Blood of the Earth (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Four)

by David A. Wells

  The dragon, ridden by the man glowing as bright as the sun, swooped down on an Ithilian attack boat and breathed, not fire, but frost … air so cold it froze the ship and its crew solid in moments, coating everything in ice and solidifying the ocean for dozens of feet in every direction.

  Several Sky Knights saw the dragon attack and broke off their futile attempts to destroy the ships. Two came in over the dragon, hurling firepots down at the rider, only to watch them shatter harmlessly against a magical shield. A streak of frosty-white magical energy stabbed out from the brilliantly glowing dragon rider and struck the lead wyvern directly in the chest. Almost instantly, the wyvern and rider froze solid. The wyvern’s wings shattered against the wind and it plummeted into the water hundreds of feet below.

  Magda finished her spell. An orb of bluish energy streaked from her hand and stopped abruptly over the barbarians several dozen feet in front of the slowing cavalry charge. It held there for a moment before it shattered into hundreds of shards of force, each beginning to swirl around the center point in an increasingly rapid whirl of deadly arcane power. With a gesture she lowered her creation into the barbarians, tearing into them with horrific violence, rending flesh from bone. She directed it to move along the ground, a twenty-foot-wide, five-foot-tall whirling vortex of magical blades, cutting down everything in its path for a hundred feet before the spell ran its course and dissipated, streamers of light trailing off in a whirl as each shard ceased to exist.

  The carnage was so stunning that many of the barbarians momentarily stopped and tried to grasp the enemy they faced, only to be run down by the renewed momentum of General Kern’s cavalry charge. The soldiers cut a swath through the barbarian horde, relieving the pressure on the front line and clearing the field for the shield wall to advance.

  Abigail waited for the cavalry to clear the space between her infantry and the berm wall of the encampment.

  “Push forward,” she ordered.

  General Markos nodded to a nearby soldier who was standing ready with a signal horn. He blew a long, steady note that drifted out over the field, penetrating the din of battle.

  The shield bearers lifted and unhooked their shields, the pikemen dropped the points of their pikes between each shield man, and the whole line lumbered forward, slowly at first, scrambling over the fallen wreckage of the enemy piled up before them but gaining momentum as soon as they passed the jumble of bodies. A few remaining barbarians got through the lines, and while formidable in single combat, they fell easily to attacks from all directions by the infantry behind the shield bearers and pikemen.

  Once they had gained a hundred feet, the shield line planted their spikes firmly into the ground and locked shields together, the pikemen dropped the hafts of their weapons into the guides atop each shield, and the whole line braced for the next wave of barbarians.

  All the while, a steady stream of arrows rained down into the enemy. At least that part of the plan was working, Abigail thought to herself as she looked back out to sea.

  The dragon ignored a direct hit from a light-lance spell hot enough to burn a hole through a man as it dove toward the Ithilian fleet. A gout of frigid dragon breath froze a swath of the ocean three hundred feet long into an instant iceberg, disrupting the path of two light warships intent on ramming the nearest of Zuhl’s giant ships.

  A wyvern dove at the dragon, pulling up at the last moment and whip-striking with its bone-bladed tail. The dragon folded its wings and twisted around upside down, grabbing the wyvern’s tail with its powerful rear talons and clamping into the wyvern’s soft underbelly with its powerful jaws. As it fell toward the ocean, the dragon thrust out one wing and spun around on top of the wyvern, driving both hind feet into the belly of the dying beast as it thrust its wings downward, gaining dozens of feet with a single stroke.

  Over two dozen Sky Knights had refocused their attack on the docks and the soldiers within the encampment, this time with some success. They rained firepots and javelins into the surging barbarian horde, but the ships, the real target of the battle, remained unharmed.

  Another Sky Knight made an attack run at the dragon, coming in high and from behind. The witch guided her wyvern into a talon-strike dive targeting the dragon’s wings. Abigail watched as the brilliantly glowing rider turned and released his spell. A wave of translucent energy that looked like heat wavering over desert sands struck the wyvern and blew it backward, sending it spiraling into the ocean below. Then the dragon breathed on another ship, fusing it with the ocean around it and solidifying its crew in an instant.

