by CS Sealey
She reached for the bottle of firewater sitting on the cabinet. “Still a little left,” she said, shaking it. “That was a pathetic attempt, Tiderius. I could do better than that.”
He chuckled and snatched the bottle from her. “Pathetic, huh?” he asked, and proceeded to pour the remaining liquid down his throat. “Phew! Really burns after a while. But look!” He held up the empty bottle triumphantly. “Finished.”
He moved closer to her, setting the bottle down. Angora eyed it.
“I had a dream about you last night,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist. “You were on Teronia – how I imagined it, anyway. There was some kind of festival, the forest was full of drumming. We were in a clearing together, naked, completely alone. Your skin was painted, all of it, in intricate patterns. You reached out your arms to me and, that night, you were mine.”
He looked at her with hungry eyes. Angora tried to keep her feeling of disgust from surfacing. Over and over in her mind, she told herself that this was necessary. Deceiving him was necessary.
Tiderius reached up with his free hand and lifted her chin. “My Angora…”
He lowered his head to claim her lips. She could taste the alcohol on his tongue, a bitter, fiery taste that made her head spin. Tiderius’s kiss was short but passionate, and Angora was thankful to draw away from it. Then she felt his arms go around her and lift her off her feet. She quickly grasped the empty bottle of firewater and hid it from his view as he carried her across the room to his bed.
“Angora, my love,” he purred in her ear.
She felt the bed press against the back of her legs and smelled the strong scent of liquor on his breath. He collapsed with her onto the bed, his eager lips seeking out her neck. As one of his hands glided down her side, the other fumbled at his belt and trousers. The time was now.
She raised the bottle.
CHAPTER 55
They had been retreating now for just over three weeks. The rider sent from Kilsney had obviously alerted the trading offices en route, for supply caches had been arranged at two-day intervals along their trail. Without these vital supplies, none of them would have survived.
Rasmus had seen nothing of the Ayons’ cavalry since the attack on Kilsney, which worried him. Nevertheless, he was grateful for it, for their numbers alone would have ground the retreating Ronnesians into the dust. He supposed the Ayons were invading Menthenae and northern Kirofirth, subduing the towns and villages one by one. He was deeply concerned for the lands they were leaving behind, as they would soon be under Ayon rule. He wanted to help those people, drive the Ayons back and deal them a blow they would never forget, but they simply did not have the numbers to stand against even half the Ayons in pursuit. With support from the regiments in southern Londston and Andril and further help from Korrosus’s father, perhaps they would stand a chance in open battle. But even then, not having trained together, their alliance would be divided, as each army went into battle in their individual styles and under their respective commanders.
It had been four nights since the last Ayon skirmish but, at last, they were in the shadows of the Kirofirth Ranges that surrounded Te’Roek. They were finally heading east. Just a few more days would deliver them into the city’s protective embrace. As the familiar shapes of the mountain peaks high on their left and the winding route of the River Mír to their right came into view, Rasmus felt hopeful. But when he glanced back, he knew they were far from sanctuary; a vanguard of Ayon soldiers had broken away from the main body of the army and were now visible only a mile behind them.
When the sun dipped toward the horizon, there came a cry from the front of the retreating Ronnesian force. “A demon!” the soldier shouted. “A flying demon!”
Rasmus’s heart sank. Of course, it had been too much to hope that they had seen the last of Vrór and his beasts. They were so close to home and, yet, suddenly, it seemed simply too far. The leika had probably waited for this moment to strike. Rasmus could see only one animal, a giant eagle, which was drawing quickly nearer from the east but already too large to hope that it was a natural creature. The entire force was on edge. Swords were in hands and arrows were nocked into bowstrings. Rasmus’s brow furrowed with confusion, at a loss to understand why Vrór would cricle around in front of the troops and alert them of his presence. Then his eyes widened.
“Hold your fire!” he shouted, making his way to the front line. “It could be friend, not foe!”
“What do you mean, Auran?” Commander Tiron asked.
“It could be Angora!” he cried, squinting desperately ahead.
