Adder passed behind her as he spied a Jindala noble drawing his bow and taking aim at one of the thieves. He drew a throwing dagger from his belt, taking aim and launching it with a quick flick of his wrist. The Jindala fell straight down as the dagger imbedded itself in his forehead. Adder raced to the dead man's side, taking back his dagger and drawing his short sword as the battle grew more intense.
Ulrich had reached the middle of the Jindala forces, Ceor fighting at his side. The two giant Northman were fierce and beast like in their ferocity, and the Jindala who spotted them avoided them as much possible.
No matter.
The two men grabbed any enemy that tried to pass them, bashing their faces with their fists and tossing them to the side. They hammered and chopped at every Jindala who came near, and Ulrich even hurled his hammer at an enemy that was a few paces away. After the heavy weapon knocked the Jindala warrior onto the ground, Ulrich pounced on his body, retrieved his hammer, and pounded him into the dirt. Ceor laughed as he leaped over Ulrich's kill. He kneed a man in the back, chopping him into pieces as he landed, and bashed another with his head. Another Northman finished him off, tapping Ceor on the back as he jumped back into the chaos.
Angus continued his dual attacks, noticing that the captive Jindala had all moved up around him. They seemed to be protecting him from being overwhelmed. Again, he smiled proudly. The men had adopted him as their mentor and teacher, and would not allow him to be harmed. Nevertheless, he did not hold back in his attacks.
As an enemy broke through the line of his men, he skewered the man through the gut, backhanding with the spiked end of his axe. A spear from one of his Jindala finished the man off. He clapped the warrior on the shoulder, then pushed him out of the way as another masked Jindala spun through the air over the line of allies. His blades clanged with Angus' short sword as he blocked. The fury of the warrior was breathtaking, and Angus struggled to parry and counter.
His men gathered around him, trying to fight off the skilled warrior. Their attacks went wild, missing the mysterious man as he bounded and spun through the air. Angus fell back, stumbling over the bodies of the fallen men around him. The warrior seemed to be invincible. None of his men could land a blow or even come close to wounding him. They thrust and slashed to no avail. He was much too quick.
Angus stumbled back onto his feet, desperately parrying and blocking the man's attacks. With another quick spin, the warrior disarmed Angus completely, knocking both his short sword and axe out of his aching hands. Though surrounded, the mysterious warrior slowly approached him, blocking all attacks without batting an eye. Angus was prepared to die.
Suddenly, a metallic creature swooped in, grasping the warrior by the shoulders and quickly plucking him from the ground. The creature flapped its gleaming wings, carrying the struggling man into the sky. Angus gathered his weapons, staring wide-eyed as the magnificent machine ripped the dangerous man into pieces and dropped them to the ground below.
"What the hell was that?" he asked no one.
He looked to his men, who were just as speechless as he was. He shook his head, turning back to rejoin the battle, urging his men on.
Adder and Jhayla continued their assault on the Jindala archers. They dodged arrows as they weaved in and out of their ranks. Jhayla slashed at the back of an archer's knees, felling him instantly and finishing him off as he landed. Adder followed her close, trusting in her path, finishing off anyone she missed or left alive.
As they approached the gathering of leaders, the two thieves joined a throng of other guild members that had surrounded a single noble. The man's dress marked him as a Sultan, and his jeweled scimitar told them he was a skilled warrior. He stood surrounded by thieves, his scimitar poised to defend. The other nobles around him had fled, and only a single, black robed figure remained at his side. The sorcerer, as he was identified, stood with his arms held out to cast a spell. His face was contorted and gaunt.
"Necromancer!" Jhayla called. "Take him down!"
Adder leaped over the other thieves, drawing a throwing dagger from his belt and hurling it at the sorcerer. The Sultan saw Adder's move, deflecting the dagger with a quick swipe of his scimitar. Adder fell back in retreat, not wanting to get too close to the skilled noble.