  Wizard Sark turned to vapor in a whirlwind and lifted off the ground, floating through the air, gaining strength until he touched down on the northern corner of the berm wall as a full-force tornado, sucking up dirt and sharpened spikes, cutting a swath big enough for a column of infantry to ride through. He continued to tear a path of destruction through the camp on his way toward the docks, sending Zuhl’s soldiers and debris flying away from him as he went.

  Abigail seized the opening before the enemy could respond.

  “Send in the cavalry—all of them,” she commanded.

  General Markos issued his orders to the signalmen. Two horns blew, the first commanding the heavy cavalry to charge, the second calling for the two legions of Rangers held in reserve to attack.

  “Conner, you have command, crush them to a man,” Abigail said. “Magda, you’re with me.” She turned toward the rear of the camp, but Anatoly stopped her with a hand on her upper arm before she could take three steps.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked, worry creasing his brow.

  “I’m going after that dragon before it kills the entire fleet,” she said, meeting his eyes without flinching.

  “That’s madness, Abigail. I can’t protect you up there.”

  “I’ll be right beside her, Master Grace,” Magda said.

  “I have to do this,” Abigail said. “I’m the only one with a weapon that can get through its scales.”

  “And what about the wizard riding it?” Anatoly asked. “You’re no match for him.”

  “I am if I can get close enough,” Abigail said.

  “I’ll handle Zuhl,” Magda said.

  Both Abigail and Anatoly looked at the triumvir.

  She shrugged. “I’m nearly certain Zuhl himself is riding that dragon. The spells I’ve seen him cast would require a mage or a high witch.”

  “I agree,” Mage Dax said, pointing out to sea. “We’ll win the ground war, but his ships are getting away.”

  Another of the giant ships slipped free of its berth, followed by another. Now five were in the water.

  “Anatoly,” Abigail said, drawing herself up and facing him like a queen, “take whatever men you need to board one of those ships and capture it before it casts off. We all have a part to play … mine is dealing with that dragon.”

  Anatoly clenched his jaw, struggling with his inner turmoil, then nodded once and hugged her fiercely before turning away. “Captain Sava, you and your men are with me,” he barked as he spun his war axe off his back.

  Anatoly was angry, not at Abigail, but at the fact that he couldn’t stand with her in this battle. He loved her like a daughter and it ate at him that he might never see her again. The enemy she’d chosen to fight was beyond her, beyond most mortal opponents, yet she was the best suited to defeat it because of the sword her brother had given her. He also worried about Alexander. If Abigail died in a battle because he had given her the Thinblade, he would never forgive himself. They were best friends, inseparable as children, closer than ever as adults, even with an ocean between them.

  Captain Sava followed with two squads of dragon-plate-armored men right behind him. Anatoly set aside his concern for Abigail and turned his attention to the task at hand. He had a ship to capture and an army between him and his objective. A quick survey of the battlefield revealed his best chances for success. The shield wall had pushed forward to the top of the enemy berm and the fighting wa
s fierce. Men were piling up in front of the interlocking shields but still more of the big, brutish barbarians hurled themselves forward.

  Another of the ships slipped out of its berth into the ocean, lowering oars and pulling away into the bay. The cavalry charge along the inside of the north berm wall was making headway, allowing access into the enemy encampment that didn’t involve climbing over the front line. Anatoly headed toward the breach, walking briskly behind the back rank of archers as they steadily emptied their barrels of arrows.

  They reached the northern edge of the shield wall as the last of the Rangers poured past on their light horses. Anatoly stopped to let them by, motioning for the Strikers to gather around.

  “We’re going to follow the cavalry,” Anatoly said. “We’ll make our way along the inside of the berm wall toward the water. Don’t stop to fight if you don’t have to. Let the rest of the army kill the enemy.” He pointed to the warship in the northernmost berth. “Our objective is that ship. Once we’re aboard, we’ll capture it if we can or set it on fire if we can’t. Any questions?”

