by Jacob Cooper
“We?” Lord Kerr asked.
In response, Glimon had simply motioned to Teagan and Merrick, and things suddenly made more sense to the young Lord.
No matter the fear that ran through him and the enormity of the foe that threaded its way through the trees toward him, Hedron could only think of Kathryn. She had insisted on fighting by his and her father’s side, but the two men forbade it in unison. Kicking and screaming, she was finally carried away by two hold guards and sequestered in a small village that lay deep in the forest south of Calyn. Kathryn had no training for battle and neither Hedron nor Lord Hoyt would allow her to be present even if she had.
“Good luck with that one,” Hoyt had said as they watched her being dragged away.
“How did you ever convince her to see reason growing up?” Hedron asked.
Hoyt turned to Hedron. “A little fatherly advice for your relationship, son. She is the one who persuades, not the one persuaded. And yes, she is usually right. It’s rather maddening.”
Thurik howled, bringing Hedron’s focus back to the present. His two siblings joined the lonesome note, making a bone-chilling chorus. The enemy came into view. Arlethian scouts, using both the forest as a medium and their eyes, reported the enemy’s strength at roughly two hundred thousand. Even knowing the number of the enemy could not have prepared him for the visceral sight of the massive horde, an infestation running wild. Hedron did not know if eradication was possible, but he would try to stand against this disease the Dark had sent to his home.
He thought of Kathryn once again and prayed the Ancient Heavens would protect her if he could not. He took a step forward.
As he spoke the words to himself, he felt them more personally and knew he was referring to Kathryn just as much as his ancestral home of Arlethia.
…I am life to those behind me, death to those in front. I am Arlethia…She is my strength and my all…
Hedron charged.
As Hedron ran forward toward the enemy ahead of everyone else, Lord Hoyt saw the boy become Thannuel, not only in appearance but also in action. The three wolves that went everywhere he did were not far behind. And then the blacksmith was running, his hammer held high above his head. Lord Marshal Wenthil cursed at seeing Hedron dash forward and hastily called for a charge. The cry went up among the soldiers and they surged forward.
General Roan was famished. He lay in the tall grasses near where the remnants of the Realm’s army still camped, licking their wounds. They had not moved since he felt his men fall. Roan judged the enemy numbers to be a little above thirty thousand, not more than thirty-five thousand. He had survived the past days on grass and a few morsels of bread and cheese he had managed to acquire from those he had slain.
How many days has it been? His best guess was half a span plus one. Time seemed almost of no consequence to him now. He observed the Senthary forces, waiting for something to develop, but nothing had. Not until this evening.
He felt a force from the southwest approach his position. Not wood-dwellers. He surmised this must have been the remainder of the middle battlefront twenty leagues south and lamented all the more at what that meant. By now he had thought any remaining Sentharian forces would have already arrived. He had held out hope that the two fronts south of his own would have fared better than his, but until now no evidence either way had surfaced. The hope he held thinned.
When they came into view, Roan raised his head above the grass. At least eight thousand Sentharian soldiers were in the formation he saw marching toward the camp. High Lord Marshal Brendar was among them, the rank insignia on his breastplate clearly visible, untarnished. The coward had obviously not joined his men in battle at the middle front.
Craven man! Roan screamed inside, his anger flaring as it always did when officers hid behind their men. It was a strange feeling, to hold the enemy’s enlisted men in higher regard than another officer. His mind drifted back to when he was not part of the officer corps, just an enlisted soldier, before the Orsarian War. During that conflict, he had fought alongside the Senthary, not against them. He thought of General Korin, who had led the preemptive attack against the Orsarians on the Runic Islands. The old Arlethian general had been a tough man, both physically and to admire; however, Roan did admire him greatly, even now, decades after his death and wondered if he had been more like Korin, would he have lost so many of his men. Would he have failed so completely? Korin had not insulted his men by surviving when so many under him had not.
