The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1)

by Michael Wisehart

  “Help me!” the man screamed in pain, pleading for his captain to save him.

  Asa swung his axe but missed. The hound was too far out of reach. Asa’s grip was slipping. He fought to hold on. He couldn’t let another one of his own be taken while he had a chance to save him. Using his legs, Asa turned his horse into the creature and threw one of his daggers. The blade stuck all the way to the cross guard, but the creature never slowed.

  Suddenly, the man tore free of the hound’s grasp and Asa managed to get him over the side of his horse. The lancer was delirious, mumbling incoherently. Glancing over his shoulder at the hor’hound, Asa saw the man’s foot still hanging from its teeth.

  Kicking his horse into action, Asa fought his way ahead. He held on to his mount with his knees and to the lancer with his free hand as he hacked his way through the hounds. His battle-axe was painted with blood. Moments later, they cut their way out from the creature’s left flank and back into the open. Asa quickly directed his men back toward the staging area to drop off their wounded before returning for another round.

  His arm was throbbing from where the creature had gouged it. He needed to get it wrapped before going back out or he was going to have a hard time wielding a weapon. He glanced back over his shoulder at the raging battle behind them. He wasn’t sure if his men could handle another charge like that or not.

  But what choice did they have?

  Chapter 72 | Ayrion

  AS THE BATTLE raged across the valley below, Ayrion and Rhydan watched from their perch on top of the rise.

  Ayrion hoped Commander Tolin and his men would be able to drive the beasts back to ground, if not destroy them entirely, but there were just so many of them. Even from this distance, Ayrion could see the size of the hounds and the unrelenting nature of their attack.

  The hor’hounds fought as a single unit. They didn’t have the size and agility of the creatures they had encountered during the king’s hunting excursion, but their numbers more than made up for the difference.

  The mounted lancers had managed to thwart the hounds momentarily, giving the pikemen enough time to get into place amongst the Cylmaran troops. Many of the hor’hounds were being skewered on the long poles but the ones behind used the bodies of their fallen to surmount the lancer’s stand. There was no honor among beasts, apparently, only an insatiable hunger for raw meat and the taste of fresh blood.

  “How much longer can they stand against such punishment?” the king asked, more to himself than as a question he expected Ayrion to answer. With his gold-leaf field glass pressed to his eye, Rhydan studied the scene below. His sword was drawn. It hung loosely at his side, tip pointing outward.

  From behind their protected mounds, Ayrion could see Captain Nadeer and Undercaptain Bellos hollering at their bowmen as they unleashed wave upon wave of bolts and shafts into the horde’s open flanks. The hor’hounds were falling, but only after being pierced by dozens of arrows. And there were always more to take their place.

  Ayrion couldn’t believe the strength of these creatures. His hopes for the Elondrian forces coming out alive, let alone victorious, were beginning to wane. The only positive outcome so far was that half of the Cylmaran ranks who had not already deserted their posts had turned back to fight alongside the Elondrian soldiers, clearly recognizing that it was their only hope of survival.

  Ayrion spun on his heels. His hands automatically reached for his weapons as a horn sounded from the base of the rise. Even over the downpour, he could hear the shout of orders and clash of steel.

  Another streak of lightning lit the sky. It was all the light he needed to see the danger they were in. A pack of hor’hounds had managed to circle around the back side of the army, and they were clawing their way toward the base of the rise.

  “Protect the king!” Ayrion hollered to the cluster of High Guard standing in front of the king’s pavilion. They were an elite group that Ayrion had specifically chosen as the king’s shadows, each bearing the crest of the sword and crown. They were never to leave his side.

  In one swift move, Ayrion leapt onto Shade and galloped down the side of the rise. The lower flaps of his black leather coat billowed out behind him, the force of the wind opened them like the wings of a night hawk. His two swords were out of their sheaths and held at the ready. The jeweled eyes of each dragon cross-guard sparkled in the light of the storm. Ayrion took a deep breath and focused his mind. Underneath him, Shade moved with the grace of something otherworldly, his muscular frame tearing up the ground as he raced to carry his rider to the battle below.