The sorcerer chanted in the Jindala tongue, drawing his magic up around him. Dark streaks of swirling energy shot from his crooked fingers, striking the thieves around them. They were thrown back, landing hard on the ground and writhing with the pain of the enchantment. Adder ran to help his comrades, pulling them out of the way as the Sultan charged.
The enemy leader slashed at Adder fiercely, causing the thief to jump back and regroup with the others. He saw the necromancer begin to cast another spell, and the swirling energy gather around him again. This time, the energy shot out toward the bodies of the fallen archers. They began to quiver and stir, slowly rising to their feet and stumbling around.
"He's raising the dead!" Adder called. "Cut off their heads!"
Just as Adder finished his order, a metallic, winged creature swooped down and landed on top of the necromancer, crushing him. The dragon, as it were, buried its teeth into the man's flesh, ripping into his chest and tearing out a large chunk of innards. The Sultan, wide-eyed, rushed to attack the dragon, enraged that his powerful ally was now disemboweled. The dragon saw him charge, and reared back its head, firing a jet of incinerating breath. The Sultan was consumed in flames. He screamed in agony, thrashing and flailing to extinguish the flames. The thieves closed in on him, finishing him off with dozens of jabs and thrusts. Finally, the Sultan fell to his knees, his flesh slowly charring and peeling away.
The dragon stepped off of the mutilated corpse of the necromancer, turning on the undead archers. The thieves joined in, attacking as they could. With the dragon on their side, the archers were no match. They were dead once again.
Ulrich had seen the dragon attack twice from two different spots on the battlefield. As the Jindala began to retreat, he guessed that the creature had killed a leader that was important enough to affect morale.
"Chase them down!" he ordered. "Don't let them get away!"
The gathering of allies made after the fleeing Jindala. Angus' archers cut them down before their shots were blocked by the charging footsoldiers. Ulrich watched his men, Ceor included, finish them off before they were able to escape. He laughed, clearly proud of the men that he had been left to lead. They were furious lads, all of them; Northmen, natives, and rebel Jindala alike.
"That was fun," he heard Angus say behind him. He turned to laugh at the smith's statement, seeing him bloodied but alive. He was happy to see the old man.
"Aye," he replied. "It was. Fun and glorious as well."
"The men Eamon left for me did well," Angus said. "They will make a good addition to the army."
"Good," Ulrich said. "Well done, my friend. You led them with honor. You have ensured your place in Valhalla, and theirs."
Ceor returned to his King's side, nodding at Angus as he approached. "The thieves are finishing them off," he said. "They were valuable in the battle. We would have been in trouble had they not taken out the rear."
Ulrich nodded. "We should find them and thank them," he suggested. "But, for now, I'm thirsty. Where's the ale?"
Siobhan stared out the window of her chambers at the night sky. The stars were twinkling, bringing a small amount of peace to her troubled mind. But still, her thoughts were on Garret and the unthinkable deed she had asked him to perform. How could she be so selfish? How could she ask the man she loved to murder someone who reminded him so much of her? Garret had known them both when they were young, and he had been there to protect them. Now, Siobhan was asking him to kill someone he once looked after.
It was unthinkable.
She cried softly, silently asking the night to forgive her, to send the message to Garret that he could come home and forget the whole thing. She loved him deeply, and felt lost without him. He was her world, her onl
y anchor in the chaos that was her kingdom. Only Eamon meant more to her. The son that had been fathered by the Dragon himself. Though he was born for a purpose, he was her son, and nothing would ever take away her love for him.
Siobhan turned back into her room, still sitting on the ledge of her window. She briefly thought of going out on the balcony to see her city, as it had been days since she had made an appearance. She knew that her people were used to seeing her every morning, and she wondered what they must be thinking in her absence. Such thoughts saddened her even further.
As she stood to return to her bed and finally sleep, Siobhan was startled by a sudden feeling of dread. She stopped, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and a chill going up her spine. She breathed deeply and continued on to her bed, the strange feeling growing stronger by the second. As she sat on the edge, she had a sudden realization that terrified her.