Roan had ordered twenty-five thousand of his Arlethian warriors to that middle front. The loss of so many brethren in arms stung his soul to the core. The soldiers he viewed now, marching to join the group of Sentharian soldiers that had massed at the northern front, were haggard and moved slowly. Many lay on stretchers, carried by others. Many more limped along with battlefield dressings covering wounds. He was about to advance and deal out as much vengeance as he could, starting with the craven Brendar, when the sight of something odd halted him.
Nearly a span of hooded men, larger than most, walked on the west side of the formation. Their steps felt heavier than a normal human as he filtered out the rest of the vibrations. He counted nine. This would add to the four others he had observed days before already in the camp. Roan decided to watch for a while longer.
A spear flew past Aiden, narrowly missing his face. He stood on top of an Alysaar cutting down the rear rider before turning to the one at the reins. Aiden kicked him off the beast and he fell to the canopy below. It did not stop his fall and Aiden lost sight of him. He turned left and saw the Borathein who had thrown the spear swooping down eagerly toward him. The Alysaar he was on dove and banked as the forward rider tried to throw him free. Aiden stood upon the flying animal’s back with a balance born to Arlethians and thrust his blade down into its back. He twisted the sword. The Alysaar threw its head back in pain, jolting the remaining rider. Aiden grabbed the man from behind and snapped his neck. The approaching Alysaar opened its talons to pluck Aiden from its dying kin, but the wood-dweller leaped with his sword in hand and floated downward to land on another.
The night air swarmed with these flying demons. Arrows from the wood-dwellers below atop the canopy shot upward with stunning accuracy, catching the Alysaar at the joint where their wings met their body. It was crippling to their flight ability and dozens had fallen, taking their riders with them. Still, thousands remained. Arrows alight with fire streamed downward from hundreds of Borathein archers who made a sweeping attack over Calyn. Screams echoed upward as the arrows found home. Aiden dispatched the two riders on the Alysaar he landed on and tried to commandeer the beast by taking its reins. Instead of obeying his commands it flew straight up, higher and higher.
Very well then. Aiden stabbed the Alysaar through its neck and again leaped downward into the thick swarm. As he dove, he had a brief aerial view of the battle. The chaos of it all made it impossible to discern anything helpful. He aimed for an enemy within his vector and extended his sword down. The humming blade of Jarwynian steel sliced through the feathered membrane of an Alysaar wing followed by Aiden’s body, causing the creature to screech out in pain and retract its wing in reflex. It toppled in flight and fell into the trees. Aiden landed on the canopy and slid down a tree for a few feet before catching himself. A yellowish-orange glow came from below and he knew the city was burning along with the trees that bordered it. He saw many thousands of the Arlethian soldiers and militia battling the Borathein as he was, jumping from one Alysaar to the next, bringing death to the invaders, these purveyors of genocide. But many were falling themselves, lifeless or dying. He spied Ulin and several with him, their swords and armor swathed in carnage, leap from the canopy toward a target but get impaled by a flanking Alysaar on its spiked maw. The Alysaar jerked its head downward, freeing its bony beard of the impaled corpses. A roar came from its riders but was cut short as an arrow found the eye of their mount. Aiden glanced toward where the shot had come from and saw Rue-anna loosing arrow after arr
ow, dancing among the treetops too fast for even raindrops to catch her. Other children were with her, slinging stones, throwing sharpened wooden staves, a few wielding swords as tall as they were. Most were having little effect, though the distraction they provided was valuable enough.
But Rue-anna was masterful. Seilia had not exaggerated her daughter’s talent. Several Borathein took notice of her aim and darted from behind her at a sharp intercept angle. Three Alysaar formed a spear as they pulled in their wings against their bodies to accelerate the dive. Aiden watched in horror as they approached the unsuspecting girl but knew he could not save her. He might have enough time to take one down, but not all three. Just before the closest Alysaar could reach Rue-anna, she disappeared beneath the canopy and out of reach. As soon as the three attackers had pulled up and away from their unsuccessful attack, Rue-anna reappeared and resumed acquiring targets with deadly accuracy, taking down or gravely injuring an enemy with every shot. Aiden leaped to her position in two strides, slicing open the underside of one Alysaar while narrowly escaping its talons on his second jump.