  Up ahead, Ayrion saw Barthol fighting at the front of the first two units. His men fought the creatures with all the fury and stamina their training could afford. “On your right!” he heard Barthol bellow as a group of hounds tried to skirt the outer ranks. The beasts weren’t prepared to face opposition as well trained as the High Guard. But even with the greatest of skill, a human body can only endure for so long before the arms grow lax, the swing flounders, and the breath gives way.

  Reaching the first of the creatures, Ayrion jumped from his saddle and slammed into the closest hound, both swords buried in its rancid pelt. Without having to be told, Shade pulled away from the fighting and moved farther up the slope, waiting for Ayrion’s call. He was the smartest horse Ayrion had ever known. He understood what Ayrion wanted without ever having to be told.

  Withdrawing his swords and spinning around, Ayrion started for the next creature. He could feel his magic rising. “Come face my blades!” His words misted into the cold air as he swung downwards, cutting deep into the neck of the first while at the same time sliding the black steel of his other through the heart of the next. It was like slicing through a day-warm cantermelon—no resistance. Both creatures dropped without so much as a whimper as Ayrion hopped over them to battle the next.

  With this many assailants attacking at once, Ayrion couldn’t rely solely on his premonitions. That side of his magic was meant more for warning than for continuous use. It left his senses confused when being attacked from all sides. Instead, he relied on his muscle memory and training to keep him alive.

  He fought his way to Barthol’s side as the huge captain was holding two of the hounds at bay for some of his men to finish off.

  “Pull back!” Ayrion shouted to the first wave of guards. They quickly grabbed their wounded and made a strategic retreat while fresh reinforcements from the third and fourth block-formations stepped in and took over. Ayrion admired the discipline his men showed. It was inspiring. The quick rotation gave the first and second-formations time to catch their breath and move the injured out of the way as they prepared to take the next wave.

  “I count at least a hundred, could be more!” Barthol shouted as he continued hacking the head off of another hound. Instead of falling back with the others from the first and second blocks, the large captain remained where he was for another round of fighting.

  Ayrion spun to the side to escape one set of claws, but was hit by another. The creature tore through his newly mended coat. “Hailstones!” Thankfully, the heavy leather kept the lacerations on his arm from being more serious than they could have been, but it didn’t stop the pain. He dropped to one knee and back-cut the legs out from under the creature as it tried to break through. Spinning around, he drove his sword through the neck of another.

  The hounds made another push to circumvent the guard. They were clearly after the king. “On my right! On my right!” Ayrion yelled as soon as he saw the creatures shift position. The guards rushed to Ayrion’s side and blocked the hound’s attempt to break through.

  The front of the rise was sheer about halfway up and presented a steep enough angle that a full-on assault would have proven fruitless. This was one of the logical reasons for choosing this vantage point in the first place.

  Ayrion’s heart skipped a beat when he saw his big friend go down.

  “Barthol!” Ayrion lunged at the closest hound, chopping its muzzle clean off and leaving it t
here to bleed drool down the front of its hide. A small pack of creatures had managed to get between him and the downed captain.

  The flat of Barthol’s sword was the only thing keeping the hound’s fangs from devouring him. Like holding on to a stick in a dog’s mouth, Barthol fought to keep the hor’hounds jaws from clenching his neck.

  Ayrion took another hit to the back. The blow wasn’t strong enough to knock him from his feet, but it was enough to knock the air out of him. Searing pain rushed down the right side of his leg as a single claw tore through his leather trousers and shin guard. He dropped to the ground and rolled to get up under the creature, and then thrust one of his swords up and out the backside of the hound’s neck.

  “Get this flaming mutt off of me!” Barthol hollered. Ayrion sprung to his feet, but there were still three creatures between him and Barthol. Windmilling his blades, Ayrion cut one of the front legs off the first hor’hound, but before he could move to the second, fresh guards appeared out of nowhere to help. From the corner of his eye, Ayrion could see the mark of their crown and sword crest.