Someone was in the room.
She distinctly felt the presence of magic before the realization, similar to the feeling she got when Tyrus had appeared in Maedoc's study a few nights ago.
"Who's there?" she called out.
She heard nothing in response. Quickly, she stood. Her eyes were locked upon the door. Her first thought was to run and open it, escaping down the hallway. But, she was frozen in place, unable to move or even breathe. Her breathing became shallow, as thoughts of terrible things went through her head. Had Tyrus returned? Had a Defiler somehow entered her bedroom?
Siobhan was terrified. Even her voice was stunted. She could not call out, could not escape. She could barely move at all. She urged her feet forward, slowly lifting them one after another to walk toward the door. She began to tremble as the fear built up within her. She was in danger. She knew it!
Slowly she inched ever closer to the door. A column to the right created shadow in the corner, and her eyes felt drawn to it. She forced herself not to look as she came closer to the door and reached out to grab the handle. Just as her hand touched the latch, she shifted her eyes to the right for a brief glance.
The hooded figure shot out quickly, pricking her neck with a sharp object. Siobhan's vision faded quickly, and she felt herself being lifted away.
Then, she faded into blackness.
Chapter Thirteen
Eamon led the Knights of the Dragon on to Argan as agreed. Farouk's words had made sense to him, and there was no reason to doubt his wisdom. Ulrich could defend Gaellos, he knew, and Traegus was not yet needed. He was also confident that Titus would be a great help in the battle for Gaellos, and also knew that he would return when the battle was over. All that was left was to free Argan, and any smaller settlements in the area, then it was on to Faerbane.
Jadhav and his men would guard the sea, hopefully intercepting any ships that tried to sail around the coast and to the Western shore. The Raj and his fleet would make short work of any standard vessels the Jindala had, but a small amount of doubt remained whether they would even have any effect on any ships that carried the beasts that were expected to land. The Enkhatar were supernatural, and the wights that would accompany them were not easy to destroy.
Along the road to Argan, Eamon noticed the improved demeanor of his knights. They had all rested well after a night of enjoyment, and Azim was renewed at the meeting between him and Farouk. Eamon knew that he had missed his brother badly. Angen, however, looked somewhat rough. He was forgiven, though, as he was much older than the rest. His years of experience with wine and women had taken their toll, and he was not as quick to recover as the others.
"Are you alright, Angen?" Eamon asked, smiling. Wrothgaar smacked the older man on the back, prompting laughs from the rest of them.
"He's alright," Wrothgaar teased. "He's just old."
"I'm not old," Angen protested. "I'm just tired. I drank a lot of ale."
"You drank less than Daryth," Brynn added. "And he's just a lad!"
"What?" Daryth said. "You're three years older than me. And I'm a much better archer."
Brynn guffawed as the others laughed with the young Ranger. Azim was amused with their antics, unfamiliar with the good natured ribbing his friends often engaged in.
"Look to the North," Angen said. "There's smoke rising from the hills."
Eamon and the rest looked toward the smoke, seeing it billow straight up into the sky in a thin column.
"Brynn," Eamon said. "What's in that direction? It's too far east to be Argan."
"An estate," Brynn replied. "Galen, I think. A noble."
"I don't care much for nobles," Wrothgaar stated.
"Ride!" Eamon commanded.
Galen's horse violently trampled the Jindala swordsman like a weed. The nobleman had come to the rescue of one of his soldiers who had been wounded. The battle had raged on ever since the Jindala had marched in full force from Argan, leaving the city free of their presence. The occupying force was small, and the ruse to distract them while the Thieves' Guild evacuated the townsfolk had worked perfectly. However, the Jindala were much more organized than Galen had anticipated, and his men were beginning to tire.
As he rode over the enemy soldier, he saw his daughter, Brianna, take down three enemies in a row with her bow, and immediately strike down another with her sword. She could rapidly switch between weapons, and was just as deadly with either. She was fierce and unstoppable, just as Galen had been in his youth.
