The stairwell erupted in a blast of flame, the fire racing like the white water of the Abonris, cascading down the spiraled steps and into the great hall. The sounds of screaming and grunting were followed by a sound of rushing wind cutting through the noise of the battle. The small, frightened remnant that huddled upon the battlement above watched as a burst of flames shot through the broken front door and lit the darkened courtyard below.
“What now?” Timorets said, his breathing labored and heavy as he saw their only means of escape engulfed in flames.
“Indeed!” Celrod said as he slid back down behind the cover of the merlon. “And what about the giant? Where is Vŏlker?”
Michael shook his head, the emotion of so much loss on this dark day beginning to well up in his eyes. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his tunic and took a deep breath to steady his voice.
“We dig in. Here.” He spoke as bravely as he could. “The west tower is lost, but we have the wall and the East tower. And at least we know from which direction these Ravens will be coming from.”
“And how long will we be able stand here?” Timorets asked. “There are so few of us left, and I haven’t many an arrow left.”
“Aye … he is right,” the schoolmaster agreed. “I have about a half a quiver.”
“And then what?” Fryon said flatly.
Michael let out an exhausted sigh. He knew horses, not battle strategy. His eyes caught the soft green of Margarid’s, and though he knew not what the best laid plan would be or should be; he knew that he wanted to protect her in any way he could.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly and with great sincerity in his voice. “But I am not ready to give over to despair, and I am certainly not ready to give this dark army my life, or any of yours, without a fight.”
“That fire won’t hold them for long, you know,” Celrod said matter-of-factly.
“That’s okay, Celrod. The fire isn’t the light we are hoping for, anyhow,” Margarid said softly as she squeezed Michael’s hand.
He looked at her, confused at her musing.
“Cal is still out there, and I believe he will yet find the light that Engelmann spoke of. We haven’t come this far for it all to end in darkness. It can’t.”
Michael’s eyes went wide with wonder at how he could have forgotten that Cal was still out there, seeking and searching.
“That may be,” Celrod replied. “But he is just one man in this great wide world, and they,” he motioned to the Raven army below, “they are still an army right here at our door.”
“But it only takes one to seek and to find,” Georgina spoke up. “At least, that’s what Engelmann told us.”
“One with hope enough for us all,” Margarid agreed.
“Well if it’s going to be anybody … it’s going to be my horsed-faced cousin,” Michael said with a tired albeit hopeful smile.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The clash of metal upon metal rang loud and long in the dark sky. The Oweles continued their assault, first with stone and then with talons, as they unleashed their doom upon the advancing Nocturnal army.
The woodcutters worked their way along the ridgeline, the edge of the river giving them some semblance of protection as they relentlessly drove their axes, cutting deep wounds in the mighty forces of the Sorceress.
Angrah had retreated to the rear of the enemy army, seeking the aid of her Queen. The mighty dragon landed beside the black, winged carriage, her strength leaking out from the wounds upon her bloodied back.
My Queen. The Oweles have come to their aid, and their number is beyond my strength. If I but still had my brother-
“Enough!” Nogcwren shouted into the madness about her. “You are mine to rule, mine to order into battle, mine to command to ravage a thousand enemies if I wish it! You are not permitted to retreat or surrender, no matter what feathered pests litter the sky!” She pointed her scepter between the eyes of the dragon. “They are nothing but vermin.” Her tone subsided into a more seductive timbre. “You are the offspring of Ahriman, the great serpent, the father of dragons. Never would he think to leave the fight, nor to disobey his mistress, Šárka.”
Angrah growled in chastised protest.
“And yet, it would seem that I have been given his weakest of daughters,” she said with hatred burning in her eyes. “A dragon afraid of a bird … you honor your father well, Angrah.”
My Queen. The dragon seethed with reproach.
“Captain Durai,” the Raveness called. “General Aius has not yet joined us on the field of battle, has he?”
“No, my Queen,” he answered, coming forth from the shadows. “Our scouts in the north have not brought word from the northern rim lands, but I am sure that he and the main host will join us soon.”
