“Now, men!” Tiberius cried to the villagers behind him.
He had led the men, unseen, to the far flank of the White’s men when Michael’s burst of lightning shot up against the floating monster. The exhausted villagers barely had any time to slow to a halt before sprinting hard against the soldiers. A large formation of the enemy was crowded nearby and turned just in time to be met by a large broad stroke of Tiberius’s bastard sword. His weapon disemboweled at least five men in one stroke. Without hesitation, he brought his weapon around again and took the arms off another man who dared rush towards him.
Father be with me, Tiberius said to himself before moving forward.
Another group hurried to meet him head-on, but with unnatural speed and grace, he ducked and weaved past their frightened and unfocused strikes, slicing one up the back hard as he rose. The remaining men barely had time to turn to face him before they were overrun by the villagers who had caught up to the battle at last. Many of them stopped to fight the soldiers man-to-man, yet Tiberius never stopped his forward motion. To stop was to die, and he had no intention of dying tonight.
A few soldiers would break ranks to attack the lone ranger, and each and every one of them was dispatched at once. He could see more and more soldiers breaking after him in the distance, but that didn’t bother him one bit. He was determined to cut his way to Shayla in the middle of the formation. Then they could turn their attention to the rest of the King’s men. Further, in the distance, he could see Tygahl now standing tall against the village’s walls. The hulking man continued raging against the undead enemy that poured out of the trenches at him and his dwarf brethren. Hopefully, their legendary stoutness would prove worthy of the match they were up against.
***
Michael released the lightning blast against the Revenant and stared on for what was to come next. Instead, Bruce again waved his arms, raising a massive orb of snow and ice. He held it aloft for several minutes before it suddenly broke apart and dissolved into a great flowing river that floated along in the air. He turned to face the Mage at his side, and after a brief nod of acknowledgment, sent the flowing water straight up into the blackness.
“Water!” the Revenant boomed out with a laugh. “The Mage brings real power, and you bring water?”
Michael pointed his wand, and the water burst into flames that travelled the length of the floating stream before it too found its mark against the laughing shadow. Another cry of pain reverberated out, shaking the wooden trees below and rattling the village in the distance. Like the lightning before, the flames spread across the vastness of its shadowed body.
After several minutes, the two dropped their arms and watched as the fire spread wide in the sky like the swiftness of the coming dawn. But whatever measure of accomplishment they felt was quickly snuffed out.
“You dare!?” the Revenant called out in fury, “You dare!?”
And in the blink of an eye, great heaps of fire began to fall from the sky to the ground below as if the stars themselves had fallen from their celestial bodies. Unthinking, Michael raised his wand and produced an incorporeal dome around him and the dwarf. The shield blocked several of the fireballs that now fell upon them. They could see many of the fiery spheres had landed in the forest beyond the field, setting it ablaze and spreading amongst the trees. On the other side, they could see the village they had fought to defend was now alight and burning.
“You dare against a power you cannot begin to fathom!” the beast screeched. “I will burn you! I will burn all of you, and only the ashes will remain to bear witness to your death!”
Under their shield, the two stared on in horror as the fire they summoned against their foe hurtled back down around them. The screams of terror rose up from all around them. Thoughts of their friends and the innocents hidden in the village flooded their minds and brought them to their knees.
“What do we do?” Michael bellowed in anger. “What can we do!? Bruce? Bruce!”
But all the Shaman could do, bewilderment and fear imprinted on his stone-hard face, was hang his head in shame. “I do not know, Michael,” he whispered. “I do not know.” The fire continued to pour as the two crouched in silence and horror.
Chapter 23
The Song of Kazduhl
“What in the hells below is that!?” the village captain exclaimed as the fire fell heavy in the woods. Yet, no sooner had he spoken, a great flaming sphere exploded against his body, crushing his remains deep into the ground.