“You aren’t hurt?” he asked hurriedly.
“She’s fine,” came a boy’s voice from beneath the thick-leafed branches. Aiden parted some young leaves and saw Mikahl, Rue-anna’s brother, hanging on to a vertical branch just out of sight.
“Fletch! What the Blasted Heavens are you doing here?” Aiden yelled.
“He’s my spotter,” Rue-anna said as the string of her bow twanged with the release of yet another arrow.
“More like savior,” the boy answered with pride.
Aiden spotted movement under the canopy all around the children.
“We each have one,” the girl said.
Aiden marveled at the foresight. “Who designed this?”
“We all did,” Mikahl answered. “It seemed the best thing to do.”
Aiden felt small in the shadow of the wisdom of the younglings. “Well done. The Light keep you,” was all he could think to say before bounding off to find another enemy.
Lord Calder Hoyt was not a great warrior. He had been trained with steel and shield through several visits to the Erynx Military Academy in the Eastern Province, as had the head of his army, Lord Marshal Wenthil, though Wenthil’s instruction was years long as a full-time student. Hoyt’s training was more ceremonial in nature, only teaching him the basics of combat. He found, however, that when your life was threatened, you gained skills you didn’t know you had. Their execution was effective if not graceful, but that mattered little as his enemies died regardless. Master Gernald and other hold guards were by his side without fail, not engaging in the battle unless it meant to protect Lord Hoyt. That was the training of a hold guard—to protect your lord, not win the battle.
The air was filling with smoke that coagulated in the underside of the natural canopy well above them. They were attacking the Borathein with speed and then retreating just as quickly to lure them in to a crossfire of arrows and crossbow bolts coming from archers about twenty paces high in the trees. As soon as their missiles were loosed, they sprang through the trees to a position forty to fifty paces backward and repeated the strategy. But this tactic let the Borathein masses advance and would eventually allow them into the city itself. Hoyt knew this was inevitable. The jungle-like growth slowed the progress of their enemy, but once they crossed into Calyn, where there was more open ground and room to maneuver, overcoming this force would be impossible. They were outnumbered nearly five to one. The Arlethian militia was extremely effective amid the trees, cutting down several Borathein for every one loss of their own; but in a more open space some of their advantage would be quelled. Their speed would still serve them well, but Hoyt saw a retreat as inevitable. He did not know what else they could do.
As they moved farther backward toward the city, Calder felt the heat. He turned on his large horse and saw much of the city in flames. They were being pushed into an inferno.
Shilkath watched in glory from his Alysaar, Hawgl, as his warriors fought the Arlethian filth. He circled above the battle, barking commands, rebukes and curses. He felt the strength of Vyath pulsing through his veins as he carried out the sacred Griptha and smiled at so many of his enemies being sent to the frozen plains of Kulbrar. He was not concerned for his own people that fell, knowing they would find their way to the Shores of Thracia once their victory was complete. His forces had suffered losses, but it was nothing compared to the damage they were inflicting upon their enemies. Wellyn had indeed done his part. Those who remained to stand against him fought more like rats trying to outrun an avalanche than warriors.
Wellyn has left me nothing but rabble to clean up, he thought. Though this was their agreement, the Deklar couldn’t help but feel a little cheated.
“Bellathia!” he shouted when she was close enough to hear. “Take your detachment and cut down from the east with a low sweep!”
She nodded and signaled the new orders to her sub-commanders. Two thousand Alysaar exited the swarm through an upward climb. They leveled off and flew east for a quarter-league before diving down until they were mere feet above the trees. Turning west, the Borathein riders urged their mounts forward at a terrible velocity. The distraction the rest of the battle provided did not allow the Arlethians to even sense the oncoming attack until it was too late. More than a thousand were cut down and disappeared from sight as they fell beneath the trees. A sweet lullaby of screams warmed Shilkath as he reveled in the sound. Several Alysaar came away from the assault without their riders, including Bellathia’s. The Deklar felt a moment of sadness but that shortly retreated into rejoicing at her sacrifice. But then he noticed her Alysaar was not without a rider after all. As it banked and headed toward him, he saw an Arlethian upon the mount. Shilkath felt his veins thumping with anticipation.
