by Ben Hale
He growled and fought even harder, inspiring his soldiers by his very presence as he cut through throngs of krakas that dared come too close.
It was a good day to be a rock troll!
***
Golic turned to the head dwarven fire mage. “Get the stonesap in place.”
“It will be ready in five minutes,” he replied, his voice gruff.
Golic accepted the report and glanced over the wall at the rock trolls fighting with a valor never witnessed by any historian. He’d always seen his people as the greatest of warriors, but watching the rock trolls in battle, he had to admit that their skill far surpassed his people. It was humbling and disconcerting—yet awe inspiring.
“How long will the stonesap burn?” Golic asked without taking his eyes from the battle.
“No more than an hour, if we are lucky.”
Golic growled, ducking behind the parapet to do some quick calculations. The reserves of his battalion, barbarians and amazons alike, had just begun to fall back. At ten miles to the city, the delay should give them time to reach it. Satisfied, he turned his thoughts to his surviving forces. All of his remaining troops had steeds, except for the rock trolls and surviving giants, who could run just as fast. When the dwarves lit the stonesap, they would race to Azertorn, collecting each of the cliff top forces as they passed. If they did it right, the retreat would suffer few casualties.
Just a few more minutes, he thought, watching the hulking trolls hold against the kraka's. Just a few more minutes.
***
Half a mile from the tree line Gaze jumped as a ribbon of white light leapt skyward. Against the backdrop of an overcast sky, the streak of magic was impossible to miss.
"What was that?" Gaze yelled over the thundering hooves.
From behind him, Arzai shouted back, "That's a scout signal. The enemy has been spotted."
Gaze shuddered as he looked at the gray heavens. The dark cloud that hovered over the fiend army was darkening the gray. Like an enormous beast, it devoured the clouds as it advanced towards the gathered races, leaving blackness in its wake.
"They are here!" Gaze shouted.
"Can you light the forest?" Lexi shouted.
He searched for the magic, but it was too far. "Not yet."
Fifty feet from the trees several figures burst into view. The elven scouts clung to their horses as they bolted south.
Arzai pointed towards them. "At least we found the . . ."
—Fiends exploded into view behind the fleeing elves. Erupting from the trees line, thousands of quare and sipers snarled as they caught sight of their prey. In a wave of black and red they descended the slope towards them.
Gaze scrambled to get a bolt off, and just managed to release the magic as they wheeled their horses and turned around. As they surged away from the fiends, Gaze threw a look back. His throat tightened as he saw that the lightning had stuck, but no flame had started. He reached for a second attempt, but in his weakened state they were already out of range.
Growling at his failure, he curved his horse with the others, angling their route to connect with the scouts. Seconds later they joined, with all of them galloping towards Azertorn. "What happened?" Lexi demanded.
The one dressed as a mage called back. "They appeared out of nowhere, so we sent the warning."
"We have to burn the forest to slow them down!" Arzai yelled.
The mage threw him an incredulous look, and then gestured at the flood of fiends behind them—which were gaining ground. "I doubt we can make it to the escape tunnel, and you want to go back?"
Before anyone could reply, the growling sipers had closed the distance. Lunging for the last in their line, the lead siper took down one of the scouts. The scream of his death sent a tremor through Gaze, and again he felt the loss of the hundreds that had died attempting the same thing they were doing now. Breathing hard, he tried to dispel the images.
"Open the tunnel!" The mage yelled, and the elf next to him raised a bow. With a hum the weapon released, sending a missile into an odd clump of grass on a small rise. Just as the arrow struck, the stone leading up to the mound sank into the earth, leaving a ramp into a dimly lit corridor. Thirty feet from the hole, another of the scouts was yanked from his saddle. Then they were in.
Fiends rushed to follow, but the ramp closed with a grinding of stone. The entire party skidded to a stop, their horses' sides heaving at the exertion. Gaze took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Tightening his jaw, he dismounted his trembling steed. Then he heard a scuff of a boot and turned to find a dwarf.