“That island girl in the queen’s service?”
“The very same, and because it flies from the east, I suspect I’m right.”
“All right, Auran,” the commander said, though his voice had lost none of its skepticism. “Continue marching! We have a day and night’s journey ahead of us if we lift the pace! But you there, Berron, have your squadron prepared to fill that beast with arrows if it turns hostile.”
Barely one hundred yards from the front line, the eagle pulled into a dive, reared up, and sank its talons into the earth, beating its great wings to steady itself. A figure slid awkwardly off the creature’s back and spread his arms wide. Rasmus breathed a sigh of relief.
“Tiderius!”
Tiderius lowered his arms and jogged forward, but Rasmus collided with him so heavily that his brother found it hard to stay on his own two feet. He laughed and patted Rasmus on the back.
“Oh, thank the Spirits you’ve come!”
“The sight was very clouded,” Tiderius explained, putting his brother at arm’s length and grasping his shoulders, “but both Emil and Kayte should be here shortly to escort you all safely back to Te’Roek.”
Rasmus turned to Angora, who had silently joined them, holding her staff close to her chest. She was looking at him anxiously, but he immediately noticed the hint of sadness in her eyes.
“What’s this?” he asked, grinning. “Not pleased to see me?”
Angora wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. “I am so glad you are alive,” she said quietly. “We were very worried.”
“Ah, Tiderius!” Commander Tiron said, raising his hand. “Good of you to join us! But, uh…what of this beast?”
“He is under my control,” Angora said, breaking away from Rasmus. “Hurry on as best you can. We will cover your retreat.”
“Right you are, miss. Soldiers, keep moving!”
“What happened?” Tiderius asked his brother.
“Up north? They used fire pots to disrupt the guards along the ramparts, then Vrór set his beasts loose around the camp. Next, their scouts climbed over the wall and opened the gates. After that, their army just swarmed in, forty thousand strong, we were overpowered and had to retreat. We burned all the equipment and supplies we couldn’t carry, so there was nothing for them to use. By now, Menthenae will be completely under their control.”
“I’m surprised you made it this far.”
“So am I.”
“Angora and I can keep almost anyone at bay, and when Emil and Kayte arrive, not even Varren will be able to stop us. Keep these men moving. We’ll hold the back line and slow the Ayons down long enough for you to regain the lead.”
“No, I’m going to fight with you!” Rasmus insisted, grasping his arm. “I won’t let you and Angora fight while I run. You need someone to guard your back.” He turned and watched as the survivors from Kilsney continued along the road to Te’Roek. Commander Tiron was leading them and Prince Korrosus was riding his horse up and down their lines, shouting words of encouragement.
“We’ll fight them together,” Rasmus said determinedly. Tiderius appeared to want to argue but Rasmus grinned and patted him firmly on the back. “Good man.”
It had been a long while since they had drawn swords together and Rasmus hoped it would not be the last. The two of them jogged back to the rear of the retreating soldiers.
“The me
n are tired, but if we can deter the Ayons from fighting, they can run for as long as is needed.”
They continued to bring up the rear for the remaining part of the day. As night fell, Angora took to the skies and flew between the armies.
Finally, upon landing, she said, “The gap is closing. Expect an attack within the hour.”
True to her prediction, when the darkest hour of night passed, the Ayon vanguard launched their assault. First came a short flurry of arrows, picking off men from the middle of the group. The injured staggered, but kept running, forcing every ounce of energy into their muscles. The dead fell and were crushed underfoot. There was no time to stop and dig graves now.
Rasmus, Tiderius and Angora turned as one and prepared themselves for the attack. Angora whirled her staff in a series of intricate twirls and loops. Rasmus drew his sword, as did his brother, and the two of them stood in front of Angora as the Ayons approached.
“I’ll go first,” Tiderius said. “Once they see what my sword can do, they should be disorientated and confused. Use that to your advantage.”
“Sure.”
