The Lords of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 3)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  As the first of these rose, raising his blade above his head for a deadly strike, a bolt of fire struck him in the chest. He collapsed lifeless as his allies gazed down at the chanting young sorceress below. One of these had a cocked crossbow on his back, which he quickly unshouldered and aimed carefully at the maiden. Before he could pull the trigger, both an arrow and a bolt passed through his skull; sending him headlong to the ground below.

  Before the third of these attackers could even get into position to assault the embattled dwarf, another jet of flame brought his life to an end. The bard stepped back, carefully avoiding the charred remains of his former foes, as his still living enemies pressed forward. As he moved between a gap in the parapet, his hat was suddenly shot from his head. With eyes filled with rage he watched as the injured article fluttered down into the courtyard below.

  With a terrifying fury, he flew at his foes. The rapier in his hand swept the blade of one of his opponents aside before it passed through his heart. The bard's remaining enemy fell back before this assault, tripping over one of his deceased companions and falling from the walls.

  The young knight had been separated from his friends by a large group of attackers who had successfully scaled the walls. He and several other men fought valiantly, although they were outnumbered more than two to one. They had no choice but to give ground before the foe. Darian had already killed several, but two of his allies had also fallen and the enemy had additional reinforcements continually pouring over the walls.

  He gritted his teeth in determination as a giant, ax-wielding warrior drove him back, step by step, with truly thunderous attacks. The Telian and his men were pushed to a point where the attackers could reach the stairs to the courtyard below. They began to flow down them like water, rushing toward the young sorceress and the old lord. Darian shot a glance at his allies as he blocked yet another of his enemy's blows.

  Ten of the foe were moving quickly toward where Gwendolyn and Lord Andor stood. Erana had left Rragor at Gwendolyn’s side to defend her but, other than that, they were alone. The young knight was afraid there was no way for him to reach them before their enemies did. His eyes scanned the battlefield in desperation, longing to fall on some hope of assistance for the pair.

  Ian was currently facing two enemies of his own, Kilren and Erana had apparently run out of arrows and bolts and were fighting a group of foes with sword and scimitar, and Daegon was nowhere to be seen. If the aged lord and the young lady were going to receive help, it was going to have to come from Darian and the men with him.

  The Telian blocked a powerful blow from his enemy's ax using his sword before dashing toward him with his shoulder down. He struck his massive adversary with his shield using all the strength he could muster. The giant tottered and, struck on the side of the head by the sword of one of the knight's allies, fell from the walls.

  Darian's heart sank, however, as he realized there was no way he would be able to arrive in time. The foremost of his foes were already in the courtyard, dashing in the direction of his friends. The young knight's eyes turned instinctively toward the old lord who was marching boldly toward his oncoming enemies.

  The young Telian had never seen Lord Andor attired for battle before. He wore the same armor that he did at all times, with the addition of a slender silver circlet, etched with runes, placed upon his brow. On his right hand he wore a silver gauntlet, the fingers of which were tipped with long metal talons and on the back of which was a large blue gemstone. In his left hand he carried a spear that was nearly a foot taller than himself, the head of which was a foot long blade with a shorter curved blade on either side of it.

  Darian thought his lord looked impressive even though he had to be nearly seventy. He could only imagine what he had been like in his youth. As the old man moved toward his adversaries, the door of the fortress began to echo with the sound of a battering ram striking its doors. As the knight flew down the steps, hurrying to help his master, he saw Gwendolyn turn toward the shaking portal and heard her begin chanting wildly, her hands pulling power seemingly from the air around her and shaping it into a ball of blazing fire.

  As Lord Andor drew near the first of his foes, he took up his weapon in both hands, thrusting it forward and passing it effortlessly through his opponent's shield and chest alike. As his adversary's body fell to earth, he stepped forward, turning to the side and striking his next enemy in the side with the shaft of his spear, knocking him to the ground. The old lord then struck the outstretched blade of his third foe, cutting it neatly in half, before turning to shove its central blade through the back of one of the warriors who had turned their attention to the massive wolf.

  The young knight looked on in stunned disbelief as Lord Andor brought the resistance of his remaining foes to a speedy end. In mere moments, all ten of his enemies lay around him in a circle; dead, dying, or senseless. All Darian could do was congratulate his master on his victory and apologize for not arriving earlier.

  While he was still in the middle of doing this, the doors of the fortress shattered. The air was momentarily filled with the cheers of their enemies as they began to pour through the portal. These sounds were cut short, however, as the young sorceress finished her spell, throwing a ball of fire at their oncoming foes. The explosion that followed completely filled the entrance, blasting out beyond it with a force that consumed everything it touched. Nearly fifty of their enemies lay dead; their broken, burning bodies littering the battlefield around the gateway.

  Within seconds, retreat was sounded. The power of the sorceress, coupled with the ferocity of the stronghold's defenders, was something the enemy commanders had been unprepared to face. They had no choice but to wait for reinforcements.

  “I don't think I could do that again,” Gwendolyn said, nearly collapsing as she spoke.

  “Don't worry,” Darian replied, catching her in his arms before helping her to sit down, “I don't think you'll need to for a while.”