She turned, her yellow eyes aglow with lust and menace as she watched her army marching ever closer to the last defenses of Shaimira. “These annoying pets of his, the foul of the sky,” she turned to meet the gaze of her commander, “will the pointed barbs of our arrows not pierce their foolish feathers?”
“I would say so, my Queen,” Durai agreed with a nod of his head.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Nogcwren ordered angrily. “Have the archers focus the whole of their assault on the sky, and perhaps we shall rid the air of their filth, once and for all!”
He bowed and left her presence, mounting his black horse, her orders fresh on his lips.
She looked to her driver who waited upon the front seat of her carriage with thousands of thongs pierced and threaded through his flesh. “If my dragon has neither the strength nor the stomach to fight the birds, maybe it’s time we even out this fight.” She nodded to him, and he raised a blood curdling, otherworldly scream. The flock of ravens rose from the ground in a murderous black cloud, snapping both thong and skin as they did so.
Angrah surveyed her scales and blew a blast of green fire over herself, cauterizing each bloodied wound by her own fire. She screamed in protest, but her pride was far greater than her pain.
I will avenge my brother and the honor of my kind … and you will know gratitude for the AŽDAHĀ once again! She roared with such hatred and might that even the Sorceress herself was momentarily taken aback.
Nogcwren’s composure quickly returned, and a satisfied smile crept across her pale face. “We shall see, won’t we, Angrah?”
At that, Angrah burst forth in a rush of wind and rage, flying into the sky and bent on destruction.
“Tell me, what is it that you see?” she asked the tall figure behind her. The large dark-haired man walked up next to her carriage and raised a long, slender spy glass to his not-quite completely green eyes, surveying the battle before them.
“I see the birds, and the men. We outnumber them six to one, and yet their arrows rain down, and their knights still ride, and…”
“Yes?” she said, waiting for the large man to finish his thought. “Tell me!”
“The woodcutters.” A growl of disgust colored his voice. “There, along the eastern flank and by the river. Looks like they are coming this way.”
“Ah,” she cooed with delight. “It looks as if your reward will be given as promised, Seig. Or should I say, General. Ready your men.”
Seig turned to meet the face of Yasen, who stood a dozen paces behind him. “It seems you will finally get to prove your loyalty, North Wolf.” Seig beamed with self-satisfaction. “Tell the men to ready themselves, for it is nearly our time for glory!”
Yasen looked at Seig, and not a trace of malice could be found upon his wounded face. His lone eye had not yet turned fully, but he stood at attention, as obedient as a dog to the heel of his master. “As you command,” the once-mighty woodcutter replied as he bowed his head and turned to gather the remaining guardsmen of the first colony of Haven.
They watched as Angrah unfurled her large, leathery wings as she approached the forefront of the battle, hovering not forty hands above the marching forces.
The Owele
s were cutting swaths through the approaching enemy, while Navid and his Ramsguard barreled their way through the ranks on the backs of their mighty rams.
A company of Nocturnal archers halted their advancement and raised their black crossbows, aiming them high into the sky in the direction of the Oweles. With a wordless command, hundreds of the black barbs flew into the sky. Three of the ancient birds screeched in agony as their feathered bodies were pierced with the hatred of the Raven Army.
Ruarc screeched his indiscernible orders, and the company of Oweles spread themselves out along the line.
“There it is!” Johanna shouted as she spied the dragon hovering just above the field of battle. “The ballistae, now!”
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. The sound of the great war machines reverberated across the clearing as they fired their terrible black arrows, one after the other.
“The dragon!” Cal shouted as he willed Uriel to turn and face the opposition once again. “Uriel, the serpent is back, we can’t leave them!”
“Cal, no!” Astyræ reasoned with him. “We are nearly back to the cleft, I can see it!”
“I don’t care!” Cal yelled. “We are going back to help them.”
