Rozon countered by swinging the second Elgarian army from the flank to meet them. As hard as the Elgari-ans fought, they continued to give way to the superior numbers pressing them backward. The end of the Elgarian line was now a scant hundred yards from where Mathew stood before the walls of fire. Sweat beaded on his face and his fists were clenched. The muscles in his back and neck knotted with the effort. All the while, Duren continued to whisper to him.
Delain watched the unfolding battle from his vantage point on the hill. The Elgarians were being forced back. Men were dying everywhere. In his heart, the cold realization of the inevitable outcome began to shape itself. There were not enough of them to stem the tide. The country—his country—was lost. History would record him as the man who allowed the destruction of a nation. Tears streamed down his face, and the men nearest to him looked away, unable to bear their prince's pain.
Two things happened then that kept Delain from ordering a retreat in the hope of saving as many of his people as he could. At the farthest end of the field the white cloaks of the Mirdite army appeared, having broken through the Alor Satar rear guard; and the Sennian cavalry arrived at the western end of the field. The Mirdites, whose capital city of Toland had been destroyed by Duren, attacked like men possessed.
Gawl saw the arrival of his countrymen and immediately sprang to his horse. He tore off across the field, crying, "Sennians to me!"
Moments after he reached them, the fabled Sennian wedge formed. And with their king at its head, they began their charge directly at the enemy flank. The horses started down the slope of the hill slowly. After fifty yards the walk became a canter and the Sennian spears came down as one.
Twenty lines deep, five thousand of the finest mountain fighters in the world, their ranks never wavering, maintained the bizzare wedge formation, seeming to flow over the rolling terrain like water as they bore down on the enemy. Above the din of the battlefield, a sonorous voice roared out, "Charge!"
The Sennians broke into a full gallop no more than a hundred yards from the Alor Satar. At the very point of
the attack, sunlight flashed off Gawl's massive broadsword swinging in circles around his head.
When Delain saw the Sennian phalanx strike the enemy's flank like a thunderbolt, splitting their ranks, he spun around to Jerrel Rozon and screamed, "Now!"
Rozon stood upright in his saddle and relayed the signal to Colonel Targil. The Elgarian light cavalry, under his command, had been kept in reserve throughout the day.
"Well, Father," Targil said to the man seated next to him astride a black stallion, "I hope you remembered to put in a good word for us today."
"There is an old expression about the Lord helping those who help themselves," Father Thomas replied. "Perhaps you've heard it?"
Targil chuckled. "Let's hope you're as good at your new profession as you were at your old one," he replied.
"We'll know in a moment, my friend."
The one-eyed colonel turned in his saddle and yelled out, "Elgaria will advance!"
The trumpeter blew the charge as the Elgarians burst from cover at the eastern end of the field.
Mathew could tell when Father Thomas and a small group of soldiers reached him. The priest, fighting like a madman, moved through the enemy like the proverbial angel with a flaming sword. He was also aware that Duren had stopped whispering to him. For the first time in his mind's eye he looked at the malevolent face of his enemy. The hooded eyes stared back at him, merciless and filled with hate. There was no longer any trace of a smile on the man's lips. By degrees, Mathew's blue firewall was advancing. And Duren knew it too. Sweat was streaming down the King of Alor Satar's face and he was breathing heavily.
Suddenly, a cry of exultation burst from Duren's lips. He threw his arms up in victory, tilted his head back and began to laugh hysterically. A second later a ball of liquid fire materialized out of the sky and roared directly at the hill where Delain and Lara were standing.
It took the last reserves of Mathew's strength to deflect it from its course, turning it back, back—back at Duren himself, who, still laughing, never saw it coming until the end.
Delain looked across the field and saw Karas Duren collapse to his knees. The Lewin boy was also down. He couldn't tell if he was dead or alive. Alive, he thought. Beldon Targil's regiment, with Siward Thomas, had finally fought their way through to Mathew and were trying to hold back the Alor Satar soldiers driving toward them. Whatever Mathew had done, the prince prayed to God that it would not be in vain. Despite the valiant efforts of the Mirdites and Sennians, Delain knew it would not be enough to stem the tide. There were still too many arrayed against them. Elgaria was doomed.
Seconds later a ball of fire appeared in the sky out of nowhere, hurtling down upon him at a frightening speed. The rational part of Delain's mind acknowledged he had only a moment to live. He was frozen in place, unable to move. But then, miraculously, the fireball veered sharply away. It rose into the air and streaked directly back at Duren. The resulting explosion leveled the hill where Duren was, and from clear across the field the concussion was strong enough to knock Delain down, as it did almost everyone around him. The noise was deafening. The billowing smoke made it impossible to see.
Minutes passed until the field gradually began to clear. Delain got to his feet, expecting the fighting would resume. Instead he heard the Alor Satar trumpeters blowing a recall for their army. It took a moment before he realized what it meant. The prince was dumbfounded. He looked around at the officers nearest to him and saw similar expressions on their faces.
Across the field there was a crater where Duren's command tent had stood only moments before. Delain stared at it in disbelief. He cupped his hands to the side of his head and squinted. Through the drifting smoke he saw
the figure of a woman looking back at him. There was something familiar about her, but she turned and walked back into the haze before he could place it.