"Brianna!" he called to her. "Take the horsemen around their flanks! I'll meet you in the middle."
Brianna nodded, acknowledging the order. She obeyed without question, knowing that her father was a master strategist. She raised her sword, signaling her cavalry to follow. Galen's own riders would follow him, and the two forces would cut their way through the Jindala force, pressing them together in a tight formation. She urged the riders on, crushing through the Jindala line. Her sword sang the sweet song of death as she hacked and slashed her way through the enemy ranks.
Galen plowed into the other side, bashing the Jindala soldiers off their feet and crushing them like grass. He heard his men behind them, yelling their battle cries and cursing the enemy as they cut their way through the lines. The Jindala fought back, felling a few horses with their spears, or dragging their riders to the ground and running them through or stomping them to death with their boots.
It was a bloody battle, to be sure, but the loss of lives was worth saving those of the innocent townspeople.
Galen spun his horse around to trample a group of spearmen when he spotted the riders in the distance. He stared at them for a moment, not recognizing them, then turned back to the battle. Brianna's horsemen were nearing his position, and they had cut down a great portion of the enemy soldiers. As he met her in the middle as planned, he pointed off into the distance. Brianna followed his direction and saw the cloud of dust that the racing horsemen kicked up as they rushed to the battle. From this distance, she couldn't tell whether they were friend or foe, and, at the moment, it was the last thing on her mind.
Brianna reared back her horse, urging it on with a cry of rage. The horse kicked with its front legs, sending a spearman into the air. Just as she kicked her horse's flanks, another spearman thrust his weapon into its chest. The horse reared back again, this time sending throwing Brianna to the ground. She landed on her back, immediately rolling onto her feet and charging her mount's killer. The Jindala tried in vain to attack, but the length of spear prevented a thrust. Brianna leaped into the air and impaled him through the chest.
Galen saw his daughter thrown from her horse and rushed to aid her. Despite the fall, she was still holding her own, and was even more enraged than before. He backed off the charge and continued pummeling the surrounding enemies. Off in the distance, the Jindala archers were preparing to fire, telling him that the footsoldiers would possibly flee to avoid being skewered by their own allies.
"Don't let them flee!" yelled to his men. "The archers will fire!"
Brianna heard the order, and ran to the perimeter of the battle to
block any escape attempts. Her men followed, struggling to keep up with her as she weaved in and out of the melee. She saw that the Jindala were indeed beginning to flee as the archers pulled back their bows. She raised her sword in the air, signaling her own archers to fire a preemptive volley. Galen gave the order.
"Fire!" he called. "Take down the archers!"
Brianna's archers let loose a volley. The cloud of arrows sailed in a deep arc toward the gathered Jindala bowmen. They ducked behind their shield bearers, some of them not quite quickly enough.
"Again!" Galen called, slashing downward at a fleeing soldier and splitting his skull.
The second wave of arrows flew over the battle. In seconds, half of the line of enemy archers had fallen. Yet, still the footsoldiers fled. Galen turned to the approaching horsemen, recognizing the banner of the Dragon.
Eamon and his knights plowed through the fleeing Jindala, casting them to the ground and trampling them without stopping. Galen's forces howled in triumph, and Brianna mounted a horse to chase down those that continued to flee. Eamon watched her with admiration as she cut down three of them, then switched to her bow and took down four more in rapid succession. He smiled as he watched. She was a fierce warrior; a master with a sword, and a flawless archer. He had to know who she was.
He rode over to Galen, who was rallying his men for a charge. Galen held up his hand in greeting.
"Well met," Eamon said. "I am Prince Eamon of Morduin."
"I know who you are," Galen replied. "I recognized your banner."
"What is happening, sir?" Eamon asked.
"Argan is being liberated," Galen answered.
Eamon looked at the city, and at Galen's estate, which was still smoking from a flaming trebuchet strike. "What of the people inside the city?" he asked, concerned for their safety.
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