by C. L. Murray
“Which do you mean?” cackled another close behind, daggers aimed menacingly out.
“This one’s head would look prettier on those shoulders,” one pointed at two troops in its sights, only a dozen yards off.
Valeine watched steadily while each careless wretch stormed nearer with arms extended, until she could taste the rotting breath of the creature closing in on her. She reared the Crystal Spear back to swing, when an arrow bolted in from an unseen source high on their left, hammering her target off course so quickly that the two behind it had little time to react, before they too were shot in rapid succession.
Searching the smoky sky in vain, she allowed only a minuscule spark of hope to ignite. Had the other Eaglemasters finally come to their aid? If not all, at least enough to hold the ferotaurs at bay a little longer, and guide her people to shelter? Those shots were too quick and precise to have come from just one.
Four more beasts came stomping next, giving hardly a second glance to those that lay dead before them, when suddenly a single eagle swept down along their course. Its rider slashed with a strangely glittering sword in two strokes that took as many heads, while the other oblivious pair was snatched from the ground by talons that pierced and crushed with ease. Their monstrous wails were abruptly silenced, and both dropped lifelessly from above, where the two companions disappeared.
Bewildered like all others with her, Valeine stared upward, no longer looking for her fellow Eaglemasters. Six ferotaurs pressed in this time with another ten close in tow, aiming for the defenders’ center like a jagged blade tipped with the largest and most fearsome brute of all. Its broad strides lengthened while thick foam stretched down its bloodstained lips, as it groped with oversized hands that needed no weapon.
Unsure how many spears she and her men would have to deliver in order to bring it down, she felt her hair and robes suddenly flutter against a heavy gust that billowed over them when the stealthy airborne pair dove upon the threatening leader. The cloaked man seated above severed its long horns with one fluid slice, leaving pitiful nubs atop a slimy, sleek skull that soon shattered as the eagle struck with a crippling thrust of its beak.
Growls erupted while the two allies continued to cut their way forward, sword and talons flashing. Each strike’s momentum carried the next in a perpetual cyclone that crumpled four enemies at a time, repelling the rest in a haphazard perimeter. Seeing a chance to move in against their stunned and divided numbers, Valeine darted ahead, and the city’s last protectors finally went on the offensive.
“Follow their path!” she ordered, dizzying herself in an attempt to glimpse the man’s face as her troops meandered like a tail behind him and his carrier. His sword stood out to her most of all, evoking a fear in every gruesome face beneath it just as her own ancient weapon did.
The horde’s vast remainder halted its march into the fray, visibly daunted by the two who sat unchallenged, and Valeine rallied the battalion to split along each side. They extended like solid walls from the eagle’s wide wings, advancing to pave a road of smashed foes before the sealed gate, until no more stood around them.
Shouting cries of opposition toward the onlooking legions, her men clattered a triumphant chorus across the sea of broken armor beneath their feet, each kneeling to cut a long horn from the head of one enemy he’d killed. And despite her fear that their jubilation would be short-lived, she was proud to see them take their rightful places as defenders of the realm.
She drew closer to the stranger mounted on his eagle that towered above all others she’d ever seen, and came to stand beside him while he peered out silently at the hostile tide. “Who—?” Her question was abruptly muffled as he looked down at her, lacking the cold fury she expected from one who had rushed in against such overwhelming odds. “Your name, sir?” she asked.
Morlen had not seen a woman his own age since his days in Korindelf, when most would hardly glance at him, and never one who appeared so passionate. Suddenly aware of how this winter night’s chill had become utterly lost on him, he looked forward again, returning the Crystal Blade to its sheath at his side where she stood. “Morlen,” he said quietly, and with a firm pat continued fondly, “and Roftome.”
Slowing her breath, she momentarily diverted attention from him to take in the eagle once more. “Roftome,” she whispered. “The Untamable.” Following every arch and line of his grand stature, she knew it must be true, and returned her eyes to Morlen. “But, how did you—?”