What the hell is a woman doing on a battlefield? he asked himself. The sound of shouting abruptly pulled his attention away—some type of commotion was going on where the catapults had been. A moment later a lone rider broke away from the other soldiers and came galloping back across the field directly toward him. It was Colonel Targil. He rode up and jumped off his horse.
"What news?" Delain asked.
"The boy is gone."
"Dead?"
"Disappeared, your highness—vanished."
"What? But how ..."
"I don't know," Targil said. "We had just broken through the Alor Satar flank to defend him as you ordered. At least ten men saw it happen. Siward Thomas is beside himself. Gawl is there with him, but I think you ought to come."
Delain felt the color drain out of his face and glanced quickly at Lara, who was standing with Akin Gibb and one of his officers, fifty feet way.
"Do you think he's dead, Targil?" he asked, lowering his voice.
"Your majesty, I don't know," the colonel replied, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "I was not fifteen feet from the boy. There was a flash of green light and suddenly he was gone—disappeared. No fire, no noise, it was just like that," Targil said, snapping his fingers.
Delain looked at the man for a second. "I'll come," he said. "Stay with the girl."
38
Henderson
Mathew's head began to clear. He blinked and looked around him. He had no idea where he was. It seemed he was in the middle of a town, but one like no town he had ever seen before. Far above him the stars were out, twinkling in the night sky, but there was something unusual about them. The grass he was lying on also felt odd. He ran his hand over the surface, then abruptly pulled it away. It was perfectly green, but it felt stiff and
lifeless.
Maybe I'm dead, he thought.
He got up, looked around, and saw that he was standing in the middle of a square. A street ran along one side of it that reminded him of the ancient roads he'
d seen in Tyraine. He turned, slowly taking in his surroundings. There were several streets running off the square in different directions. The lit street lamps were unusual too, emitting a bright orange glow different from anything he'd ever seen. Near him, a large clock sat atop a lamp post. It read ten minutes past ten.
There was a large rectangular white sign in front of a building directly across from him. The words now playing stood out in black letters.
Playing? Playing what? he thought. At the far corner of the square the largest crystal he'd ever seen rose prominently out of a low one-story building. It was more than twenty feet thick. He followed the octagonal-shaped column up until it eventually disappeared into the night sky. Once again the feeling that
something was wrong came over him again. It wasn't just that he was in a strange place. Things felt wrong. The last thing he remembered was turning the fireball back at Duren. He'd blacked out after that and woken up here. The question was, where was he?
Mathew stared up at the crystal to where it disappeared into the sky and realized with a shock that what he was looking at wasn't a sky at all. It was a dome of some sort. Gargantuan in proportion, but a dome nevertheless. His hands began to tremble.
Where in God's name am }?
He looked up and down the street. There were no people anywhere. No horses. No wagons. Nothing. On the opposite side of the square there was a row of shops with large glass windows. Two mannequins dressed in the oddest clothing looked back at him from one of the windows. The name Carolyn's fashions was painted above the door in gold letters. Curious, Mathew walked toward it. For some reason, he remembered that Margaret Grimly had a mannequin in her store in Devondale to display the dresses she made. These mannequins were different. The dresses the women wore were so short they almost made him blush. In the middle of the street a few tables and chairs had been set out on the sidewalk. Each of the tables had a brightly colored umbrella.
Well, I'm obviously not dead, he decided. There has to be an explanation. The question is how do I get out of here?
He scratched his head and looked around again. His stomach felt queasy.
Where is everybody? Surely, there has to be someone here who can help me.
He noticed a number of houses along one of the side streets running away from the square. They were quite different from the kind he was familiar with. After a moment's reflection, he decided they would be his best chance. He started off in that direction when something made him stop and turn around.
There was a woman seated at one of the tables he had just looked at. He was positive she hadn't been there a moment ago. She saw him as well, but made no move to get up. She just sat there watching him.
Mathew walked toward her. When he got closer, he could see that she was wearing a silver dress with long sleeves that came to a point at her wrist. Her figure was trim and elegant, complimented by a startlingly beautiful face. She had large, blue eyes and a mass of black hair that fell loosely about her shoulders. There was something strangely familiar about her, but at that moment he couldn't say what it was. Then he noticed two glasses of wine on the table.
They weren 't there before either.
"Excuse me, do you live here?" he asked,
The woman tilted her head slightly and looked up at him. "No."
"I'm sorry. I'm a stranger here. My name is—"
"Mathew Lewin. I know."
His hand reflexively reached for the hilt of his sword.
The woman only responded by raising her eyebrows.
"Do you honestly think you're going to need that?"
"What? Look ... I'm sorry. I'm a bit confused. I don't know how I got here, and I don't know where I am."
"Why don't you sit down?" she said pleasantly. "We can talk. Would you like some wine? It's an excellent vintage."
Mathew made no move to sit. "Maybe you should first tell me how you know who I am, and who you are." "My name is Teanna. I know a great deal about you,
Mathew."
