“Well,” she said, undaunted by his worry, “then at least they are not exposed and defenseless like before.” Her arms squeezed him with whatever reassurance she could manage.
“Perhaps the Itxaro might provide shelter enough to make a worthy stand against her and her army,” Deryn agreed.
Cal’s heart was indeed glad that his friends had made their way safe enough to meet Navid and his Ramsguard, but he knew that their only true safety would come not from barricade or battlement, but rather from the brilliance of a new light alone.
“Alright then … safe enough.” He managed to give a worried smile in return. “Uriel, can you take us to Johanna?” he asked the lord of horses.
Uriel agreed with a snort, and with great haste he made his descent towards the base of the mountain. As they landed, they were greeted by a sea of curious eyes.
“The queen!” Cal shouted as he leapt from the back of Uriel, and lent a hand to Astyræ to help her down and released the tether between them. “I must speak with the queen!”
“Son of Haven,” came the voice of the queen, out from behind a cleft in the mountainside. “Tell me, what in the name of the Giver of Light did you see?”
“They are nearly upon us. There, just over the ridge, her army is coming,” Cal told her as he turned around to look at the darkened horizon before them.
“How many did they number?” she asked, her voice grave and steeled for the truth.
“Seven, maybe ten thousand,” he said, unsure of his answer. “I can’t be certain … but they number far more than we do.”
“How many heavy horses?” the queen asked.
Cal thought on it for a minute, tilting his head as he did. “None. None that I could tell.”
“Well, that is a good report at least.” she said. “And the brilliance in the sky? All of us saw the blast of light you raised against the dragons. Is this the light that you have sought?”
Cal fingered the hilt of his ancient blade as he thought on her words. “No, it is not the same. Though I do guess that its origin is near enough.” He sighed an exhausted breath as he continued. “If I am honest… I am not altogether sure where that light came from. I raised my blade in defiance of the winged serpents, and light issued forth.”
“Then we have found a true weapon to ward those vile creatures off for good!” Navid exclaimed.
Cal shook his head. “We have startled them away, is all.”
“But the light drove them back in retreat!” Sendoa argued.
“It was unexpected, by them … it was unexpected by me, too,” Cal replied.
“But they knew this ancient blade. Just as I knew its forebearer and the justice that came from its edge,” Deryn interjected. “I can promise you this, Calarmindon Bright Fame: fear has indeed struck the hearts of those who previously prowled the dirt and sky so brazenly.”
“But will it keep our friends safe?” he asked as he turned to look at the thousands of Shaimiran soldiers entrenched in the rocks before him.
“That, I cannot say,” his Sprite friend told him. “But you two have dealt the first blow in this battle, and that might just be enough to turn the tide of this war.”
“Perhaps the Giver of Light has not forsaken us just yet,” Johanna mused aloud.
BAROOM! The sickly sound of the enemy’s horns sounded off in the distance. The momentary elation of the gathered council seemed to vanish in the instant that the sound reached their ears.
“Commanders,” Johanna ordered.
The two men bowed their heads, and in a flurry of deliberate action, orders were given and soldiers were made ready.
The forces of the Raven Queen marched quietly in unison along the cleft of the valley. The sight of their ranks began to flood the minds of the Shaimiran troops with cold waters of fear. Their banners were illuminated by the sickly-green fire of the torches held by their bearers; each banner and each torch representing a company of the Nocturnal warriors. The line of the enemy stretched out before them, moving in a fluid, almost hypnotic motion as the army began to span the borders of the valley floor.
“Dear God,” Goran whispered as he and his woodcutter brothers kissed the flints that still hung around their necks.
“There are so many of them,” Oren agreed as they watched from behind the dwindling safety of the large rocks of the foothills.
“Eh,” Alon argued. “I’ve seen bigger.”
“You have?” Oren said, raising a black, bushy eyebrow. “When was that, brother?”