He met her pressing focus again, and found it comforting. “He’s still untamed, I assure you.”
Never knowing that an outsider could hope to forge a bond with the eagles, as only her people had done for centuries, she found herself now pleasantly without surprise. And, having seen the mysterious sword he carried, she brought herself to inquire a bit further. “I was unaware that such a blade existed,” she said, holding her father’s spear up straight to reveal its similarity.
Looking for the first time upon the legendary Crystal Spear, passed down as an heirloom through the Eaglemasters’ line of kings, Morlen realized her possession of it must mean that she was the daughter of King Valdis, and that he truly had lost hope. “Your king has never shied away from an enemy until now,” he said. “If he’d seen you tonight, he may have thought you didn’t need any aid.”
She gave no response to the compliment, though it came without the arrogance she often faced from others, and was relieved by one soldier’s interruption. “Lady Valeine, do we charge?”
Both she and Morlen turned forward again, seeing that the ranks facing them were reluctant to cross the neutral area as scores of their boastful brothers lay in ruin. But, they seemed to stir with violent tremors that began with those far at the force’s rear, as though some other disturbance rose from behind.
“He sits no more,” said Roftome, digging talons sharply down in preparation to launch. “Bloodsong is coming.”
Morlen unslung his bow, readying to take off while Valeine looked harder at him. “What is it?” she asked, as none but he had heard Roftome’s words.
Before he could reply, the clearest and most unwelcome of answers drowned every inch of the besieged city in debilitating wrath. Then, with a brush of his hand to encourage Roftome, they flew while a dark mass grew more defined in the distance, tearing toward the protected gate.
“I doubt his eyes are anywhere as good as mine,” Roftome assured, though his voice lost more strength the closer they pressed. “Caked in smoke with every blink, he’ll see only what comes directly at him.”
Morlen’s mind was seared beneath hot needles while the emanating call solidified around them. But it made him remember a pain he’d endured in another realm, one that had seen him come and go farther, and longer, than he ever imagined he could. Clouds of smoke swam before them, puffing rounder with each breath from the creature within, glowing as it carved its way out.
“Hold tight!” Roftome bellowed, rolling low and to the right as a river of fire announced the emerging beast, which passed above in a shroud of flickering heat that illuminated its well-guarded master, who stood inside a closed fist of enormous talons.
A warming flash of gold suddenly wrapped Morlen’s thoughts like a blanket when the loathsome sound faded. And, hovering in its wake, he was reminded by the sharp, thin touch of metal concealed securely against his chest that Felkoth was not the only one with a weapon that had made him powerful.
“Follow beneath him,” he urged Roftome, fitting an arrow to his bow as they soared to catch up with the dragon that threatened Valeine and her troops. Felkoth’s white hands bounced in and out of view while they chased steadily nearer to acquire a clear shot.
“Destroy them!” He heard Felkoth order to the flying abomination, which obediently descended toward the steadfast battalion, drinking in gusts of breath while flames prepared to burst from its swollen chest.
Only seconds remained now. Exhaling slowly, Morlen released his arrow, which lifted upon the persistent breeze in a
n arc toward the creature’s stony legs. It grazed through the colossal talons in a river of sparks to slice hard against Felkoth’s left forearm, drawing a mad growl in response that promptly lured the dragon about-face.
Peering from between the talons with a fierce gaze, longing to incinerate whichever daring Eaglemasters thought themselves matches for him, Felkoth saw them straight ahead, hovering alone in a blatant challenge: the unruly bird he’d left to die, now healed, beneath the one who held his prize.
“Down!” Morlen shouted, though Roftome was already well on his way, swooping below a molten volley to see hundreds of ferotaurs advancing against Valeine’s cornered force, which gave him a most creative idea.
“How would you feel about letting it have a better look at us?” he asked boldly, and Roftome sent him a suspicious look that slowly sharpened.