  No one spoke. Anatoly nodded curtly and started out into the wake of the cavalry. There was little resistance near the gap in the berm wall. Most of the enemy soldiers were focused on repelling the main attack along the eastern front, and those nearest the gap had been trampled by the cavalry charge.

  Anatoly ignored the battle taking place to his south as he moved purposely through the trail of carnage. Nearly two-thirds of the way into the enemy encampment, the cavalry had turned south and into the heart of the camp, disrupting the barbarians’ efforts to mount an effective defense against the advancing shield wall and throwing the entire camp into chaos.

  Wizard Sark had softened a path for them on his way through the camp toward the southern berm wall where he had blown another hole, allowing the cavalry a way out.

  When they reached the place where the cavalry had turned, they started to encounter some resistance. Anatoly almost relished the opportunity to unleash his festering anger born of worry for Abigail, and more distantly for Alexander.

  The first barbarian they came upon was a sentry posted along the northern berm wall. The Rangers had passed only a minute or so before and the barbarian was just coming out from behind an upturned wagon he’d used for cover against their arrows. He smiled when he saw Anatoly and the Strikers, then shouted for help from his companions.

  Several dozen men emerged from similar hiding places, cautiously at first, then boldly when they saw that the threat of the Rangers’ arrows was past.

  “Finally, an opponent who will fight me face to face like a man,” the barbarian said, drawing his enormous two-handed sword from the sheath lining his back.

  Anatoly brought his axe up into a ready guard position and advanced toward the barbarian, who brought his sword down over his head in a powerful stroke. Anatoly spun to his right and using momentum to fuel his stroke brought his battle-axe around in a whistling arc, cutting into the big barbarian from hip to navel. The man fell away screaming as Anatoly stepped into the next onrushing barbarian, thrusting the top spike of his battle-axe out straight into the man’s belly. He didn’t bother to finish the wailing man before he met the next attacker.

  The Strikers formed a wedge behind him, fighting as a team, blocking with their dragon-scale shields for the man to their left and thrusting at the enemies that got close enough, but never breaking formation. Only one Striker was even forced to a knee by the barbarians. Kelvin’s dragon-plate armor protected them flawlessly from any but the most blunt-force attacks. The one man who did go down blocked a downward stroke from a war hammer wielded by a barbarian who easily weighed three hundred pounds. The strike didn’t even dent the dragon-scale shield but the force of it was enough to break the arm of the Striker who took the blow. A moment later, one of his companions killed the barbarian with a precision thrust of his sword into the barbarian’s throat.

  They moved the rest of the way to the waterline, meeting pockets of resistance here and there but besting them without difficulty. Anatoly didn’t shy away from the enemy that came his way, but he never took his eye off his objective.

  At the water, they turned south and worked their way to the long dock linking the land with the giant construction berth cradling the warship. Most of the barbarians were east of them now, either fighting against the shield wall or moving toward it.

  The cavalry had passed through the entire camp, leaving a trail of destruction behind them.

  When Anatoly and the Strikers began advancing up the dock, the handful of men between them and the ship turned and ran toward the ship, shouting a warning.

  The vessel was being prepared to launch. Ropes were being cut and the front scaffolding of the construction berth was being hastily pulled away, but it would still be several minutes before they would be free of the berth.

  Anatoly reached the rear part of the berth and took the first of the staircases leading to the top of the berth wall where the gangplanks allowed access to the ship. As he rounded a corner in the switchback staircases, a barbarian thrust a sword at him, landing a glancing blow against his breastplate. He didn’t bother with his axe in such tight quarters … instead, he grabbed the man by the wrist and threw him into the water.

  They reached the top of the scaffolding and found that the gangplanks had been pulled onto the ship, except Zuhl’s men had forgotten to retrieve a number of other planks that formed the topmost walkway of the berth wall. Anatoly set one of the stout boards across the ten feet separating the berth wall and the ship.