Teanna? He'd heard that name before but couldn't quite place it.
"Please don't be tedious," she said. "I promise I won't bite, and I'm sure you've noticed I'm unarmed."
She didn't appear to be carrying a weapon, and Mathew was beginning to feel foolish, standing there in front of a woman with his hand on his sword. So he took a deep breath to relax himself and sat down.
"Do you know what place this is?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm. I believe it's called Henderson."
"Henderson?"
"Mm-hmm."
"I've never heard of it."
"Well, I should think not. It's several thousand miles under the surface of the world. The Ancients built it. It's really quite interesting."
"Several thousand miles! But how—"
Teanna held up her hand to calm him. "I brought you here so we could talk privately."
"You brought me .. ."
Then it came to him. Teanna!
"You're Teanna d'Elso."
He stood up so abruptly, he knocked over his chair.
Teanna remained where she was, completely unruffled. "Please," she said, motioning for him to be seated again.
"But—"
"You do look so silly standing there, Mathew. If I wanted to harm you, I could have done so already."
Mathew felt his face go red, and he slowly sat down again. "I'm sorry. It's just that—"
"I'm Karas Duren's niece," she said, finishing the sentence for him. "He's quite insane, you know."
Mathew nodded in agreement.
"My mother can be equally excessive. You don't have to say anything," Teanna said, holding up her hand. "I'm aware of what happened to her. You didn't have a choice."
Mathew looked back somberly at the woman in front of him but didn't speak. After a few seconds he decided she was probably closer to his age than he had first thought.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Truly, I am. If there were some way—"
"Mathew," she said, putting her hand on his. "I understand. I know how much pain this has caused you. It wasn't as if either of them left you any choice."
A warm smile appeared on her face and she looked into his eyes. That was when he noticed the ring she was wearing.
Teanna saw his reaction. "That's right. This is one of the other rings. We're unique, you and I. I'm sure you've already guessed the Ancients created this place . . . just as they created these rings. But there's so much you don't know. You were right when you told Delain that my uncle hated for hatred's sake alone."
"How could you possibly know that?" Mathew whispered.
"As I said, there's a great deal you don't know yet—so much to learn. There's power here, Mathew. You can only begin to imagine it."
He sat back and looked at her more closely. Her smile seemed warm and genuine. What she'd said earlier was also true: Had she wanted to harm him, she could have done so while he was unconscious.
"Teanna, you said you brought me here. I don't remember anything. The last thing I recall was Duren— your uncle—creating a fireball and sending it at my
people."
His body instinctively began to tighten as the memory flooded back into his mind.
"Shh," she said, squeezing his hand. "Delain is fine and so are your friends."
"But the battle—"
"Is over. I had a word with my cousin, Armand. Alor Satar has withdrawn its soldiers. There's no more need for the fighting to go on. My uncle is dead."
Mathew looked at her beautiful face and could find no deception.
"Why are we here?" he asked. "You said you brought me. I don't understand."
"I was about to tell you that. We're unique, you and I. Two of a kind. Although you don't know it yet, we have the ability to do anything the Ancients could do, and more. We shouldn't be fighting each other. If we work together, we could rebuild the world. People would follow us without question. We could do things—wonderful things. We could lead and bring order—"
&nb
sp; "Order? I don't understand," he said slowly. "I don't want to be anybody's leader."
"Really? What do you want, Mathew?" "I don't want anything. I guess I'd like things to be the same."
Teanna laughed. It was a warm rich sound, like perfectly struck crystal chimes.
"I'm afraid that's impossible. The world has changed. People will hear stories about the ring. They'll seek you out. They'll tell the stories to other people and they'll do the same. No," she said, squeezing his hand again. "It's too late for that. You and I must work together to help restore things."
"But what can we do?" Mathew asked. Teanna reached forward and brushed the lock of hair off his forehead.
The fragrance of her perfume drifted across the table to him; her touch was warm and intoxicating.
"A man who's not afraid of his destiny can hold greatness in his hand, Mathew. We have the ability to lead— together. Nothing and no one can stand against us." Teanna's fingertips gently touched his cheek. "What?" Mathew said, pulling away. Teanna frowned. "Oh, dear, I'm afraid I've upset you." "I don't want to be great, and I'm not interested in leading anybody. People's lives are their own."
Teanna took a deep breath and made a small clicking sound behind her teeth with her tongue.
"I knew this would be too much for you all at once. Father is right. I do need to be more patient. Oh, well... I suppose we can talk about it another time. There's really no rush. Now close your eyes and I'll bring us back. Sometimes it makes the stomach a little sensitive." "But..."
Before Mathew could say anything else, the deserted town faded. A green light enveloped him and a sound like rushing water filled his ears. It felt like he was being pulled into a giant black funnel.
Seconds later he was standing on a hill at the far end of Ardon Field. There was no sign of Teanna. The fighting had ended, just as she said. In the west, the sun was just above the treetops. Mathew looked toward Delain's tents and could see that campfires had been lit. His friends were there too. Though his head was still swimming, he took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. After a moment, he began walking across the field toward the flickering orange glow of the fires, Teanna's words still fresh in his mind.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 49