“Well,” Alon replied, his eyes scanning the ever-growing horizon before them, “no, I haven’t. I just … well, I was trying to make myself feel a bit better, I guess.”
“Did it work?” Goran asked as he fingered the edge of his axe.
Silence hung there for a moment, interrupted only by the sounds of hard swallows and churning stomachs. “No. I don’t suppose it did,” Alon relented.
Goran shook his head, and a sad smile crept across his large, bearded face. “How many do you suppose are out there, old man?”
Gvidus held a spyglass up to his eye and squinted as he began to count the gathering enemy before him. “Six, no … maybe seven thousand. It is hard to say.”
“That’s not so bad, then,” Goran tried to reason. “By the time those bastards make their way across the field, I’m quite sure the arrows of the Ramsguard will cut their numbers down to something much more manageable.”
Just then, the Raven army halted, with naught but a league of ground separating them from the entrenched men of Shaimira. The drums continued their pounding, the deafening rhythm moving faster and faster in a crescendo of power.
“What in the damnable dark?” Cal said as he fixed his ancient helm tightly upon his head.
“They are coming,” Deryn said ominously. “The servants of Šárka are coming.”
Astyræ whirled around, her violet eyes searching the sky for signs of the winged enemies again as she notched another of the silver arrows upon the string of her ancient bow.
Cal. The voice of the horse lord sounded in his mind. It is time for us to leave.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The ever-growing tempo of the war drums seemed to signal the arrival of some great weapon.
“Go now?” Cal argued. “But the fight is upon us, and I hold the sword of the dragon slayer!” Cal hesitated, conflicted, for he knew that he should listen to the urging of Uriel, but an overwhelming concern for the safety of his friends stopped him from leaving.
This is not your destiny. You were not called to slay the dragons, light seeker. And I was summoned to bear the seeker in his quest.”
“But what about the enemy? What about the dragons?” Cal continued. “Who will defend all of these people from them?”
Such wisdom and knowledge have not been given to me, Calarmindon.
“Cal!” Deryn shouted, as he recognized the distress upon the face of his charge.
Cal turned to look at the amassing forces. He caught the eye of Johanna as her dark hair blew in the winds, her face steeled and brazen. Then he glimpsed his woodcutter brothers, huddled behind the rocks, ready to engage the first enemies who would make it across the field.
“Cal!” Deryn said as he flitted up to grab his attention. “We have to leave now if we hope to escape the watch of the dragons.”
Cal sighed a resigned breath and let loose his grip from the hilt of his blade. “Alright, then,” he agreed. “This search for the light costs me much. I wonder if it will ultimately cost me everything.” With those words he reached up and took a handful of Uriel’s luminous, white mane and hoisted himself atop of the saddle. Astyræ reached out a hand, and he helped her join him atop the back of the horse lord. She held on to him tightly and, in a whirl of wind and wings, Uriel flew up and away.
“Where are they going?” Sendoa grumbled under his breath. “Do they not see the battle that is waiting here before us?
“Perhaps they have seen something that we have not,” Johanna replied as she watched t
he Anahiera bear these two allies higher into the darkened sky above them.
“Forgive me, my Queen, but I thought the Anahiera were supposed to be the salvation of our people,” Sendoa asked as he returned his gaze to the waiting army before him.
“Perhaps they will yet be,” she said resolutely.
Without warning, the reverberations of the drums came to a halt. In their eerie absence, the WHOOSH and the weight of the predatory beasts filled the silence with their ominous presence.
The crashing sound of heavy talons upon the trembling ground startled the gathered army, though they had been poised and waiting for it. In a display of fury and strength, twin streams of green fire scorched the grasses of the field ahead of them.
Sheep of Shaimira. Men of the dead tree.
The voices of the dragons echoed in the minds of all who huddled and waited for war.
Your resistance is no longer tolerated, and your war-making is no longer necessary; for we bring you good tidings from the Queen.
“They are so loud!” Goran shouted in a whisper to his gathered brothers. “I can’t make it stop!”