"Glad to see you made it," he said gruffly. "I wasn't sure any would."
The mage scout strode up to him. "Thank you for keeping the way open. Are you ready to close it?"
"Aye, as the commander said. We can't let them know the location of any of the tunnels."
Gaze turned away from their conversation, breathing slow against the fear. Why did he feel such terror? He'd faced the fiends countless of times, and escaped the jaws of death time and time again. Why now did he feel like a noose was tightening on his neck?
"Are you ok?" Lexi asked in a low voice.
Startled, he turned to her. "I'm fine."
Her look said she was unconvinced.
With a sigh he added, "It's just reminding me of . . . before."
"Of how Anders died?"
"And others," Gaze said, turning away. "Maybe I am afraid for the rest of you." His voice dropped. "Or maybe I am just afraid to join them."
"I'm afraid too," Lexi whispered.
Gaze shifted to face her and her expression caused him to touch her arm. They stood in silence until Lexi sighed.
"How can anyone survive this?" She said.
He shrugged, unwilling to answer.
The dwarf's words interrupted them, his tone heavy. "You should get going. The northern fiends are going to surround Azertorn before the farthest legions can make it in. They will need every survivor."
Chapter 25: Heaven's Might
Arzai growled at him. "Half our army is still on the cliff. If they don't make it in the rest of us will be slaughtered. We have to burn the forest. If we can light it, then it might slow them down enough for the battalions to reach the city."
The dwarf grunted and turned away, preparing to close the tunnel. "We are a mile from the treeline, and there must be a thousand fiends between us now."
Arzai caught the dwarf's shoulder and spun him about, eliciting an angry grumble. "We have to figure something out," he snarled.
Remember the lightning sword, Anders whispered.
"Wait," Gaze said, surprising himself. "If you are a stone mage, can you fashion a metal arrow?"
The elf ranger flashed him a look of annoyance. "Who ever heard of a metal arrow?"
The dwarf jerked his shoulder free. "Of course I can. What good would it do?"
"When Anders and I were practicing with lightning, we discovered that it was attracted to metal—like a sword. From this distance I can't hit the forest, but if something was in between us . . ."
Arzai grinned and his eyes sparked. "Then a lightning bolt from here would jump to the woods. If I put a few arrows into the air, can you time your strike to follow them across?"
"If we have the arrows," Gaze said, turning to the dwarf, feeling a growing sense of urgency.
The dwarf grunted and reached towards a leather sack. "You are lucky I brought something to work on." Upending it onto the floor, a small pile of arrowheads and a few chunks of ore tumbled out. Snatching the ore, he muttered to himself as he pinched it. Then he pulled.
The ore shrank in size as he drew a rod out of it. Stopping at the proper length, he snapped it off and ran a stubby finger over it. Burrs melted into the shaft and it straightened at his touch. Then he picked up one of the arrowheads and fused it to the end. With three flicks of his wrist, he took the remaining ore and fashioned thin feathers.
Tossing it to Arzai, he picked up the next chunk. "It ai
n't my best work, but we don't have time to do better."
The elf ranger sighted down the length. "It will do."
The dwarf rushed to finish, and managed to get two more out of the ore. "Not enough for any others. You will only get one shot at this."
Lexi took command, and organized the elves into a phalanx where the ramp would descend. The scout mage tried to protest, but she cut him off with a single look. Placing herself at the center, she drew her short sword. "We will hold them off. Just don't miss."
Gaze and Arzai nodded in sync, and then at the dwarf. With a grunt, he lifted an axe to his shoulder. "I will clear the way for you to get out, but I must stay to close it if you fail."
Gaze took a deep breath as the dwarf yanked on a lever. The ramp dropped into view and fiends whirled to look down at them. Before they could move, the dwarf clenched a fist. In response to his magic stone barbs snapped out of the walls and exploded towards the fiends. The first few were shredded as the elven phalanx charged up the ramp. Taking up positions in a circle around the hole, their blades went to work.
