The plan was working.
Several transport dragons either interrupted unloading Draebek, or began loading some of the Draebek who were currently fighting on the western wall. Then collectively they flew toward the east after the dragon riders. Owen watched as the Draebek force was cut in half from the repositioning.
Well, curse me…I can’t believe it’s actually working.
He waited for the signal to retreat, but nothing came. He glanced back toward the castle battlements, and was shocked when he couldn’t find them. The castle battlements were raised high enough that he should have been able to spot them. He wiped his eyes, wondering if debris was clouding his vision, but when he looked back in the direction of the castle, he couldn’t find the battlements. He could see the castle, but the front wall had basically disappeared.
“Gregor?” he asked as he pulled himself off the ground. “Where did the castle battlements go?” he asked. He had to duck as a Draebek axe swung at his head. He stepped to the side and lashed out, his sword finding flesh. He wasn’t sure if the Draebek screamed or not. The sounds of battle started blending together and exhaustion was taking over. It was pure instinct that was keeping him alive now, as his mind was so thick with fatigue that he had trouble focusing on anything. Though he hated to admit it, he was grateful for all of those long hours of training. If his muscles didn’t know exactly what to do from hours of practicing, he would have been dead by now.
As if thinking death was an omen, he had to step over a body as he avoided another attack. The axe strike went wide, and he thrust again, scoring a hit. This time he did hear a scream, as he had scored the hit in the Draebek’s neck. Blood sprayed in his direction as he pulled his sword free. Dear Creator, I hate this…
“The battlements?” Gregor screamed back. “Destroyed a few minutes ago. The dragons all focused on it. They learned from last time. I don’t think we’re going to get a sign.”
At first Owen stared at his friend. He hated that he considered Gregor a friend now. After all, the poor man was going to be sent to his death in just a moment. But he had become a friend. The man had a dry sense of humor that rivaled his own, and was a formidable fighter. Plus he consistently never laughed at any of Owen’s inappropriate behavior. Though Gregor most definitely didn’t agree with a lot of Owen’s leadership, he kept it to himself—which was a welcomed change from most military leadership.
Owen regarded Gregor now. The man was stoic as he fought. They were both on foot—their horses killed earlier—but he walked with purpose despite dozens of wounds. He had somehow lost his helmet…so his hair was matted with blood and sweat. His face was covered with grime. But his eyes were so intense, it was formidable.
Then the words that Gregor had said registered. Battlements destroyed? Owen turned back, and sure enough, he could see the front wall of the castle. Instead of seeing the gate and large walls that had held the Draebek at bay, he saw a gaping hole of destruction. Fire was running rampantly, and smoke rose from the destruction.
Malithan…
Owen wouldn’t necessarily call the man his friend, but he was kind and deserved a fate better than this. Another good one…lost…
“Should we use these dragons as sign enough?” Gregor suggested. More of the dragons lifted into the air, transporting Draebek away from them.
Owen nodded, and as he watched the dragons begin transporting even more Draebek away, he wondered if they could alter their plan. If enough of the Draebek force is redeployed, maybe we can fight our way through?
But as he looked back at the Draebek force that remained, they were still significantly outnumbered. There are just too many Draebek. A pang of pain and guilt swept through him. He knew what this meant. He would take the bulk of the men away and flee for safety, while Gregor and the Draestl Dragons made one last stand to save their lives.
They were currently fighting at the place Gregor had strategically chosen to make his stand. Although the majority of the eastern wall was destroyed, there was one path where some of the buildings still stood, and it provided enough obstacles that it created a choke point. It was wide, and would still require Gregor’s remaining forces to protect it, but it should provide enough time for Owen to take the rest and make it back to the castle and into the tunnel.
Owen looked at Gregor and they locked eyes. Owen was impressed with how courageous the man was. He nodded. I wouldn’t have been able to do it.
“Then it’s time,” Gregor said. “And wipe that sad smile off your face, Owen. You would have done the same if the dice fell differently.”