  Ayrion was irate.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he hollered over his shoulder at the elite guards fighting their way to his side. “You should be protecting the king!”

  “They are!” Rhydan bellowed as he charged in beside Ayrion, thrusting his great blade into the closest creature with the pent-up fury of a man who had just spent the better part of the day watching his soldiers being slaughtered. The fresh arms swiftly availed as they were able to force back the hound’s momentum.

  Ayrion flew over the king’s fresh kill and on top of the hound still fighting to sink its teeth into Barthol. The wolf’s head jerked upward, rattled at the sudden weight on its back. Completely forgetting about Barthol, the creature bucked once, twice, three times. It fought to unseat its unwelcome rider.

  Ayrion grabbed its mane and started to laugh. Look at me. I’m riding a hor’hound! He laughed even more. He was sure those watching probably thought he had lost his mind, but when faced with the unimaginable—what else can you do?

  Unable to maintain his balance any longer, Ayrion rammed one of his swords through the monstrous animal’s distended backbone, lodging the black blade somewhere deep inside its chest cavity. Blood soaked the front of his coat as the creature went down.

  Ayrion spit the salty tang from his mouth and, with a little help from the king, lifted Barthol back to his feet and moved him toward the back of the lines as fresh recruits rushed in to fill their spots.

  “You see!” Barthol said as he spat out a wad of wet fur collected from his momentary stay under the great hound. “This is why I won’t allow the wife to get a pet!” He let Ayrion and Rhydan help him over to a large piece of fallen stone where they all slumped against the rock.

  Ayrion watched his men holding back the hor’hound offensive. “We’re losing too many of them. At this rate, we’re not going to have enough men to rotate out. When that happens . . .”

  The three men struggled to catch their breath as they readied themselves to jump back in with the next wave.

  Chapter 73 | Asa

  THE CYLMARAN SOLDIERS were of little help.

  They flailed around with their gaudy cleavers and axes, no real sense of unification behind their tactics. It was a mentality of every man for himself, and it led to their ranks being swallowed by the Elondrian forces as they were either pushed to the back and out of the way, or struggled to hold the flanks in between the lancer formations.

  The thrill of excitement that had threatened to overwhelm Asa earlier, with the thought of great songs being written about the lancer’s last charge, had all but turned sour in the pit of his gut as he drove his unit deep into the bowels of the hor’hound pack once again. To his regret, Asa had misjudged the speed at which the creatures had closed the gap behind them. He found himself and his men cut off from the rest of the army.

  “Forward!” he shouted as his battle-worn arm continued to swing his great double-sided axe at the throngs of hungry creatures all around him. Cut. He severed one’s head. Cut. He hacked two more. Cut. He watched a piece of a massive paw sail through the air before cleaving the neck of the hound it came from. All he knew to do was to keep moving, to keep cutting, and to keep pushing forward. He hoped they could fight their way through and out the other side, but the farther they charged the slower their movement became, until finally they didn’t move at all.

  His men were dropping all around him as the hounds turned their attention on the horses. They realized that in bringing down the horse they would bring down the rider. Asa’s legs were bleeding through the openings in his armor, those dagger claws having penetrated between the open sections. He watched in wonder as one of his men, with his arm torn off to the elbow, reached down with the other to grab his fallen sword and keep fighting.

  All around him, Asa could hear the clash of steel, the cries of battle, the wails of agony, and the howls of their enemy. It was a great cacophony of sound that would have driven fear into the most valiant of hearts.

  Asa clenched his teeth and brought his axe up and around. He directed the blade as it stuck deep inside the chest of the nearest hound. The creature slumped to the side with an ugly whine. Asa’s calloused fingers tightened around the rough steel on the handle of his axe as he twisted in his saddle to get a look at his men. They were giving everything they had just to keep the animals at bay.

  He was down to about half his riders. And those still managing to remain mounted were unable to move. What he had most feared had taken place. They were completely cut off from the rest of the army—surrounded on all sides.