Tiberius whirled just in time to see the captain burst from the force of the fire that rained down on them. He took several large gasps of air, trying to clear his mind. Several of the villagers had thrown themselves under large tree roots and behind large frozen boulders. Several of the soldiers from White were running from the wood that was now ablaze.
Tiberius turned to the men at his back and yelled, “Flee men! Flee! Get out of the woods! Get out of the woods at once!”
“What about you, sir?” another voice called, already running clear of the forest.
“I’m going to finish this bloody business,” Tiberius called back, slaying another two soldiers with ease. “Take these men and get clear of the woods!”
“Gods be with you!” the voice called back.
The fast-rising smoke burned his throat and eyes. The fire licked his face and singed his beard. He was determined to find Shayla in the hell that was wrought around them and kill every single man that bore the White colors. A cruel smile formed on his hardened face as he pressed on through the fire.
***
“Rangers!” Constance screamed high and clear, “Incoming!”
The fire crashed down on them, scattering the rangers in every direction. Shayla looked up and casually danced around the rain of fire that poured in heaps around them. In the distance, she heard the Revenant boom its hearty death laugh, and a renewed rage grew in her. A group of White’s men ducked and weaved around the fire and rushed her and the rangers. But Shayla hopped in the air and slapped her mighty spear on the ground as she landed. A mighty burst of air rushed to meet the soldiers throwing them to their backs. She leapt into the air again, and after three crushing hops onto their bodies, ran forward again.
The rangers were on their feet and sprinted hard to catch up with the Dragoon’s inhuman speed. She covered many yards in the blink of an eye, and every soldier she found, fleeing or standing to fight, was met by her spear. The fire fell as relentless as a snowstorm from the mountains, yet the fire bounced off her dragon clad armor without a bother. It was his armor, after all. The armor of the King in his halls of fire and glory. The armor of Kazduhl.
“Where is the commander?” Constance called out from behind Shayla in between dodges and sword thrusts. Her voice was strained from the smoke, and her movements were beginning to slow from the heat.
“I do not know,” Shayla replied, piercing the back of a fleeing soldier. “But we will move on nonetheless.”
“This is suicide!” another ranger called out.
“Hold your tongue!” Shayla hissed.
“I will not hold a damn thing, Narzeth!” the ranger yelled back defiantly. “I am a man of the Imperial rangers, and I have followed the orders of a heathen for enough tonight!”
Shayla turned on the spot, and with one mighty leap, kicked the man hard to the ground. Before he could regain his composure, her spear was at his throat. Beneath the dragon helm, her dark eyes burned hot at his words. “You will mind your tongue in my presence, boy! I have sworn my allegiance to your empire and to your commander! I fought and killed scores of Narzeth at the pass! I have walked through pools of fire and communed with dragons! I am a Dragon Knight of Kazduhl!” She removed her spear and turned from the man. “And you are weak and impotent!” she finished before returning to the battle ahead of her.
The ranger stared blankly at his comrades, who returned looks of disgust and contempt at his lack of discipline. The man balled up on the floor of the burning forest, sucking in lungfuls of smoke
and debris, and prayed to the gods of his father that the madness around them would stop.
***
“We can’t stay here all night!” Michael shouted from beneath their shield. “Should we try and douse the fire?”
But the Shaman didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to look at the destruction that surrounded them. In the distance, he could see the village was ablaze, the Berserker Tygahl silhouetted against the light mauling down the undead that continued to pour in unbothered by the madness of the night.
“Bruce! Help me! In the name of Frijigzah himself, help me!” Michael pleaded.
The name of his Father stirred Bruce from his dark thoughts, and, standing under the shield, said, “We need to kill that thing now. It will be futile to try and extinguish the fire. It pours out as if a waterfall.”
“Okay,” Michael replied. “How do you propose we do that?”
The Shaman pulled back his sleeves, and as before, began to spin his arms around and around. The ground beneath them started to rumble and crack open. Small alcoves of the earth started to shift, sending loose patches of dirt falling deep into the bowels of the ground. Rocks and debris were now rising into the air. Stones and small tree roots were ripped from the ground and began to float in front of them.