Angrah let out an assault of green fire as she approached the vanguard of the mounted, Shaimiran warriors. Ruarc called to his fellow Oweles, and within moments they had abandoned their lesser battles for this greater fight, turning their attention now back to the dragon.
Screeches filled the sky above, while Johanna looked on in horrified wonder as her men burned and battled in the shadows. She and her archers felt safe enough for the moment, while the winged monsters did their worst out in the not-so-far-off distance.
Another of the Oweles screeched and fell as the black barbs of the Nocturnals cut him down in a storm of biting metal.
“No!” Deryn blurted out as he saw the holy servant fall to the ground only to be trampled under brutish boots and hooves.
“We have got to concentrate our fire there, on their archers! Right there, do you see them?” Johanna said to Sendoa as he, too, looked through the spy glass to survey the field of battle.
“Yes, my Queen, I see them.” With little regard for decorum, he ran from her side down the line of his archers, telling them where in the darkness to aim. As they began to fire, the Raven archers began to fall.
“My Queen?” came the voice of Mezulari. “What kind of devilry is that?” He drew his blade and pointed at the dark cloud of green eyes that was rushing ever swiftly towards their position.
“Have mercy!” she whispered to herself, then raised her voice to call to her warriors. “Swords, now! Draw your blades!”
Sendoa looked up at the sound of his queen’s voice, unsure of the change of orders after they had just begun to concentrate their efforts, when what he saw made his blood run cold with terror. “Blades! Now!” he shouted as he, too, drew his own sword from the blue, leather scabbard that hung on his belt.
Just then, the storm of crows rained down upon them. Green eyes and sharp beaks crashed into bright armor and brighter blades, keeping the archers from firing a single arrow upon the advancing forces of the Sorceress.
The Oweles reached the enraged dragon, their armored talons gleaming in the firelight below.
Angrah. Ruarc screeched in authority. Darkness is nearly over, for a new light is advancing upon Aiénor, swiftly on the wind of the coming dawn.
The dragon roared in protest, torrents of green fire issuing forth in the direction of the holy birds. None, save one alone, altered their course to fly into the path of the rushing flames. Haizea began to beat his wings, and the rush of holy wind that followed collided with the vile fire. The collision of forces thundered, the rolls of its magnitude breaking the noise of war with an unrelenting sound. The fire split and divided, never penetrating the wind.
Angrah’s leathery wings caught the tempest, and the force sent her tumbling over herself. Unable to regain control, she crashed into the sea of Raven soldiers, crushing the warriors under the force of her fall.
The dragon waited only a moment before she stood up and shook the dirt and blood off of her hide, narrowing her gaze at the Oweles off in the distance. She gathered her strength and exploded from the ground, shooting high into the sky until the battle was nearly out of sight.
“Are you alright?” Cal shouted to the Oweles, as they approached him, diving in and out of the fray, dodging black arrows and sharp spears.
Calarmindon Bright Fame.
Edur’s voice pierced through the battle, his violet eyes burning with a righteous fury.
Seek the light.
Without warning, a sound like a mighty rushing river came from overhead. Cal looked up to see what kind of devilry it was, and he saw the blazing green eyes of the dragon hurtling right towards them.
“Edur! Look out!” he shouted, but it was too late. The outstretched talons of the serpent cut through the feathered flesh of the great Owele, “Snow”, who had watched over him for his whole journey. The dragon screamed in pain as the silver blood of the Owele began to burn and torment the beast that had spilled it.
The Oweles, sensing the felling of their brother, turned their attention once again to this vile creation of Šárka.
Angrah roared, her voice pained and proud all at the same time. I will rid this world of your miserable kind, if I have to do it one infuriating bird at a time!
Cal urged Uriel closer, the light of the hilt of his sword glowing with duty.
“Cal, what are you doing?” Astyræ said. “We have already defeated one dragon, barely escaping with our lives! We have got to do as the Oweles said! We have got to seek the light!”
The Oweles swarmed and darted in and out of the fight. Angrah let forth blasts of green fire as she swiped hard with her razored talons. Blood was drawn by both bird and beast, cuts and tears bleeding both silver and black in this war in the heavens.