“Angora…” Tiderius said, turning to her, but whatever he was going to say next was drowned out by a great roar and crackle as a summoned creature spurted from the end of her staff. The golden sparks morphed and writhed into the shape of a great eagle and the screech that resonated from its beak pierced the air for miles around. The great beast beat its wings and began to fly toward the Ayons. Seconds later, another eagle rose into the air and followed the path the first had taken.
“Here they come,” Tiderius muttered. “Angora, keep behind us. Angora?”
But the leika had gone.
“The eagle!” Rasmus said, spotting Angora clinging to its back.
“Keep your eyes down here, brother!”
Tiderius raised his sword and a ripple of blue flame licked at the blade, illuminating him in a circle of unnatural light in the pitch black. What little light the moon had given before was gone, hidden behind a bank of thick rainclouds that had been advancing from the south. Tiderius darted forward, his movements becoming a blur of bright blue flame, and a chorus of screams and yells rose into the air. Rasmus gritted his teeth and hurried after him, acting like his brother’s shadow.
Men fell in great sweeps before Tiderius’s might and Rasmus struck down those who sought to attack him from behind. They did not push far into the line of men but when they realized they were in danger of being surrounded, Tiderius started to fall back, darting around in circles, hypnotizing the surrounding men with the brightness of the unnatural fire and the speed at which he swung his sword.
Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, Rasmus saw that a group of soldiers had broken away from the main vanguard and were now running after the fleeing Ronnesians.
“Tiderius, the back line!” Rasmus shouted, ducking as Anathris came spinning his way. “We need to rejoin the army!”
He cut his way free, stabbing, slicing and kicking, until he stumbled out onto the empty plain. As he turned, his sword raised protectively, an Ayon lunged at him. He leaped back, the great highland claymore missing his forehead by a matter of inches. But the soldier did not have time to attack again, for Tiderius burst through the Ayon line, his face, neck and surcoat covered in blood, and barged the man with his shoulder.
“Come on!”
They ran as fast as they could manage, knowing that it would not be long before the Ayons behind them recovered from the shock of the attack. The brothers reached the tail of the Ronnesian force just as the Ayon breakaways began their attack. Amid the mass of thrashing bodies, it was almost impossible to distinguish enemy from ally.
With a terrible screech, one of Angora’s haladrais swooped over their heads and everyone – both Ronnesian and Ayon – ducked for cover. Only Rasmus and his brother appeared unaffected by the great haladrai. Taking advantage of the confusion, Tiderius leaped into the Ayon ranks.
The city was finally in sight, a hill-shaped silhouette in the distance, but still miles away. Rasmus glanced back at his brother and noticed the weariness on his face. Though he still ducked and slashed with vigor, soon his strength would be exhausted and the retreating Ronnesians would be crushed. They did not have much time. Rasmus wondered at the absence of Kayte and Emil, knowing that they could have reached them much sooner than his brother and Angora.
“Damn these barbarians!” Tiron’s voice shouted from close by. “Keep running men! Argh! Damn it!”
Rasmus spun around and saw his commander stagger, one hand clutching at a lone arrow plunged deep into his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck.
“Commander!” he cried.
“No, no, Auran,” Tiron said, biting back the pain. “Just…keep these men moving. I’m fine!”
“I’ll find you a horse, sir.” But no sooner had he said the words, than he froze. More arrows were bearing down upon them, the sound of them being fired unmistakable even over the clashing of swords.
“Shields!” he shouted, slinging his own off his back.
He ducked, dragging Tiron down beneath him and raising his shield protectively above them. There was a moment of anxious anticipation as the whistling of the arrows grew louder and louder. Then they struck and the area was pummeled with arrow shafts. There were so many that the sound of their impact resembled heavy rain. They struck his iron-plated shield and he felt his muscles straining with each hit as the arrows collided, snapped and bounced off. One grazed his shoulder blade, reminding him that his shield could not protect them both completely.
“Hang in there, men!” he shouted. “We can do this all night!”