The ground began to shift harder now. Larger cracks and groans filled their ears, and before Michael knew it, enormous sections of the field were suspended in the air about them. Michael gazed all around him, stunned by the raw display of magic that he was witness to. The sheer power it must have taken to break apart the very earth beneath them was staggering to the young Mage.
A few minutes later, no more than a dozen or so large patches of snowy ground filled the sky above them, goaded on by the Shaman’s ceaseless turning of his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw the dwarf staring at him, and upon meeting his gaze, was given a quick wink from beneath his thick eyebrows. Returning his attention to the Revenant, Bruce turned his arms faster and faster, bidding the suspended earth about them to begin circling around and around.
From beneath his flowing beard, words in his people's harsh, throaty language escaped the dwarf's lips. A final prayer to the Father.
The dwarf slung one of his mighty arms upward, and a piece of earth hurtled towards the beast, finding its mark in the center of its fiery black mass. The Revenant shifted in the night sky and issued a howl of pain. Again, Bruce thrust his arm, and another mound of earth and dirt was sent flying. Small waterfalls of fire began to cease their flow, and the fiery light inside the blackness grew dimmer.
Michael grew excited at the turn of fortune the dwarf’s magic had brought on them. More and more pieces of ground were sent tearing through the sky above them. Each landing hard against the shadow's black mass. “It’s working!” Michael exclaimed, dropping his enchantment from them.
Bruce lowered his hands as the last piece of earth was sent hurtling into the night. “Aye,” he replied out of breath, “But you best start working on how to finish this foe off.”
***
“Keep moving forward, rangers!” Shayla called out, cutting down more and more of the men from White as she went. “Your Lord and Commander are near!”
“You heard the Knight, lads!” Constance belted out, dodging small rainfalls of fire and weaving around the strikes of random soldiers who tried to waylay her and her men. Yet in the fire and confusion, their Sight gave them the advantage against the regular foot soldiers of the would-be tyrant King.
The undisciplined soldiers ran towards them, screaming half in terror and half in excitement. Yet their eyes deceived them in the smokey haze, and each of them was dead where they had stood. “Give them no quarter, boys!” Constance called out again. “For they will give us none! Keep pushing! Foll---” but her words never finished in her mouth.
Shayla was more than twenty yards ahead of them when she heard the unnatural sound of groaning and breaking wood. She spun on the spot and saw a large oak, ablaze from the fire, finally give under the strain of the heat and collapse on top of the small squad of rangers. She cursed aloud in the language of her people, and with all the power she could muster, leapt to get them clear of the falling tree, but she was too late.
The tree crashed down on their group with a mighty boom, shifting the burning ground under them and breaking several smaller trees with its weight. The rangers raged against their crashing doom but were quickly silenced. Shayla was there a second too late and began to hunt around the debris for any survivors. Yet none met her searching, anxious eyes. She kicked aside several smaller fallen trees and shattered many large boulders in her search for survivors. Time appeared to stop around her, and all her senses seemed to fail her when a small weak voice called out amongst the cacophony of burning chaos.
“I am here, ma’am,” the weak, strained voice of Constance muttered.
Shayla rushed to the trunk of the fallen tree. From beneath it, she could see the Ranger crushed under the enormity of the trunk's weight. Shayla tried to kick at it with the same force she had used in battle, but all of her anger and power was in vain. Overwhelming desperation consumed her as she brought her spear high and thrust it down with all the strength she could. After a few minutes of desperate hacking against the hard iron-like wood, she had neatly cleaved the trunk into several smaller pieces that she sent flying into the night.
She inspected the dying Ranger, and dropping her spear and helm to the ground, knelt beside Constance’s body. She began to gently rub the closely shaved head of the dying woman. In the haze, she could see that once upon a time, her head had been a blazing red. In her mind, she could clearly see a young Constance at play in some gladden field. Bright red hair, redder than the fire around them, flowing in the springtime breeze.
