by Licia Troisi
“Sareph! Thoolan! Flar!” Nihal shouted, one after the other, and so descended three beams of light: dark blue, purple, and red.
The Fortress pulsed with effulgent light. Aster’s spell was nearly complete. But Nihal forced herself to remain calm and carry on.
“Tareph! Goriar! Mawas!” she yelled, and the last three rays of light beamed down from the sky: brown, black, white.
An immense calm descended over the earth. The Fortress ceased glowing, the clouds ceased swirling, the wind died down. All was still and silent.
For a brief moment, both armies, friend and enemy, were gripped by the same terror and overwhelming sense of awe. The Eight Powers revealed themselves in their full force and the ancient gods returned to the earth. In face of such a sight, standing before the unfathomable essence of creation, the soldiers of both armies felt minuscule and insignificant. The next moment brought an explosion of a thousand colors, a blinding burst of light.
A luminous sphere descended from the sky, tiny at first, then infinitely larger until it was big enough to contain the entire Fortress and all that surrounded it, extending out to the very edges of the earth, beyond the Great Desert, beyond the tumultuous waters of the Saar.
Nihal stood at its center. She could feel the energy surging through her, and in that moment she felt immensely powerful, as if everything—the trees, the plants, the animals—were all bowing at her feet, as if the entire world were hers alone. For an instant, it all seemed clear to her.
“Your prayer has been granted,” a solemn voice uttered. “But this power is not for you, Consecrated One, but for all those who yearn for peace. Use it wisely, this divine gift.”
Nihal felt she was no longer master, but slave. She regained her senses and saw that the army of the dead, once so numerous, had disappeared altogether from the battlefront, carried off by the wind. The Fammin, meanwhile, were at a complete loss, glancing around bewilderedly in all directions. The incantation had worked.
But there was no time to celebrate. The half-elf collapsed to her knees. She was short of breath, her chest tightening around her lungs. The talisman was sapping her life force.
“Is everything okay?” Ido asked, already kneeling at her side.
Nihal nodded. “Everything’s fine. It’s just the amulet exacting its price.”
She stood and mounted Oarf, alone. Then she took off, soaring up above the troops so all could see her. There, in the open sky, Nihal raised her sword and let out a piercing battle cry. Echoing her call, the soldiers of the Free Lands lifted their voices. So began the final battle.
38
The Dawn of Reckoning
When the sun broke free of the earth’s bondage and shone out over the world, its rays greeted a forest of swords and lances; a tangle of clashing bodies extended along the borders of the Overworld.
Many battles had been fought on that land, but this battle was unlike all others, and all those in the field could sense it. Each soldier knew that the destiny of the world was in the balance, that the future was written upon the blades of their swords.
From the moment the girl in black armor wiped the ghosts from the face of the earth with her enchantment, the Fammin ceased following orders and began wandering aimlessly, their eyes staring into the void.
For troops accustomed to outnumbering their opponents by an astronomical margin while fighting at the side of warriors for whom life and death mean nothing, it was completely disorienting to find themselves suddenly on equal footing with the adversary. But this wasn’t the only thing that frightened the enemy. They perceived that the hour of reckoning had come at last. They understood that, after today, nothing would ever be the same. Even the air felt different, a presentiment of death and defeat lingering in the atmosphere. It was as if nature itself were looking down on the Tyrant’s soldiers with disdain.
The horror of the enemy sorcerers as they discovered that their power had suddenly vanished was yet another matter. Again and again they tried reciting spells, petrified by their own powerlessness, until at last they surrendered to the reality that they had become mere humans once again, weak and unable to defend themselves.
Many fled the scene. Others picked up swords they’d never used before. Today, the spirits had abandoned them, and they were all in the palm of the black warrior’s hand as she tore through the enemy lines like a whirlwind, slashing her way toward the Tyrant’s Fortress.