He did not know exactly how many Ayon archers had been given the order to fire but they maintained the bombardment for what felt like hours. When it finally lifted, Rasmus’s muscles were aching from the constant pounding on his shield and the wound on his shoulder. He lowered his arm cautiously and looked around. A great many Ayons lay sprawled upon the ground between the crouching Ronnesians. Evidently, the archers had either not noticed their own or not cared about collateral damage.
One by one, the Ronnesians began to raise their heads and return to their feet. Rasmus sighed with relief and looked down, a smile ready on his lips to reassure his commander. His face fell. Tiron was dead, his eyes staring blankly. Though Rasmus had somehow managed to protect his commander from the storm of arrows, the initial bolt that had penetrated his leather shoulder plate had claimed his life.
Rasmus cursed and passed a hand across Tiron’s eyes, closing the lids. Opening the man’s fingers one by one, he removed the sword from his grasp.
“The Ayons won’t take this as a trophy, sir,” Rasmus assured him. “It will be mounted on a wall in honor of your service.”
Remembering Tiderius, he got swiftly to his feet again, his face racked with anxiety. He knew his brother’s enchanted sword, when raised, could protect him from almost any magical attack, but against a simple weapon like an arrow, he was defenseless – Tiderius never carried a shield into battle, for his skill relied heavily on flexibility and speed.
“Tiderius!” Rasmus yelled, looking around the dark battlefield. “Tiderius!”
There was a movement on the ground nearby and the body of an Ayon was pushed onto its side. At first, Rasmus thought the soldier was rising, despite the multitude of arrows protruding from his back, but then Tiderius emerged from beneath the body and nodded reassuringly.
“Saved by an Ayon,” he said and chuckled, “never thought I’d hear myself say it.”
As one, they turned west. The Ayons who had held back during the bombardment of arrows were advancing again; only one hundred yards separated them. The brothers glanced at each other.
“Ready for the run of your life?” Tiderius asked, somehow managing a smile.
There was a pattering of paws and a huge wildcat lumbered up beside them, followed immediately by a smaller one. Angora was sitting on the back of the second, her staff clutched tightly in one hand
. She had a dark stain on her upper arm but when Rasmus opened his mouth to voice his concern, she shook her head. “Just get on!”
Rasmus was not about to argue and leaped onto the back of the larger creature behind his brother. The two animals then turned east and ran.
“They are still too many!” Angora shouted. “We must waste no more time fighting them!”
“Where the hell are Emil and Kayte?” Tiderius shout angrily. “How long does it take to lay spells on a bloody wall?”
“A long while if they want to make a good job of it,” Angora replied. “We just need to ensure there are some survivors for them to help.”
*
It took the Ayons one hour to catch up again with the fleeing allies. The Ayon vanguard that had pursued them for so long had now rejoined the main body of the army. Prince Korrosus and Captain Cassios were riding up and down the line, urging them on. Rasmus remained at the back with Tiderius and Angora, who had now banished both her summoned wildcats to save her strength. The sky was thick with rainclouds and a distant roll of thunder reverberated through the air. It was darker than it had been at midnight even though the dawn could be no more than an hour away. It was in this gloom that the Ayons struck again.
“We can’t let them surround us,” Rasmus said to his brother as they ran. “We must slow them down, keep them occupied, otherwise none of us will reach the city!”
“What do you propose?”
“The cavalry must slow them.”
It seemed as though Prince Korrosus had reached the same conclusion and was herding the infantry toward the city with what remained of the Kilsney encampment cavalry forces.
“We fight here until we’re almost overcome,” Rasmus continued. “Regroup, form ranks and fight them. It’s our only hope.”
The two forces clashed and bodies were thrust against each other as they vied for space. If a man fell, he was crushed underfoot and replaced with another. What remained of the Ronnesian cavalry rode unchallenged against the back and sides of the Ayon lines, but even though dozens of soldiers were cut down, it seemed to make little impact. The odds against them were insurmountable and they were slowly being surrounded as two flanks of Ayon infantry moved around to the east to cut off the Ronnesians’ and Tareks’ only escape route.