  Asa raised his axe once again to encourage his men. “For Elondria!” he managed to shout before going down himself.

  His mount stumbled over one of the fallen hor’hounds and sent him tumbling over the ravaged bodies of his men. Shaking the initial shock from his limbs and the rain from his face, Asa was back on his feet before he finished the last rotation. With axe in hand, he swung at the nearest hound as it dove for him.

  The impact threw him from his feet, but he managed to cleave the lower side of the creature’s face before he did. Its jaw hung open to the bone. Asa rolled and hopped back to his feet, bringing his axe around again, severing one of the hound’s front legs clear off at the joint. He finished the beast with a single overhead swing.

  Asa pulled the wedge of steel from the hound and then spun from left to right, his eyes darting back and forth as he readied himself for another attack. His men, having seen him go down, fought to encircle their leader with what remained of their mounted unit.

  The hor’hounds pressed in, blood on their teeth and death in their eyes. Asa could hear the sound of Elondrian footmen somewhere off to his right, but they were far too distant to manage a rescue. With his axe firmly gripped in both hands, he immediately planted his feet and turned his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable.

  From the right, another hound broke through the lines and plowed Asa into the muck of water and blood below. He felt a searing pain in his leg as he twisted to see the hound’s upper teeth clenched tight around the lower half of his leg just below the knee. Its teeth had punctured his armor and felt as though they had pierced to the bone. He hollered in pain as the rush of it threatened to overwhelm him.

  A few of the remaining lancers fought to get to him, but each attempt was thrown back as another creature would turn them around. Asa went to swing his axe but realized it wasn’t in his hands. Clawing at the ground, he struggled to keep the creature from gaining any more leverage. The pain was numbing. He was losing feeling in the leg altogether, and at that moment, he wasn’t sure if that wasn’t a good thing.

  The hor’hound shuffled its hind paws, pulling him away from his men. Had it not been for his armor, his leg would have been gone and the beast would be finishing the rest of him. Desperately, he reached out and pried a broadsword from the dead hands of one of his men and swung it at the creature’s he
ad. Though the swing was weak, he managed to rake the top of its skull, peeling away a large chunk of fur. The hor’hound never even flinched.

  As fast as he could, Asa thrust his hand into the mud, fighting to keep from being pulled any further away. He had to do something and fast. Giving up on the attempt at stabilizing his position, he heaved himself into a sitting position and plunged the blade into the hound’s closest eye. The creature immediately released his leg and howled in fury.

  Asa rolled to the side and drove the sword into its exposed chest. The hound collapsed beside him. Using the sword for leverage, he struggled to regain his feet before limping his way back to his men. He picked up his axe from where it had fallen and swung it at the closest fur pelt he saw.

  His men, having lost their mounts, were now down to a single cluster. Back to back they stood as they swung at the encroaching hounds. Even Asa could see the hopelessness of it all. The only choice left was to go out with honor.

  Raising his axe, Asa started to bellow one last battle cry, but was cut short by the blare of a lancer signal horn. Behind them, a secondary cavalry unit came charging through the hounds with Commander Tolin himself leading the way.

  Where Tolin had gotten the men, Asa had no idea. It looked like he had rounded up every last one of his staff, including the runners, the cooks, and even his young hostler. Asa almost spat on himself when he saw old Elior riding in behind them, swinging his sword around and having more fun than a man his age with physical impairments should have been allowed. It was the most incredible sight he’d ever laid eyes on. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but as he dodged and swung at the next encroaching hound, he decided he didn’t have time for either.

  “Looks like you could use a hand!” Tolin shouted.

  “I could use more than one!” Asa returned as he struggled to mount a fallen lancer’s horse. Whipping the steed about, he helped another one of his men up behind him as the rest of those remaining doubled up behind the new recruits. He gladly followed Tolin and his riders out of the battle and back toward the Elondrian lines. “I must say, Commander, your timing is impeccable!”