Amidst the clash and screams of battle, Arzai skidded to a crouch at the top of the ramp. Jamming all three arrows into the earth, he drew one and sighted. The thrum of his bow sent the gray missile streaking towards the distant forest. In a blur, he raised the second and launched it, and then the third . . .
Gaze had begun to gather the energy when the first arrow had flown, but he waited until the last soared away. Then he released. Jagged lightning caught the first shaft, and then leapt to the second. Blasting across the distance the white magic left three flaming lumps of twisted metal falling—and then it plunged into the trees.
A great thunderclap sounded as fire erupted in the wood and it swelled above the tree tops. Gaze shouted in victory, and then froze in horror. Half of the elves around them had perished in the few seconds required for the effort. Collapsing inward the survivors retreated down the ramp.
Triumph and anger fueled Gaze as he sprinted down the slope. Reaching the bottom, he whirled and reached skyward. Answering his call, power pummeled the pursuing fiends, catching them and tearing them asunder as the elves escaped. Then the ramp closed and he collapsed, clenching his stomach.
What do you think? he asked Anders.
It was my idea.
Gaze suppressed the insane urge to laugh.
***
Golic's Link spoke, his words piercing and fast.
“The fiends have been sighted to the north!”
“How close?” Golic asked, his chest tightening.
“Four miles, no more,” Seath replied, the fear evident in his tone.
Golic shook his head at the revelation, feeling trapped. The fiends would be sweeping towards them from both sides as they retreated, narrowing a gap with them in the middle like closing shears. If they were caught . . .
He cut the thought off before doubt could take root. Speed must be their ally, for they were about to outrun death. Looking to the barrels of stonesap, he prayed for a miracle. Hopefully, the firestorm would keep them off their backs long enough for them to get to the city. One thing was certain, they had to leave immediately. “Get ready to light it. We are about to be overrun.”
Even as the words left his mouth, the horde of fiend captains were gaining ground, pushing the rock trolls up the road by sheer weight of numbers. Golic saw Tryton glance back at him, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second, but the stoic expression said it all.
“Send the order,” he said, his eyes still on the trolls. “All forces retreat to Azertorn!” Turning to the dwarf he added, “You know when to light the firewalls.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” he said gruffly, and turned to finish his work.
Golic took one last look at the battle raging on the road, listening to the ring of clashing blades and the meaty smash of fiend bodies striking massive troll shields. They had fought, bled, and died to hold this road for five days, and part of him hated to call it a failure. According to the oracle, tomorrow would be the last day of their battle. He hoped they would last that long.
A lieutenant caught his eye and he looked down to see him giving the all-ready signal. Sighing, he turned from the churning war below and called out to his remaining men, “Ride hard and fast. We will have thirty minutes until the flamewall dies; then they will be hunting us down. If you fall behind . . .” He let the implication hang in the air long enough for the barbarians and the leather clad amazons to nod at him. Knowing it would have the desired effect, he smiled wryly and added, “A double ration of ale goes to the barbarians if we get there first.”
“Do you think that is wise?” Seath, whispered into his ear.
Golic grinned as one of the amazons stepped forward.
Krisrae raised her axe, still bloody from the quare that had climbed the wall to her position. “And if we get there first?”
Golic grinned, “The same. May the best man win.”
He smirked and watched the barbarians and amazons eye each other while muttering boastful statements. Although the two peoples had lived within a hundred miles from each other, they had been mortal enemies for generations. Five and a half days of battle had changed that as easily as flipping a coin. Now their looks carried friendly competition, rather than hate and loathing.
Nodding to his man at the gates, he began shouting orders. “Clear the walls! Mount your horses! Ride hard—and don’t look back!”