  As he boarded the ship, two men rushed him. He met their charge, defending the gangplank as the Strikers filed aboard. Both men fell quickly, the first with a gash across his belly, the second toppling overboard.

  Anatoly and his men moved along the deck of the ship toward the bow. The men onboard were mostly sailors or shipbuilders. Very few of the battle-hardened barbarians were on deck to guard the ship, so they had a relatively easy time clearing the top deck, throwing most of the men they encountered overboard rather than killing them outright.

  They reached the bow and turned down the other side of the deck to ensure they hadn’t missed anyone. By the time they reached the aft deck and the anchor winch, Anatoly was convinced that the ship had nothing more than a skeleton crew aboard, just enough to sail it to the Isle of Zuhl where it could be loaded with troops.

  He released the anchor, dropping it into the shallow water and ensuring that the ship couldn’t leave the berth without becoming hopelessly entangled.

  “That should hold them for now,” he said. “Let’s take the lower decks, one by one.”

  “We’re right behind you, Master Grace,” Captain Sava said.

  Chapter 38

  Abigail and Magda quickly changed into their riding armor before mounting their wyverns. Knight Raja and Flight Commander Corina were already mounted and waiting. Abigail took care with her locking pins to ensure that she was secure in her saddle. One final check and she goaded Kallistos into the air.

  He thrust down with his powerful wings, propelling them dozens of feet off the ground. The next thrust brought them higher still and started them moving forward over the rear of the army toward the fierce aerial battle that was taking place over the ocean.

  Knight Raja took his place to Abigail’s right, just behind Kallistos’ wing tip. Magda and Corina gained altitude more quickly, riding older and more experienced wyverns, and took a high overwatch position above and behind them.

  They gained altitude, floating over the supply trains, then the soldiers held in reserve, then over the archers, and finally, over the melee taking place along the berm wall. Abigail surveyed the damage done by her army as she coasted on the crisp air.

  It was a scene out of a nightmare. Dead and dying littered the ground, peppered with arrows. Fire burned everywhere there was fuel left for it to consume. Her archers continued to shower the enemy camp with their deadly rain. The shield wall had taken the top of the
berm and the archers were reaching farther into the encampment, killing many of those that had attempted to avoid the fighting.

  Abigail nodded to herself. These barbarians had sacked Fellenden City and Bredon. She’d seen the devastation they’d visited on the people of those cities. She’d seen the cruelty and depravity of the brutes from the Isle of Zuhl. Now she was watching them die, the logical consequence for such a vicious and wanton violation of the Old Law.

  The heavy cavalry charge led by General Kern had cut a path of destruction along the inside of the northern berm wall and then turned south toward the heart of the camp, trampling barbarians underfoot with every yard gained. Rangers followed in their wake, sending arrows into the camp and cutting many barbarians down by surprise.

  She turned her attention to the battle raging in the sky over the bay. Six of Zuhl’s giant warships were in the water now, oars pulling them away from the shore, sails being unfurled and just beginning to catch the gentle breeze. The bulk of his fleet was getting away.

  A swath of the ocean between Zuhl’s ships and the Ithilian fleet was frozen into dozens of jagged chunks of ice floating mostly beneath the surface. Three Ithilian warships had attempted to pass the icy barricade only to collide with icebergs and suffer hull breaches.

  A squad of Sky Knights broke off their attack runs against the soldiers within the camp and signaled as they passed that they were out of javelins and firepots, heading back to the rear to rearm.

  Dozens of the Ithilian ships were damaged or destroyed, some frozen in place, bobbing on the ocean without direction, others were aflame, burning out of control, their crews abandoning ship.

  The dragon made another pass against a fast-attack boat, freezing it solid with a gout of impossibly cold breath. Another ship scored a direct hit against the dragon’s belly with a ballista bolt, only to have it shatter on impact, drawing the dragon’s attention.