“My men?” Constance murmured.
The beautiful image melted from Shayla's thoughts. Even in death, Constance now feared for her men. Shayla bowed her head, determined to hide her tears from the dying woman.
“Do not,” Constance said, gasping for air. “Do not cry for me, Dragon Knight. Do not cry for my men. We are servants of the empire. It is our duty, and our honor, to die for our country.”
“Aye,” Shayla replied, gazing at the woman. “And your duty is now fulfilled.”
"Aye. That it is. Now, pick up your spear, Dragon Knight, and fulfill your oaths."
The Ranger closed her eyes and laid her head back. “You,” Constance struggled to say, “You are one of us. Now and always. And may… May the Spirit of The Warrior always be with you.” And with that, Constance let her spirit go.
Shayla knelt there for a long time, cradling the dead woman’s head in her dragon scaled armor. Her heart, once full of rage and sadness, now grew cold. Her tears ceased, her breath steadied, and after reverently placing the Ranger back on the ground, she retrieved her spear and replaced her helmet on her head. She stared at the fire around her and felt a sense of almost joy overcome her.
Her mind was taken back to the flaming pools of Kazduhl. She closed her eyes and beheld the face of the Dragon King. She felt the heat penetrate her armor, and a faint smile draw across her face. She felt at home again. Home in the loving embrace of her lord and king. She placed the helm over her face and retrieved his spear from the ground.
She proudly raised her head, and from her olive-skinned lips, began to sing the song of her people. The music of war and battle. The music of death and life. The song of Kazduhl. The song of dragons. After a few short steps, she burst high into the sky, her voice belting out loud and clear across the woods and echoing off the mountain slopes in the distance.
***
“What new devilry is this!?” one of the villagers called out.
Tiberius was stopped in his tracks at once. He closed his eyes and felt a small smile creep on his face. He knew that song. It had brought him comfort and terror more than a year ago at Vermillion Pass. He turned to face his men at his back and simply said, “It is the song of the Dragon King, Kazduhl.”
>
“A dragon!? There’s a dragon loose now!? What more can that devil above conjure to torment us!?” one of the men exclaimed, dodging a small burst of fire.
“Something worse than a dragon is loose in these fiery woods, men. One of his daughters, and she is angry.” He faced his men. In their bewildered faces, he saw fear, but not of the fire or the enemy. Fear of the song that echoed around them. Fear of Shayla and her wrath. “Lady Rider is with us, men! Now fly! Fly to your doom! Fly to glory!”
Renewed in purpose, he drove the men on through the hellscape that engulfed them, determined to meet the Dragoon and join in her song. If not in words, then in deed a resolve. He ran on until, after a short while, he arrived at the center of the woods. He turned to survey the fire around him, extending his power all around him for sign of Shayla. The dragon king's song continued to haunt the burning forest. In the distance, the faint noises of screaming soldiers could be heard before being silenced forever.
He closed his eyes and forced his mind back to that day at the pass, trying to recall the song she and her mighty sisters had risen as they slew their Narzethian captors. The words came to him piece by piece, and though he knew not what they meant in his own tongue, he felt the words and melody come to him. He rose his arms and began to echo her words back into the orange and red night.
The trees rustled and broke, and out of the flames flew Shayla. In the firelight, she looked as a dragon reborn from legend and myth. She landed a few feet apart from him and quickly walked upon him, still singing her beautiful and terrible song. They locked forearms and sang on together as the world burned around them, finally coming to the crescendo.
They locked eyes, and Tiberius, the ranger, and future emperor said, “Hail, Shayla Rider. Dragon Knight of the Axton Empire.”
Beneath her helm, her olive lips replied, “Hail, Tiberius Axton. Ranger and heir to Axton Empire. The Spirit of The Warrior brought to life.” They broke the lock of their forearms and turned to look amongst the burning forest. “The foes appear to be vanquished.”
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 29