  “Are you alright, my dear?” Lord Andor asked, gazing at the maiden with a smile.

  “I am, sir,” she replied softly.

  “I'm glad to hear it. Sir Darian, we need to attend to the wounded.”

  “At once, my lord,” the knight replied, turning his attention back to the walls.

  A number of the enemy had been unable to retreat and so struggled on here and there, though greatly outnumbered. The young Telian felt little alarm on their account, certain that his allies would soon subdue them. That being the case, he turned his attention to healing as many of his injured allies as he could. He asked the Eilian to open his eyes and began to search amongst the injured for those he could save.

  Kilren, who soon joined the knight in this quest, discovered Daegon – who had been stabbed in the throat before falling from the walls and through the roof of a woodshed – struggling to get back on his feet. The lieutenant helped the old warrior up and led him into the courtyard. In less than a minute, Darian had healed his old friend and expressed his amazement both at the captain's resilience and his determination.

  Sadly, twelve of their comrades were killed during the skirmish and, after he had attended to the still living, not even Lord Andor had the strength to pull them back from the grave. They attended to their fallen enemies as well as they could, although they reserved the healing power of the gods for their allies. As soon as those who could be saved had been, the Telian Knights once again resumed their relative positions of defense.

  For the rest of the day, their adversaries seemed to be content with waiting for reinforcements. They had lost nearly a hundred men in their first assault and had only managed to kill a handful of the defenders. All things considered, waiting for additional support seemed like the most prudent decision. Just before the sun set, that support arrived.

  Several hundred foot soldiers arrived at the temporary camp, including a small contingent of Mikralian spell casters and an additional force of Lord Valrak's mercenaries. Sir Darian, Captain Daegon, and Lord Andor a
ll stood atop the walls watching as these forces began to make camp.

  “I'm not sure we can hold back that flood,” Daegon said, shaking his head.

  “No, Captain,” Lord Andor replied. “I agree. Under the circumstances, we'll have to retreat. Take the bodies of our fallen to the chapel.”

  “As you wish,” the captain nodded before turning to leave.

  “How are we going to retreat?” the young knight asked, gazing at their enemies below. “As soon as we're out of the fortress, they'll attack and we don't even have any horses.”

  “We have a few,” the old man smiled, “but certainly not enough for us all to ride.”

  “Then, what do we do?”

  “We pray,” the aged Telian replied, kneeling as he did so.

  Darian followed the example of his master. As the final rays of the setting sun glinted off the weapons that filled the camp of their enemies, Lord Andor asked the Eilian to consider their plight and to offer their servants the cover they needed to make an escape. While the words were still on his lips, a powerful wind began to blow from the north. Thick clouds soon filled the sky and, shortly after nightfall, the fortress was wrapped in a dense fog.

  The aged Telian led the young knight to the chapel, where the bodies of the dead had been wrapped in sheets of white cloth and where many of the defenders had already gathered. The lord said a few words over the fallen before turning his attention to the altar. He commanded it to open, which it instantly did, revealing a set of stairs descending into the darkness below. Captain Daegon ordered that the bodies be carried behind him before beginning to make his way down the steep, stone steps.

  One by one, the remaining members of the garrison followed him until at last, the young knight and his companions, along with Lord Andor, were the only ones left within the stronghold. Kilren pulled the glowing stone that hung around his neck from under his shirt and led the way while the aged lord took up the rear, commanding the altar to close the passageway as soon as he had entered.

  Chapter 6: The Fords

  “You know what I just love?” Kilren asked, rubbing his hand across his face and sputtering, as he did his best to remove the vestiges of cobweb that covered him. The web had somehow managed to remain undamaged as nearly a hundred men marched past; apparently saving itself specifically for the lieutenant. “Spending hours wandering through long, dark passages.”

  “At least this time you can walk upright, lad,” Ian pointed out with a smile.

  “That's true,” Kilren replied. “It also smells a lot better down here.”

  “Yes, it does,” Erana agreed. “The air may not exactly be fresh, but at least it's not very fragrant, either.”

  “On the other hand,” her betrothed continued, pointing to an alcove in the wall as he spoke, “a sewer is almost never packed with hundreds of dead bodies.”

  “You could hardly find yourself in better company,” Ian asserted. “We're surrounded by the remains of men who fought and died for Solarin. Each and every one of them was a hero, as are the fallen that we're leaving behind us.”

  The mention of their lost comrades brought the current conversation to an end, as each of the companions became wrapped in thought. Only a few hundred souls lived on the lands under Lord Andor's protection. As a result, none of them were strangers. The dozen men that had died earlier that day weren't just soldiers serving the same cause, they were friends who each and every member of the band knew by name. Of the party, only Ian had ever had to bury fallen friends. While the rest of his companions were reflecting on this as a new experience, the dwarf considered the fact that – no matter how many times you had done it before – it was never easy.

