground.
More spears followed and more dragons fell. Still their army marched forward. As they came closer, Jaik noticed that the catapults were being loaded with the round objects Vandamar had seen. He sent a caution down the line and then the first ball was in the air. As it neared, he noticed a small tendril of smoke coming off it. It hit the front line and the ball exploded, spraying red-hot lava in all directions.
Screams, and the smell of burning flesh, filled the air. Ball after ball followed the first one, almost slowing them to a standstill. Some of the Dragon Riders managed to get their Battle Dragons behind the enemy line and tried to destroy the catapults, but they were attacked relentlessly by this new breed of Werewolf and were soon unable to continue. They retreated into the sky and their riders shot arrows down upon the Werewolves, all the while trying to avoid more spears.
It was evening by the time they finally managed to overrun the catapults and full night by the time they had killed the last of the Vampyres and Werewolves. Their losses to get to this point had been heavy. Stormborn had been hit by a spear and had fallen dead instantly. Twenty-three dragons had lost their lives, as well as fifteen of their riders. Jagaer estimated their total losses at over a thousand dead. Their army was exhausted, injured and demoralised.
Jagaer knew he should be pushing on through to Greystone. They were so close now, but his people needed to rest. Silas did what he could for those that were injured, but Jagaer now wished he had not sent Maia away.