The Tyrant was locked in his fortress, seated on his enormous throne in a room that now seemed to him inordinately vast. Initially, he’d been crippled by fear as he felt the sum of his power slip from the ends of his fingers. But now he was calm. He’d always known this day would come, sooner or later, and so it had. The Consecrated One had arrived, just as the old man had prophesied forty years ago, but destiny was still his to mold, his plans too vast and important to be derailed by some little girl, a half-elf who’d slipped from the jaws of death. Aster would stop at nothing to achieve his end. Fate itself may have destined him to face her, but no one had said he must lose. Even without his magic, he knew what immense power he still possessed, for the creatures of this world were an open book to him, and he could read their thoughts and feelings as he pleased. Yes, he’d face that insolent girl and he’d crush her to pieces, and his grand scheme would at last take root.
At the sound of the first battle cry, the troops of the Free Lands had come crashing down on a baffled and frightened enemy. It almost seemed too easy. The Tyrant’s army, however, wasn’t a mere hodgepodge of traitors and basic soldiers. Among the ranks were many powerful warriors and valiant knights who poured out of the Fortress in great numbers just after the first blast of the battle trumpet.
Like a black cloud they descended upon the battlefield. As they neared the front, they split off in all directions and rained down on the Army of the Free Lands. And so fell the first soldiers, charred by the dragons’ fiery breath, pierced by the lances of the Black Dragon Knights. A corps of Dragon Knights from the Land of the Sun and the Land of the Sea quickly made its way to the front and again the match was even.
Raven was with them on the front line. Years had gone by since he’d last taken to the battlefield, but he wasn’t about to miss the concluding act. He wasn’t about to give up this final fated chance to recover the dignity he’d lost among the plush halls of the Academy and to fight again as the brave warrior he’d once been. That morning, he’d mounted his dragon, Tharser, and now here they were, once again electrified by the old thrill of battle.
To the ears of the Supreme General, the clashing of swords and clanging of lances came as a once-familiar melody, its strains speaking of lost and distant memories. He could taste the dust in his mouth and he bolted down into the fray with a howl, his dragon harassing the enemy from above. Raven led his men fearlessly, just as he had in the past. Hoisting his bloody sword in the air, he called them to charge, and his soldiers rushed in after him, invigorated by their commander. As long as he charged with them, they were convinced victory was theirs to claim. And as he dealt one fatal blow after another, it seemed to Raven as if hardly a day had passed since his last battle, as if some spark within him had been reignited. For the better part of that day, Raven hung like a curse over the enemy.
Beyond the battlefront, in the Lands controlled by the Tyrant, it was a dawn like any other. A faint sun rose, heralding with its dying rays one more day of slavery. And yet, some looked on with eager eyes, waiting anxiously for the sound of a distant battle cry rising up from beyond the Fortress, from a place where hope still lived.
Aires had taken no shortcuts and had performed her duty expertly. Shortly after Nihal’s and Sennar’s departure, she’d set off on a voyage with a few of her closest comrades. As her first task, she scoured the Land of Fire in search of men willing to join the resistance. Then she’d crossed the border, moving from one land to the next. Her efforts, however, weren’t limited to merely rec
ruiting soldiers. She’d gone a step further, planting the seed of hope in the hearts of those who’d given up. She wanted to ensure that men from every land would rise up and add their voices on the day of the final clash, when the sound of the battle cry rang out across the Overworld. Unarmed men, but men determined to regain their liberty at any cost, and therefore, unstoppable.
What Aires had managed to piece together, in a sense, was an army of the hopeless. The rebels made themselves busy building and stealing weapons and developing strange flying war machines. At last the long-awaited message arrived. That it had been Nihal to deliver it, and not Sennar, came as a shock to Aires, and she knew right away that something terrible must have happened.
And so for many of the inhabitants of the Land of Fire, the morning of the battle was not just any morning. They woke early, taking their posts without delay, making ready to attack the very nerve center of the Tyrant’s power.