“I feel it would be most unwise,” Roftome answered. “If you don’t keep your head low.” Then, without hesitation, they ascended closer to the approaching dragon, whose head cut from side to side in search of any telltale movement or scent, until they darted directly in front of its face. Roftome left no uncertainty to tales of his unmatched speed when they shot in a dive, dwarfed by the predator on their trail, its wretched call threatening to make their ears bleed. Still it failed to stall them as they led it over the enemy masses, which pressed forward thirty yards from Valeine and her men.
“Ready… be ready…” Morlen’s voice rose while they bolted vertically down toward the tide of horns, feeling cold as the nearing creature sucked in all wind around them.
“Kill them!” bellowed Felkoth from above. “Kill them at once!”
Hearing the storm at their heels, Morlen gripped hard to Roftome’s sides. “Now!” he yelled, and Roftome’s wings spread wide to level them out in a parallel run just over the charging line of ferotaurs, while the jet of flame struck exactly upon their abandoned path of descent, pulverizing hundreds of foes on impact. Skimming above as many as possible while the conflagration followed closely at their backs, they created a fiery blockade between the city’s defenders and all invading ground forces.
Feeling the dragon’s wayward assault subside in their wake, Morlen and Roftome deftly rose out of view as it turned with a clumsy jolt to follow, slowly curling away from the battered legions below.
“We have to keep them on us,” Morlen declared, looking over his shoulder while Roftome slowed enough to draw their enemy upward, and it rattled them again with another scream as the sealed gate remained beyond its attention.
Watching the tumultuous chase from below, Valeine was warmed by more than the flaming wall that rose ahead, barring those that would have destroyed her force. On all sides of her, men cheered for the eagle and rider who manipulated the city’s would-be captor so easily.
Soon, many ferotaurs plunged desperately through the burning divide, stomping toward them drenched in fire with blades melting over their hands. Most collapsed in smoke while others sprinted wildly into the defenders’ awaiting spears, swinging limbs of hot sludge against every parrying blow.
Her battalion could no longer serve any purpose within the gates, when all their enemies that continued to charge would suffer the same fate as those that smoldered here. Surely Felkoth would give them a path to circumvent this lethal obstruction, letting them spill out into the wide fields through which her people still retreated.
“Open the gates,” she ordered, and a soldier returned to the central winch, retracting its bars. She grabbed her share of the long chains linked with the left gate’s hefty iron rings, and pulled it narrowly open with dozens of her men while the rest squeezed through, two at a time.
Hearing the renewed efforts of other beasts that stumbled closer, she hastily turned and hammered the nearest between its scorched horns, letting her troops find safe passage as more steamed forward on blistered legs. After all her men had escaped, she stayed back, casting contempt on the swamp of stained metal and inhuman flesh, and looked up at the one who held their destruction at bay under great hazard to himself. Then, the last standing within her beloved city, she turned and left, striding outside to guard the fields with her remaining contingent.
She watched with apprehension, hoping her people had gotten far enough north to find protection as Felkoth circled back to release his impeded troops. Bloodsong’s tail shattered the city’s side wall, peppering nearby fields with rubble and dust, and the enemy flood poured out, rushing around the bend directly toward them with no obstacles in between.
Felkoth was on course to disintegrate her line before the trampling rabble even arrived, his dragon enveloping them in a wave of silence while it drew in another breath. But just as the white-hot stream belted forth, Morlen and Roftome crashed talons-first into the left side of its face, making it veer hard off course with spouts of flame spiraling into air and snow.
Digging with all his might to stay latched upon Bloodsong’s head, barely keeping Morlen astride, Roftome etched shallow scars into its jagged, rocky brow. “You will remember this eagle!” he declared. The dragon bucked relentlessly, finally hurling them off, but not before Roftome released a thick puddle of excrement into its red eyes, which clamped shut amid indignant, earsplitting wails. A burning rain erupted all around as Bloodsong lashed out in temporary blindness, swerving away erratically with them in its wake.
Tempted to give chase, though the creature was doubly lethal in its semi-impaired state, Morlen looked to Valeine and her men, who held their position against the charge that would overrun them in seconds.