Owen raised an eyebrow. Did he just make a dice reference? He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it when Gregor raised a hand.
“No goodbyes, no second-guessing the plan. It will work, Owen Delmsmith. Just do me a favor?”
“Anything,” Owen replied. He hated that there was so much emotion building inside him. Shame, for having thought of this plan. Sadness, for what was going to happen to Gregor and his men that were being sentenced to death. Excitement, to get away from this bloody mess. Pride, for the fact that in a matter of moments he had influenced Gregor to think about dice.
“Don’t look back. I don’t know how long we can hold them, so as soon as you break the Wolves away, don’t look back. Run as fast as you can and make it to safety.”
There was a lull in the battle as if the Creator himself was allowing this farewell, so Owen nodded and extended a hand. Gregor took it. They locked eyes, nodded once, and then Gregor turned back to the battle ahead.
“Then on my count,” Gregor said.
Owen shook his head. I hate bloody battles.
“One,” Gregor said.
Owen grabbed the Alderidon Wolves banner. It was a tattered mess. It had fallen on the ground several times, so it was covered in grime, and once he had used it to parry an attack, so there was a large gash down the middle of it. But he had saved it. It was a beacon of hope, and though it was torn and tattered, it would be their symbol of freedom.
“Two,” Gregor said.
Owen looked back at the smoldering castle. Doubts filled him. He also had the fleeting thought of whether or not the main Draebek force had scaled the debris of the front wall yet. They probably have.
“Three,” Gregor said.
Owen ignored Gregor’s request and looked at him one more time. They locked eyes. Then Gregor raised his sword into the air. “Draestl Dragons! To me! We fight for our survival!”
The remaining Draestl Dragons rallied around Gregor and they charged toward the choke point. Owen watched them as they charged, cutting down Draebek in their path. They fought like their namesake and cut down and destroyed any who stepped in their path.
They were going to die. All of them. For him. For the Wolves. For Wayd.
He shook his head, then raised the tattered Alderidon Wolves flag into the air. “Alderidon Wolves! To me!”
Then he turned around and started to run back toward the castle, his forces behind them. They were all exhausted. Some needed help to keep moving. But they all had a look of hope on their faces.
Owen prayed that some of them would make it to safety this day.
He started to look back, but remembered Gregor’s only wish. Don’t look back. So instead he gritted his teeth and ran, trying the best he could to ignore the screams of death behind him.
Malithan shook his head. The impact from the explosion was deafening, and there was a constant ringing in his ears. He looked all around him, and all he saw were bodies.
Templar Kilth lay sprawled in a pile of ballista debris. Seeker Yoth was next to him. Both lay still and twisted in death. They were the ones manning the ballista. They were the ones that had saved Wayd’s life—or at least given them a chance to escape.
Malithan knew the only reason he was still alive was because he had gone to the other end of the battlements to watch the progress of the Draestl Dragons. They were being destroyed and overrun, but when the dragons had discovered Wayd’
s force, they had turned as one and redirected their force after Wayd. The plan had worked. Malithan wanted to ensure that the Wolves would begin to turn back to the castle. He had wanted to watch the farewell, to bid his team and Gregor a proper goodbye.
But then the battlements exploded.
He looked around to try to determine where he was. From the height of the remaining walls of the castle, he was no longer on top of the battlement, but he also wasn’t on the ground. The fall would have killed me. He reasoned that when the fireballs destroyed the battlements that it must have caved in on itself and he had ridden down with the debris. I’m lucky I didn’t get crushed. He looked around and saw that others on the tower weren’t as lucky as several limbs protruded lifelessly from the broken bricks.
Malithan tried to get up, but his head rang with protest and swirled uncontrollably. He took a deep, slow breath and tried to relax his mind. But it was difficult. A sharp pain grabbed his attention, and he looked down to see shards of debris protruding from his side. He wasn’t sure if it was from the blast, or if he had landed on something. Or both.