When the cry electrified the battlefront like a bolt of lightning, surging from one soldier to the next, not a single inhabitant of the occupied lands could feign indifference. It seemed as if time itself had come to a halt. The slaves put down their work and stared up at the sky. And fear took hold in the heart of every slave driver, of every general and soldier stationed in the occupied lands. As they gazed upward, they were filled with the certainty that something was about to happen, that enormous powers were about to be unleashed.
It was then that Aires set her offensive in motion. All throughout the Overworld, she’d organized armed groups, ready to channel the anger of the slaves, and she’d stationed men in every land with the special duty of inciting revolt. When the initial cry subsided and the battle began, many of them perished as martyrs. They managed to incite a spark of revolt, though only brief, and were slaughtered like lambs. Each fought to the very end, however, in the knowledge that the sacrifice of a few could mean victory for all. Elsewhere, the case was different. The spark became a flame, and the flames spread like wildfire. The slaves rose up in rebellion. People who had borne the Tyrant’s yoke about their necks for years grabbed anything resembling a weapon and joined the fight.
It seemed the entire world were on the verge of turning upside down. The flame of revolution spread from camp to camp, to the black crystal mines of the Land of Rocks, to the eternal dark of the Land of Night. Even in the Land of Days there were those who rose to the occasion. No battle, however, was as grand or as violent as the battle being fought in the Land of Fire. In comparison, the others were nothing but skirmishes, with the intent of thinning out enemy forces along the battlefront and opening up a direct line of attack for the Army of the Free Lands.
Like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky, Aires and her brigade descended upon the Tyrant’s soldiers before they could shake their fear. As if from nowhere, thousands of men and dwarves appeared, armed to the teeth, with the welding ovens as their first target. They made short work of the guards out front, then turned to breaking the chains of their kinsmen. They raided the store of weapons and cried out that the Tyrant’s reign was over, hailing the noble cause of freedom. Some of the slaves, once liberated, fled in fear. Many others picked up arms and joined the rebellion.
Then down from the sky came the flying machines, showering the terrified and baffled enemy troops in torrents of fire. Leading the pack, her sword raised and red with the enemy’s blood, Aires—the soul of the rebellion—shouted orders at the top of her lungs. She seemed transfigured, no longer the beautiful, sensual woman admired by all, but a fierce harbinger of vengeance.
Their final target was the Fortress. The rebels knew little about its layout. Even the Tyrant’s top generals, it was rumored, knew little about how the immense structure was organized. But that wasn’t enough to stop Aires’ troops. They were determined to break down the door, storm the Fortress, and destroy everything in sight.
All that morning, the Land of Fire was a single, enormous battlefield. The Tyrant’s soldiers did all they could to hold their own against the rebels, but they could gain no ground. Though both sides suffered heavy casualties, the rebellion would not be crushed.
Then came the Tyrant’s command, peremptory and indisputable: “Put an end to this madness. Leave my palace and make for the rebel uprising. Demolish them, every last one. It is I, your Lord, who so commands.”
And so it was that Semeion and Dameion, Black Dragon Knights, in an unprecedented tactic, abandoned the battlefront and made for the Land of Fire to crush the rebellion of a handful of slaves. Just as the sun reached its zenith, Aires made out the two black figures approaching from the distance. The two knights emerged from out of the dense black smoke above Thal. They came on slowly, dipping and rising in unison, as if the mirror image of one another.
Both the rebels and the enemies paused in awe at the sight, until a voice rose up and shook all from their stupor: “You’re dead, all of you! Our lords have come to save us, and there’s no hope left for you,” one of the enemy soldiers shouted.
The two figures were close enough now to be seen clearly. They were identical. Aires had never seen them before, but she knew immediately who they were. She knew that the Land of Fire was ruled by a pair of twins, two of the Tyrant’s generals, two loathsome Black Dragon Knights. Fear swept over her rebel troops. Aires tightened her grip around her sword and prepared to attack.
The two knights split off and two enormous tongues of fire forked down from the dragons’ mouths, enveloping the land of volcanoes and turning all they touched to ash, both friend and foe.