“Ready spears!” Valeine repeated with pride, unafraid of the dense wave bent on consuming them. They had cheated death many times this night, and might yet again before the end. The ferotaurs pounded closer, shaking the snowy earth as impact was imminent. Then suddenly, a volley of arrows stormed down over her battalion’s steady shoulders, dropping entire ranks of their attackers as she looked back in thrilled disbelief. Her brother Verald hovered at the head of at least two hundred Eaglemasters, swooping down to extract them from danger.
“Come on!” Verald called, beckoning her to his lowered eagle while those beside him did the same for others, his eyes only widening when she shook her head.
“Not before them!” she answered, gesturing for all of her men to find rescue first, with many still remaining on the ground. Huddles of foes began to penetrate their suppressing fire while more Eaglemasters busied themselves with gathering as many troops as possible. But Valeine allowed herself no relief, cracking one horned skull after another with diligent strokes of the Crystal Spear.
Then, in a splintering strike, Morlen and Roftome dove from high overhead to smash two nearby ferotaurs flat into the snow, joining her with sword and talons lashing out at the herd as Verald and his followers looked on in perplexity.
Almost all soldiers were now accounted for, Valeine saw, but the remaining few beside her would occupy every last ounce of space that the prince himself could transport. She refused to withdraw, until finally Morlen reached down to her.
“Quickly,” he said, voice calm though he sat as a single rock in rising swells, and, after all others were lifted away, she clasped his extended arm and let it pull her up to sit behind him on Roftome’s back. Spinning to deliver a deadly farewell, Roftome scattered many with a final swipe while Morlen and Valeine beat down any within grasp. All below stared fearfully at the blade and spear of crystal that moved together against them, both sparkling brightly when the eagle and riders pulled up, departing the fallen city with those above.
Morlen turned to catch up with the others, who slowed to see him more clearly. “They won’t hold your city for long,” he assured Valeine.
Had it not been for her brother’s proximity, she might have kept her tight hold at Morlen’s side. “My people?” she asked Verald, whose expression stifled her worry.
“Safe,” he answered, though his attention seemed mainly on Morlen. “We flew with two hundred others who stayed behind to escort them upriver, al
ong with your eagle.”
She breathed a joyful sigh that felt cool on Morlen’s neck, leading him to hope she heard equally good tidings before the flight’s end, and he returned the prince’s studying gaze, seeing gratitude over unease.
“Morlen,” he said in reply to the inquisitive silence that Verald appeared more than content to prolong.
Trying to relieve Verald’s obvious tension, Valeine’s eyes asked him to show trust. “The fight would have been finished long before you arrived, brother, if it hadn’t been for these two.” She gave Roftome an affectionate pat as well, keeping her other hand tucked under Morlen’s arm, which did not go unnoticed.
Morlen knew he had proven himself a useful ally, but more would have to be convinced, and immediately, if they were to divert Felkoth’s advance before he struck again. “I have an idea,” he began. “One that I believe may be our best chance of preventing what happened here from spreading farther. I’d like to discuss this before your king.”
Verald continued to hold him with scrutiny, and gave no ready acknowledgment. “Never has there been an Eaglemaster from beyond our realm, nor any king, I trust, who would give one such an open welcome.”
Glancing down at Roftome, who flew more gallantly, fiercely, than any eagle present, Morlen met the prince’s suspicion, unthreatened. “I’m not master,” he answered, “but friend.”
The prince let his rigid, battle-ready posture slacken a bit at this, though not disarmed in the slightest. “Well, Morlen Eaglefriend,” he replied, “I doubt my father has much desire to hear any man, let alone talk of action. But, I will ensure that you have an audience with him nonetheless, along with me, and any other who wishes to listen. You have earned that much, at least, from the Eaglemasters.”
The capital rose before them now, its grayish-white walls projecting from the mountains. They glistened sleekly even in the dead of night, and hundreds of metallic glints illuminated the host that stood watch above, some aiming arrows until the identities of those approaching could be better discerned.