“She is right!” Deryn shouted. “Cal!”
But he would not hear their words, determined to rescue these warriors of the sky.
Angrah's yellowed fangs caught Basajuan as he was darting for the throat of the dragon. With a screech and a crunch, the “Lord of the Woods” was pierced and torn by a hundred vile teeth.
On the ground below, Sendoa's men swung their blades blindly into the cloud of ravens. They screamed and cried as the birds tore and pecked at their faces. The birds gave no heed to their own safety, for their only thought was to do the bidding of their queen. Blades cut through their tiny black bodies while Johanna and her guard tried to ward them off with fire. They waved blazing torches at the rushing cloud, but the birds did not relent, even as the flames consumed them.
Zigor flew up from underneath the dragon and let his talons rake their punishment from the tail to the belly of the beast. Angrah screamed and whipped her bleeding tail, crushing the bird and sending him careening into the face of the mountain wall.
Cal pointed his blade at the neck of the dragon and kicked Uriel in the flank with little reverence and pure determination. The lord of the horses folded his wings to speed his assault, but in that very moment, a dozen black arrows were loosed from the crossbows of the Nocturnal soldiers below.
Unlooked for and unaware, Remiel intercepted the assault of the enemy, as the mighty Owele was pierced so that Cal would be spared. The “Mercy of God” let out a screech, and the burning violet of his eyes faded to black as he, too, crashed onto the field of battle below.
Cal was within striking distance now, and the attention of Angrah was caught by the remaining Oweles. He raised Gwarwyn to strike the dragon, and the hilt of the sword erupted with light as the bite of the blade sunk deep into the shoulder of the serpent. So shocked and so pained was the dragon that she whirled about with her other arm and struck a deadly blow to the body of the flying horse.
Cal lost grip his on the sword as he and his friends were sent hurtling with impossible force into the rocks of the mountain’s face.
Angrah scre
amed at the blade of the dragon slayer that was buried deep in her bleeding flesh. She reached around, trying to claw it out of her shoulder. Though she was desperate to rid her body of the sword of Caedmon, the blade that killed her kin, she could not get to it.
The Oweles flew higher out of the reach of the enemy arrows, surveying the suffering of the dragon. Black blood and green fire rained with fury upon the battle below, and Angrah twisted and turned, screaming and bellowing as she rent the darkened sky.
Azrael, the mightiest of the Owele warriors, closed his eyes as he listened obediently to a voice no one else could hear. When he opened them again, the violet had turned into a raging blue flame. The “Angel of Death” screeched his offense at all of this blood and beguilement. In a calm, deliberate move, he flew right up to the face of the beast and tore the horrified green eyes of the abomination clean from her head. He held them in his gilded talons and screeched in finality as he landed upon a small outcropping, high upon the mountain face, and began to devour them one at time.
Angrah seemed to float motionless in the sky for the briefest of moments, her inky body bleeding from head to tail. Ruarc screeched, though none could hear his words, and the dragon plummeted towards the ground below, crushing Ram and Raven alike as she crashed.
A shout went up from what was left of the Ramsguard, and their vigor was set ablaze at the sight of the two dead dragons. “Victory is nearly ours, men!” shouted Navid to his battle-weary guardsmen. “Gird yourselves now! Find the fight, find it quickly!”
As the ancient serpent exhaled her last, toxic breath, a cloud of green poison loomed over the battlefield. Navid’s men and Nocturnals alike began to choke in the wake of its fumes. The few remaining Oweles circled high above, searching for their targets and then dive-bombing with ferocious intent, cutting through metal armor and greying flesh with their sharpened talons.
Haizea began to beat his wings in protest of the smog that stole the breath from both friend and foe. The gale blew back the noxious, green cloud, but as the fog began to lift, a volley of raven-fletched arrows pierced his feathered body, and the “Wind of God” fell lifeless, trampled underfoot by the once-again advancing enemy.
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 31