Dear Creator, how am I going to get out of this?
He pushed himself onto his hands again, but increasing dizziness forced him onto his side. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. Surprisingly, it was only dusk. And the glow from the setting sun, mixed with the smoke of battle, gave the sky an eerie color. It looked like death.
A gift I may soon be presented with.
He took a deep breath, wondering if this pain would ever subside. He knew he needed to move. Needed to get to the others who were already gathered together in the tunnel. But he didn’t know if he could. Dear Creator…help.
A commotion sounded next to him.
He rolled to his side, grasping for his sword—only to realize it was nowhere to be found—and turned to face whatever was approaching. He hoped it was a friend, but was prepared to die if it was a foe.
Templar Arthron’s elderly face appeared around rubble, and he let out a smile as he saw Malithan. “You did survive!” the Templar exclaimed as he pulled himself onto the ledge.
Malithan was shocked to see Arthron. The last time he had seen him, Arthron was on the brink of death, his body torn and tattered and the man could barely stay conscious. Similar to my current predicament, he thought as his head spun again. But now the Templar walked as if nothing had happened.
“Templar’s wine,” Arthron explained as if reading Malithan’s thoughts. “And looks like you can use some.”
“It’s only for members of the Order, Arthron,” Seeker Kalaia said from the side.
Malithan regarded the Seeker and saw that she looked rejuvenated as well. He had always known about the healing powers of the Order, but seeing it firsthand was always a good reminder at how effective it was.
Arthron glared at the Seeker, but she smiled. “But of course, to save a friend.”
“It’s fine,” Malithan said as he struggled to his feet. The headache was passing with each moment, and the intense vertigo he experienced a moment earlier had settled. Arthron extended a hand and helped him to his feet, and after swaying for a moment, he steadied. “Did anyone survive the battlements?” he asked as Arthron helped him off the debris. He realized he was only a few feet from the ground.
Arthron shook his head. “None that we’ve found, but,” he paused as he gestured all around them, “it’s difficult considering the death.”
Malithan saw the bodies the Templar was referencing and agreed. Nothing was stirring. There were only bodies, everywhere.
“Though we did find this,” Seeker Kalaia said as she and a few other soldiers rolled two barrels forward.
“Dragonsbane,” Malithan observed, relieved. He had feared that the last of their stores had been destroyed. He couldn’t believe it had survived the blast and fall. “Bring them with us, we can use it.”
“And this,” a different soldier gestured from the distance. Malithan turned to regard the newcomers and was shocked when he saw them clearing debris so they could move a ballista with them. It looked intact.
“It wasn’t from the battlements, but from the gate. It’s still functioning. We figured we’d need it for the escape.”
“You thought right,” Malithan said. “Great job.” He looked at the ballista and felt a wave of relief. The only way to stop this tidal wave was with siege engines. Then he registered that this was from the gate. He looked around and realized that they were standing under where the portcullis used to be. It was completely destroyed. Which meant…Dear Creator, there is nothing stopping Draebek from entering the castle!
Wondering how much time they had left, he turned to Arthron. “Are the families below and on their way?”
Arthron nodded. “They are. We’re just waiting for the Wolves. Some of our soldiers have gone ahead to ensure that the tunnel hasn’t collapsed from all of the destruction that has occurred, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to wait until they return to commit to the tunnel. The Draebek are removing debris as we speak. We’re literally minutes from being overrun.”
Malithan cursed and shook his head. He looked across the courtyard and saw that Arthron’s report was accurate. He could see the debris from the front gate being cleared away. He knew how many Draebek were on the other side.
“How many men are guarding the entrance?” he asked.
“Two dozen at best. We would have stayed with them, but we saw the battlements explode, so we came to check for survivors. But let’s head back,” Arthron explained.