  The path they followed eventually led them out of the catacombs, miles from the fortress and, for the moment, out of the reach of the armies of Mikral. This was a situation that wasn't likely to last, however. Their enemies were sure to discover that the stronghold was empty shortly after dawn, if not sooner. After they had taken possession of the castle, they would almost certainly send their forces to the fords. From there, they would be able to cross the Neres into Innalas. Lord Andor's forces would need to reach the river before their enemies did. That meant marching all night.

  As they set out, Kilren made the observation that another thing he really loved was traveling along, hour after hour, without any rest and that forgetting, once again, to bring any food with them made it that much more enjoyable. The rest of his companions, with the exception of the dwarf, became almost equally as irritable as they stumbled forward mile after mile. Darian offered his arm to Gwendolyn through most of the journey, while Kilren provided the same service for his betrothed. Finally, perhaps an hour before dawn, the band reached its destination.

  The companions were all somewhat surprised to discover countless fires on the far side of the river. As they drew nearer, they were greeted by elvish sentries. They informed the party that, shortly after the messenger that Lord Andor had dispatched reached Innalas, the local lords were appraised of the potential invasion. Realizing that time was of the essence, they had immediately assembled a force to hold the fords and, if possible, offer assistance to their allies. With the fortress already lost, they had little choice but to do their best to keep the enemy from crossing the river.

  As the party made its way toward the crossing, they were met by two friendly, and familiar, faces. Both Jalek, the young man who served the dragon Baldorin, and Gregor, an outcast noble they had met last spring, happened to be in the area when the news broke. Both had immediately offered their services to the elvish lords and were acting as temporary officers for the assembled force.

  “It's good to see you alive and well,” Jalek said, reaching out to take Darian by the wrist. “We were afraid we wouldn't make it in time.”

  “Technically, you didn't” Kilren asserted with an exhausted chuckle, offering his own hand to the young man, “but it's good to see you just the same.”

  “I have to admit to a certain degree of guilty pleasure,” Gregor said, taking Gwendolyn's hand in his own. “I had so longed to see you all again that I welcomed this opportunity, as dark an occasion as it may prove. Dare I to hope, my lady, that your hand is still your own, or is it, as is the fair Erana's, spoken for?”

  “Oh, no,” the maiden replied, shooting a glance at the young Telian, “it's still very much my own.”

  “Then I consider myself fortunate,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips, “as I can't imagine such will long be the case.”

  “Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that,” Kilren said with another chuckle.

  This induced Erana to hit him on the arm.

  “I mean,” he continued, “she's still really young.”

  “I suppose she is,” Gregor smiled. “Time will mend that shortly, however.”

  “Can we continue this conversation later?” Darian interrupted, his gaze locked on the maiden and his brows drawn together. “We should probably get some rest. We're likely to have a busy day.”

  “You're quite right, Sir Darian,” Jalek replied. “I imagine you could use a little food, as well.”

  “Yes,” the lieutenant nodded, “we could.”

  The party quickly followed the two young men to the fords, where Gregor asked permission to carry Gwendolyn across, explaining that the water was freezing cold. As tired as he was, Kilren did the same for Erana, while Darian walked a short distance behind trying to remember what the book had said about carrying young ladies across streams and rivers and puddles and such. He couldn't be sure whether or not Gregor's offer had been appropriate, but he had the feeling that it wasn't. At least, not with a Telian Knight at hand who was the young lady's intimate acquaintance and who would have been very happy, as weary as he was, to offer her the same service.

  The young knight couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, but there was definitely something about Gregor he just didn't like. On the other hand, from what little he'd seen of him, he did seem like a perfect gentleman. It was
n't his fault that Darian hadn't thought to offer to carry her across sooner. The book said he should be on the lookout for opportunities. In future, he planned to pay more attention. Of course, what difference did it make, really? Whether or not he carried her, the point was that she had gotten from one side to the other without having to walk through knee-deep, freezing-cold water. It was ridiculous to be annoyed with Gregor for being thoughtful. Obviously, he was just tired. He'd probably been tired the last time Gregor had been around, as well. He would have to try to like him more in future. After all, he basically liked everybody.

  The moment they reached the camp of their allies, Lord Andor's forces were offered something to eat and places to rest. These offerings were graciously and quickly accepted and, minutes later, most members of the band were well fed and fast asleep. Roughly an hour before noon, the young knight found himself being shaken by the dwarvish bard. The scouts of the enemy had already made an appearance and, if they hoped to hold the fords, the defenders would need to see to their defenses.

  Darian rose, running his hand slowly across his weary face, before waking the lieutenant. After a brief discussion, they decided to let the girls sleep until battle seemed imminent. The sleepy pair trudged to the river to wash their faces in the ice cold water. Having more fully awakened themselves, they joined Lord Andor's council of war.

  “More than two hundred, I'm certain,” was the first statement to reach the ears of the approaching young men.

  This assertion had been made by Ian in answer to an unheard question asked by Gregor.

  “That's unfortunate,” the handsome young lord replied, shaking his head. “The river isn't much of an obstacle to foot soldiers, it's certainly not going to be any defense against a force of cavalry.”

  “Is there any chance reinforcements will reach us before the enemy does?” the dwarf asked.

  “It's possible,” Jalek replied, “but we can't count on it.”