Men and women leapt into action. Barbarian axe throwers and amazon archers dropped from the battered wall. In seconds, everyone was on their steeds and galloping west towards Azertorn. Golic remained behind, waiting until his forces had reached full speed. A glance sideways revealed that Krisrae also remained in her saddle beside him.
“Get riding, Kris, we have a long way to go,” he said, raising his arm to signal his men to open the gates for the rock trolls.
“No thank you, General. I think I will wait with you.”
He shook his head, expecting nothing less from the fiery amazonian. In the past few weeks since they had been placed next to each other, she had demonstrated a dedication to her people that amazed him. Her skill with her curved axe, despite her complete lack of innate ability, had also been displayed on several occasions. From the stories that had been circulated, he knew she had earned her prowess by training harder than anyone else. His respect for her had grown despite years of racial prejudice against her people.
The large, battered doors creaked open, and within seconds the only thing keeping the black army at bay were a couple hundred trolls and a few surviving giants. Situated directly behind the portal, Golic had an excellent view of what happened next.
At an unseen signal, the rock trolls attacked as one, knocking down and slaying hundreds of fiends in front of them. Even as their dark bodies fell to the ground, Tryton and the rest of his remaining army whirled—and with perfect precision—fell back to the wall. In seconds they streamed through the open gates and without a word sprinted towards Azertorn. Tryton and his two lieutenants remained behind, joining Golic, Seath, Krisrae, and the two dwarves.
Together, they watched the fiends recover and begin to charge the empty fortifications. Just as they reached the crumbling stone, the dwarves lit their magic. Twin fireballs streaked from their fists, and sailed towards the barrels. The impact caused the ground to shudder as flames exploded in front of the wall, streaking from the cliff on the right to the drop on the left. Billowing upward, the firewall licked the stone that had been coated with stonesap. Even from twenty paces, Golic could feel the heat on his face.
“Let’s go,” General Golic said, suddenly sad to leave the road behind. Turning away he felt keenly the loss of those that had perished . . .
—Out of the corner of his eye he saw something black appear through the flames. Time seemed to slow as he turned to see a long black spear fly . . . straight for Seath’s back.
No one was close enough, and Seath’s youthful form flew from his saddle as a
cry of agony was wrenched from his lips. Horrorstruck, Golic could only watch as the force of the blow sent him spinning to the ground in a lifeless heap . . .
***
Braon turned when Thacker gasped and fell to his knees, his expression full of horror.
“Thacker? What happened?” Braon demanded.
“Oh my child . . .” he managed to choke before tears sprang to his eyes and his whole frame crumpled.
“Who?” Braon asked, fear bolting through his heart as his thoughts leapt to Brynn’s soft face.
“Seath,” Thacker mumbled through the tears. “He’s . . . he’s gone.”
Braon closed his eyes against the hollowness that engulfed him. Seath had been the oldest of the telepathic siblings, and just seventeen.
Chapter 26: Parting of the Ways
Taryn stood behind Siarra, trying not to think about how little time they had. Quicker than he would have thought possible, the night had passed. Rising early, they had fallen into a long line of battle ready fire giants. Nearly the entire village had emptied in a matter of minutes, and all but the most critically wounded giants had prepared themselves for a final battle. Boasting light armor and helmets, each of them carried enormous weapons designed to be enhanced with fire magic. Sword and spear alike, the red veins running through them pulsed with the anticipation of their wielders.
Entering the large tunnel, the small army of giants and humans worked their way towards the ancient forge of Xshaltheria. Heavy footfalls and the clinking of armor echoed throughout the day, yet little was said. Passing monolithic caverns and hidden chasms, they crossed underground rivers on stone bridges, and all too soon they had reached their destination.
Taryn slid to the side of the tunnel to get a better view as Siarra prepared herself. The giants had dropped the tunnels behind them as they had fled their city, so now she would have to clear their path. The grinding and rubbing of stone soon marked her magic had begun to work, and a moment later the crumbled stone began to reshape and separate, clearing the way.