Malithan nodded and followed after the Templar. With each step he realized how weary he was. But the sound of approaching enemies ignited his adrenaline. They were close. Dear Creator, we’re running out of time!
The entrance to the tunnel was located in the middle of the castle, and as Malithan walked toward it, he was reminded how misnamed the castle was. The castle was anything but a castle. It was nothing more than a dozen buildings with a massive wall built around them. And now the wall was destroyed, and the buildings provided little to no protection.
The tunnel entrance was in the middle of a courtyard—completely in the open—with four buildings around its side. They weren’t built to be walls, but they acted as such as they created natural entry points. He noticed that each was defended with a handful of soldiers. Arthron’s estimation of how many soldiers remained was generous. There were only two or three guards per opening.
“I may have exaggerated the number of men,” Arthron admitted. “And I’m afraid you will have two less. Seeker Kalaia and I are going after Wayd.”
Malithan felt like a dagger pierced his heart. He regarded the other soldiers and saw only one pair of Templars and Seekers remaining. His entire force was being cut down or already in the tunnel.
“Arthron, it’s too late. He’s already gone. Please. Though I have no real authority to command you, I ask you as a friend. Stay with us. Help us get through the tunnel. If something happens to Wayd, we’ll come back to help. Seeker Phillip and Templar Yana are with him,” Malithan pleaded.
Arthron shook his head. “My charge—my only charge—was to protect the prince. I understand why I was required to recover, I could barely stand after all, but I’m recovered now and I need to return to my station. You of all people must understand the need for obedience.”
“But obedience needs to apply to the greater good. We have kept Wayd protected. Besides, Wayd is the only one that is safe in this entire battle! Thraegar won’t kill him. But us,” Malithan said as he gestured across the courtyard. “He will kill us just to make an example. We need all the help we can get. If this courtyard falls, then the rest of the defenders will undoubtedly die.”
Arthron clenched his teeth—he obviously knew what Malithan said was true, but he didn’t like it.
“We should stay,” Seeker Kalaia said softly. “Our duty is to Wayd, it is true,” she continued as Arthron bristled. “But our first charge was to protect the people of Ardonor. Abandoning hundreds
to their death to save the one is not the way of the Order of the Dragon.”
“Fine,” Arthron said, unsettled. But Malithan noticed a calmness appear in his eyes. He was torn between two duties. As a good soldier would be.
“Then it is settled. Let’s move into position. If we are lucky, the Wolves will arrive in any moment. I want the ballista near the tunnel entrance; it will be our last line of defense. Crossbowmen—whoever we have left—will man it, and also watch the skies for any dragons. I saw them all head after Wayd,” Malithan paused as he saw Arthron tense again, but he continued on, “so I’m hoping they are distracted, but we need to be ready no matter what. Defenders, split yourselves evenly upon the gates, but be ready to pivot. The main army is breaking through and I’m nervous that we will be surrounded any minute—”
He cut off as a scout came running toward them frantically. “They’re coming. I tried to get ahead, but they are coming. They will be—”
An arrow hit him in the back and he stumbled forward.
“Kill him! The arrow may have been laced with dragonlyst!” Malithan yelled.
He turned to give another command but stopped as a sea of Draebek flooded into the path. “Move! Break the charge. Stand our ground!”
The sound of battle filled the air. Malithan grunted, grabbed a sword, and charged.
Owen’s heart nearly stopped as they made their way around the last building. Instead of seeing a courtyard filled with dead bodies—like how he had left it—the courtyard was packed with Draebek. They were everywhere. Hundreds of them. They had cleared the debris from the front wall and were rushing in like a tidal wave.
The battlements of the castle were completely destroyed. The little that remained barely slowed the charging Draebek.
Draebek siege weapons brought down the castle buildings one at a time and revealed that there was only a small group of defenders doing their best to keep them at bay, but they were being overrun and completely surrounded. It was as if the entrance to the tunnel was on an island surrounded by a sea of Draebek.
Siege of Draestl Page 14