The courage that up until then had energized the rebels vanished, and they took off in escape. No amount of fervor, weapons, or awkward flying machines would ever suffice to destroy the two Dragon Knights.
Aires remained standing at the center of the battlefield, uncertain of her next move. In the meantime, Semeion and Dameion dipped and looped in a macabre dance, capping off each acrobatic display with yet another fatal attack. Their swords skewered some. Torrents of flame as hot as the lava of Thal consumed others. Still others were torn to pieces by the dragons’ teeth and scattered in scraps on the battlefield. There was nothing the rebels could do. With the unstoppable assault of the two knights to back them up, even the basic soldiers regained their courage, launching themselves at the fleeing rebels.
Aires looked on in complete astonishment, encircled by dancing flames. She saw men burning like torches and writhing in the smoke, blood staining the earth. Was this really the way it would all end? Their great dream, minced by the blades of two Dragon Knights?
She raised her sword and, crying out in fury, launched herself at one of the knights, just as he dipped close enough to the ground. She aimed for the dragon and struck with every ounce of force in her bones. The blade sunk into the beast’s hip, straight up to the hilt. The sheer force of the blow caused the weapon to snap in half, lodged in the dragon’s flesh. The dragon writhed and collapsed to the earth, growling with immense pain. The knight, along with scores of soldiers from both armies, turned toward Aires.
“Only fear can defeat us!” Aires shouted, in a voice not her own. “A true man never flees; a true man fights to the death! Turn back and fight, all of you! As long as you have life, nothing’s lost!”
The knight’s unflinching expression dissolved into a smile of compassion. “So I see you’ve chosen to die,” he uttered tranquilly, and drew a terrifying sword covered in spikes and sinister runes.
Aires laughed defiantly at the gesture. “You’re wrong. What I’ve chosen is to fight, and to fight until the bitter end.” She tossed her now-useless sword aside.
“So you want to settle this bare-handed?”
“I want to settle this no matter what, with my bare hands if I have to, because there’s one weapon you can never take from me, and that’s my will,” Aires replied.
The knight left her no time to finish speaking. He commanded his dragon to drown her in a sea of flames. But the beast
was gravely wounded, and the fire too weak to do harm.
Dodging the tongue of flames, Aires spotted a fallen soldier on the ground beside her and, next to him, a sword. She picked it up.
The knight leaped down from his dragon and came at her in furious strides. Aires backed away. Already her body was riddled with wounds, and one of the knight’s jabs broke through her defenses. Aires collapsed, her arm screaming with pain.
She was down but she still had breath enough to shout at her men, who were staring at her, spellbound, from the center of the battlefield: “Fight, you fools! We’re here to win back the freedom we deserve!”
Another blow struck her hand. Aires stood and resumed her attack with a fierce battle cry. At the sight of her rage, her men woke from their stupor and threw themselves upon the enemy. En masse, they assaulted the other Dragon Knight, indifferent to their own fate, many dying before they could land a single blow. But for every warrior that fell, three more came on. Before long, they’d surrounded the knight and wrestled him to the earth.
Aires continued to fend off the second knight. From the raucous clamor around her, she could tell her men had returned to the battle, and she grinned. Meanwhile, her own adversary was picking her apart, one successful jab after another. In the end, she knew, they’d probably all be dead, defeated at the hand of those two cursed warriors. But what choice did they have? They could do nothing but sacrifice themselves in the name of a cause in which they’d always believed. Whatever the case, they would not die in vain. Because of their efforts, there were two less knights on the battlefront to impede the Army of the Free Land. Nihal would have her chance to infiltrate the Fortress and slice the Tyrant’s ugly throat. Their deaths would preserve the lives of countless others.
39
The Battle of Ido and Deinforo
Ido had to get Soana to safety. Now that the talisman had been activated, all magic had fled from her limbs and she was left defenseless. The dwarf, however, was reluctant to leave Nihal at the Fortress, alone in the Great Land’s desolation, where hordes of furious enemies were already closing in, determined to bar her from their Lord’s palace.