Salvation has come for you, and we bring it on the mercy of her wings. Receive her blessing, and all wars will forever cease, all darkness will forever be transformed into the brilliance of a glorious un-light, and all death will be forever stayed.
Johanna looked out as the sea of enemy soldiers began to turn and part, allowing the passage of someone of great importance to make their way to the forefront of the army.
Behold! Their voices rose in hungry anticipation. Your queen has come for you! Torrents of green fire lit up the darkened sky as the flood of fury spilled out between the fangs of the winged heralds.
A cloud of ravens flew ahead of her and squawked their homage as they pulled the carriage of their queen behind them. Their driver let out a blood-curdling scream. In response to his otherworldly order, the birds ceased their flight and landed upon the scorched ground before them.
The onyx carriage came to a halt and all eyes watched in frightful anticipation for what it was that might just happen next.
“For over a hundred years, you have hidden yourselves from me and struggled in the dark,” Nogcwren said, her voice poised and as smooth as luxurious satin, yet somehow easily heard across the distance. “And yet, here I am. Ready to rescue you. Prepared as ever to offer my gift … the same gift your foolish forefathers refused to embrace, choosing rather to scrape together a life in the shadows when they could have lived in the great expanse of my enlightened kingdom.”
Her sultry voice echoed off of the rocks of the mountain face, and though ten thousand stood in attendance, no other sound could be heard beyond her words. She stepped deliberately down from her carriage, her boots claiming the ground beneath them with each footstep. “People of Asier, consider this your last invitation before my generosity runs dry.” She stood, proud and greedy with lustful anticipation, her scepter gripped firmly in her right hand as she spoke. “Receive my gift and join the rest of Aiénor in the peace of my rule, or die with the fools who chose to cling to the failure of a God who does not care for his creation.”
The wind whipped across the field, banners and braziers dancing in the cold breath of the chilled North; but no response was given. Neither boot upon stone nor throat being cleared, not even the bleat of the rams of Navid could be heard in reply.
She smiled a serpentine smile, the runes upon her skin forming ancient curses as they moved about her. “If you will not heed my offer, then perhaps,” her voice lingered heavily. “Perhaps you will consider the plea of one who once thought of me as you do.”
She turned and nodded to her newest pet, beckoning him with the lift of her brow.
The tall, bearded man whose fur-clad cloak could not be mistaken, strode out to meet her, accompanied by Captain Durai.
Goran watched in stunned disbelief as he pressed the eye piece of the spyglass firmly to his eye. “What in the damnable darkness?” he whispered to his brothers.
“What? What is it?” Gvidus demanded.
“I don’t believe it … not for one second!” Goran spat back in reply. “It’s devilry, witchcraft I tell you!”
“What in the hell are you rambling on about?” Oren demanded. “I can’t hardly see anything besides this blasted rock in front of me.”
“It can’t be,” Goran whispered.
“I am no fool, people of Asier. I know you have welcomed help from the east, from the few surviving citizens of the once-mighty Haven. But what you do not know is that Haven is now mine, and so are its people, even those who have escaped its walls.” Nogcwren continued. “Even this once proud and unenlightened wolf of Haven has forsaken lesser illuminations and has found both a new light and a place in my kingdom.” She spoke proudly, knowing full well the devastation that was sure to come.
“Yasen?” Goran whispered.
“Liar!” came a shout from within the ranks of the woodcutters.
Her eyes smoldered with satisfaction. She raised her scepter, and with a single word she commanded the North Wolf to do her bidding. “Kneel.”
Without hesitation, the tall, one-eyed chieftain of the woodcutters dropped to his knees before her.
“It is trickery!” Oren yelled into the silence.
“It must be! Yasen would never bend a knee to her!” Alon agreed.
“Shut up!” Gvidus ordered in an angry whisper. “This is exactly what she wants. To get us raging mad and foolish.”
“The old boar is right,” Goran said, his wits still stunned at the sight of his friend and brother kneeling before this witch of a woman. “Do not walk straight into her snare.”