Finally!
Aiden saw them coming low against the horizon from the east when the next bolt of lightning shot through the sky. The Alysaar looked like slithering shadows no more than a man’s height above the trees. Thousands lay in the way between him and the coming onslaught, thousands of his people. They fought valiantly against the demon spawn swarming all around them, but they would fall as soon as the flying blades of bone, scales and wings cut through them. He would not let this attack go unanswered.
“East! From the east!” he shouted. “Down!” His words were barely audible to himself amid the cacophony of battle.
Knowing he could not save those in the kill path, Aiden sprinted toward the Alysaar battery. He was angry and apprehensive all at once but did his best to capture those frictions and redirect them. He did not fully understand this process, but did it all the same. His sword vibrated in his hand, which he knew by now to be somehow related to the friction. As he recycled the emotions, his velocity increased twofold.
A female Borathein at the tip of their attack wreaked havoc upon those in her path with a sadistic laugh. Aiden had his target. When he jumped, his height was far more than he had anticipated and he momentarily had a sense of vertigo. The feeling was reminiscent of the night Thannuel died when he had chased Lord Kerr’s assassin through the woods. That chase had not ended well, but the master of the hold guard was determined not to lose control this time.
He refocused and found the banshee of a woman. The arc of his flight carried him over the snapping jaws of the woman’s Alysaar and onto its back. Aiden excused the rear rider from his saddle with a vicious volley of elbow thrusts followed by a spinning roundhouse kick to the jaw. The scream as he fell was only heard for a split second.
The woman turned her head over her left shoulder and let go of her reins. She spun up, faced Aiden with a short blade and demonstrated amazing balance and agility. She struck out deftly against him as the Alysaar piloted itself, weaving in and out of the other aerial obstacles and debris. Aiden countered after a parry that he was sure would open her throat, but the woman blocked the blow with her dagger flush against her forearm. He was stunned at the banshee’s swiftness. Wh
ile lacking the speed of a wood-dweller, her movements were fluid and graceful, never ceasing. It was like a dance. She stabbed and swiped at him, but Aiden ducked and brought her up by her leg.
His grip was iron around her calf as he brought her legs above her head, holding her upside down. The short blade fell from her grasp in her surprise. Aiden sheathed his sword and found her other leg in one motion. Next, he swung her around and around as if she were caught in a hurricane. She vomited amid her screams. With deft footwork, Aiden spun his way up the Alysaar’s neck with her still in hand and the demon threw its head back in protest.
“Dance around this!”
The momentum flung the woman right into the exposed razor-sharp beard of her own mount, impaling her entire midsection. Her squirming stopped instantly and the Alysaar threw its head down as if it had sneezed, forcing the corpse into a free-fall.
Aiden pulled back on the reins hard, and this time he achieved some obedience from the fiend. As they climbed into the black sky, he saw a man circling in a holding pattern. His beard was rife with all manner of pieces of death woven into it. Doing his best to stabilize the writhing animal under him, he plotted a vector directly toward the man.
He must be the head! If he could take him down the battle would turn to chaos on the side of the Borathein. He hoped, anyway. Squatting down, he prepared himself to lunge at the barbarian’s Alysaar. Aiming for a wing close to the body would be his best chance in avoiding the mouth and talons of the creature. The sword would remain sheathed, keeping both hands free. Expending a great deal of the friction he had built up inside him, Aiden shot toward his prey.
But the Borathein leader was prepared. His Alysaar swiveled in midair as if on an invisible axis, bringing the Borathein rider upside down. Simultaneously, the Alysaar rotated its wings on the shoulder-like joints 180°, enabling the wings to function properly and flight to continue despite now being upside down. The move took less time than a blink. The large man swung a huge mace that Aiden too late tried to counter. Not having earth or trees for a counterpoint, he was unable to change his trajectory and the mace caught him full under the arm.