She looked at this long-haired woodcutter of hers, kneeling there before her like the good subject she expected, and a smile crawled across her dark lips as the yellow in her sickly, envious eyes smoldered with delighted anticipation.
The field of battle was silent. Not a stir or a protest could be heard over the tension of the land.
And then, into the hellish moment, the singsong voices of the dragons rose in the minds of all who were gathered.
Receive your queen and live. Deny her, and you will feel the scorch of the green flames upon your flesh.
Silence was the only response of these last free peoples of Aiénor.
Without so much as a raise of her gaze, the voice of the Raven Queen cooed her order to her winged twins. “Burn them. Burn them all.”
ROOOAARR!!! The rush of green fire spewed from their mouths as their wings began to beat against the air, and the mighty serpents took flight towards the base of the mountain before them.
The dragons swooped low, their mighty, bat-like wings extended as they hovered just above the field before them. A flood of green fire poured out of their mouths, washing the grasslands in a baptism of unholy flame.
“Fire!” Sendoa shouted the order, and a volley of a thousand arrows flew high into the sky from the ground below.
“Release!” Navid ordered. The clank and crank of their iron machines on the mountain notched and racketed as one ballista after the other unleashed their mighty barbs.
The massive black arrows flew through the air like missiles, hurtling towards the approaching dragons. Abaddon and Angrah pulled up just in time for the ballistae barbs to scream past them and impale dozens of the Nocturnal soldiers who stood in formation, waiting for their queen to order their next move.
As the dragons climbed, the arrows bounced and skittered off their inky black scales, harmlessly falling to the burning fields below. “Damn it!” Sendoa cursed. “Save your arrows for the soldiers, men! They have no effect on the flying beasts.”
The sounds of clanking metal as gears turned and pulled could be heard amongst the ranks of the entrenched Ramsguard, who were making the ballistae ready for their next assault. Navid caught the eye of each of his lieutenants, ordering without a word for them to wait for his signal.
The dragons circled back around, and the rush of air fr
om their powerful wings caused the standards of the Raven army to whip violently below them.
“Steady lads!” Goran shouted to his brothers as they hid behind the massive boulders that littered the base of the mountain. “Make yourselves small now, they are coming ‘round a second time!”
Navid raised his arm, and the silver of his gauntlet caught the firelight of the hidden braziers. He watched as the dragons came closer and closer, their green, glowing eyes alight with maniacal glee. Green fire came raging forth, washing the mountainside. Navid lowered his hand at the release of their flames, and a dozen of the black barbs launched straight at the dragons before them. Three or four of the massive arrows ripped through the wings of Abaddon, though the rest deflected off of his sister’s scales.
The dragons roared and screamed in wounded protest. Abaddon tried to fly, but his wings could no longer enslave the wind. Angrah circled back, watching in furious horror as her brother glided clumsily to the ground below.
Navid's men cheered in victory as they hurried about the work of reloading the mighty weapons of war, but it was the screams of burning men below that spurred them to make ready with a greater haste.
Johanna smiled, grateful for the small turn in the tide, though she did not wholly trust it to hold. “He is wounded, but not mortally!” she called to her commanders. Ready yourselves, men of Shaimira!” She surveyed her defenses and her heart sickened as she watched men, her men, rolling and writhing in maddening pain. She saw the green fire devouring the scrub pine and mountain grasses, grateful to know that the rocks and the outcroppings still shielded most of her warriors.
Fools! The furious screams of the dragons invaded their thoughts. None will be spared another day in this world! We will not rest ‘til we have feasted on your burning flesh, and have become drunk on your red, boiling blood!
BAROOM! The war horns sounded again. So deep and sonic was their tone, that at their very reverberation the dust between the stones and the courage in the hearts of those who opposed them began to rumble in disquieted tremors.
Company after company began to march towards the mountains before them, where the dragons still assaulted the hillside from the ground.
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 28