A few figures darted in and out of doorways and down alleys as Cyrus approached. Looters, he thought. No time to deal with them now; this city is about to go down in flames anyway, if the dark elves hold to their pattern.
They ran through the empty squares toward the Chancel, Cyrus’s eyes scanning for threats. A griffon screeched overhead, its rider steering it in a slow, arcing circle above them. An arrow shot up, followed by another, and the griffon reeled out of control, spiraling through the third floor window of a nearby building. Glass shattered and bricks fell from the hole left by the beast’s crash. Cyrus’s eyes flew to where the arrows had originated to see Aisling lowering her bow. She met his gaze as she slung it across her back. “No point in letting them live to harass us later,” she said with a shrug.
They ran on, reaching the Chancel square a few minutes later. Cyrus looked back to see the army marching down the Entaras’iliarad behind them, but only a quarter of the way along. I guess the illusory army slowed them down. As they followed the road around the Chancel, Vara called out to him. “Here in the square the road bends southwest toward Pharesia, and it is the way most of the evacuees would have gone. It becomes the Olenet’yinaii—the Monarch’s Road—here at the edge of the square.” She puffed, her breath still coming in gasps. “We should be able to see any stragglers.”
They turned the corner and stopped. The road stretched through many blocks and squares until the buildings ended and fields frosted by ice turned into rolling hills. Only a few souls were visible ahead, laden with many burdens.
“It would appear that the evacuation was successful,” Chirenya said. “I hate to say we can’t do anything for those who remain, but Vidara tends to help those who help themselves.”
“No,” Cyrus said. “There’s one last group to get out.”
Vara and Chirenya looked at him, and he pointed back toward the Northbridge. “Whatever is left of the Termina Guard will be shredded if we don’t get them out of there.”
“And we’re likely to be shredded if we attempt a street-by-street defense,” Vaste said. “Not that I don’t empathize with the plight of the Termina Guard, but neither am I eager to die trying to get to them.”
“All we need is a wizard,” Cyrus said, “and a few minutes. We can position a frontline—Longwell, Vara and myself, maybe a couple others—to take the heat off of them, and one of our wizards can evacuate us all.”
“How many wizards do you have remaining?” Chirenya arched her eyebrow at him.
“I don’t know,” he replied.”But you can do an area-based teleport, can’t you?”
“Assuming you’re intelligent enough to grasp the blue orb when it appears, yes.”
“I think I can figure that out.” Cyrus turned. “We go back, around the Chancel and down the Olenet’yinaii. We’ll give the survivors of the Termina Guard cover while we extract them, and then we’ll return to...” He looked to Chirenya. “Wherever she sees fit to take us.”
“Saekaj Sovar, perhaps. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”
They moved quickly, and as they passed through the square around the Chancel of Life, Cyrus took a moment to note that the dark elven army moving up the Entaras’iliarad was only about halfway to the Chancel square. He led the way to the next street, and as they came around the corner he saw the Termina Guard.
The street was wide, but not as wide as the bridge they had spent all night defending. The Termina Guard was three blocks away, strung out in a ragged formation that blocked the street, and Cyrus could tell they were in the midst of a brutal fighting retreat. There are less than five hundred of them left, Cyrus estimated. Rough night.
When they reached the back line of the Guard, Cyrus pushed his way through the rows of bloody and weary elves, Vara at his back and a few others behind them. One of the Sanctuary druids remaining with them hovered overhead using Falcon’s Essence and shot a bolt of lightning into the ranks of the dark elves as they continued to surge up the street. From where he stood, Cyrus saw no end to the dark elven forces. They filled the streets all the way to the Northbridge.
“Odellan!” Cyrus called out over the crowd.
One of the elves nearest to him pointed to the front line. “He’s at the fore. Has been the whole time.”
Cyrus pushed his way to the front line, where there was a slight separation. The dark elves were assaulting the remaining Termina Guards in waves, charge after charge. Two elves died before his eyes while a half dozen dark elves fell in the same space. “Odellan!” Cyrus said again, stepping into the battle and dispatching two dark elven footmen.
“General!” Odellan’s voice was weary but relieved. He bore a long, bloody cut across the left side of his forehead, from the peak of his hairline to his temple. His helm was long gone, his long hair red matted with blood. His golden armor was stained crimson as well, and he held his left hand at his side while fighting with his right. “Glad to see you managed a retreat before they flanked you. I was concerned—” he stepped into a charging dark elf and cut him almost in two with a rising slash—“that you wouldn’t see us breaking in the dark. I sent a runner to advise you to retreat.”
“The city is evacuated,” Cyrus said. “There’s nothing more your men can do here; we’ve come to teleport you out.”
The clanging of blades filled the air. “Aye,” Odellan said, “against these numbers, the city is lost.”
Cyrus watched Longwell slide into position at the left side of the street while Vara did the same to the right, as the Termina Guard eased back, swords still at the ready. While Vara and Longwell defended against the next wave of foes, he and Odellan held the center, and the dark elven army seemed to slow its approach, a steady trickle making their way forward rather than a charging line. They waited a few hundred feet ahead, drawing steadily closer.
“Chirenya, now!” Cyrus called. “It’s time to leave,” he told Odellan. “You and your men go first, and as soon as you’ve left, the last three of us will grab our orbs and teleport out.”
Odellan looked to the left in time to see Longwell kill three dark elves in succession. “All right.”
A glowing blue ball of translucent light appeared, hovering in front of Cyrus. Orbs of teleportation appeared in front of Vara, Odellan and Longwell, as well as every member of Sanctuary and the Termina Guard. Cyrus looked back and saw a bevy of flashes, bodies dissolving into the blue fire of wizard teleportation, born off to the destination Chirenya had selected with her spell. Pharesia, Cyrus suspected.
Four dark elves drew his attention back to the fight and he blocked their attacks, knocking over one and impaling another, taking out two more with a slash and then taking two steps backward as he waited for the next attack. He chanced another look at the formation behind him, but it was nearly gone; only a handful remained, including Chirenya and Vaste.
Cyrus looked to Odellan. “Now’s the time, Endrenshan.”
The Termina Guard Captain hesitated, his hand hovering over the blue orb. “We all go together,” he said.
Cyrus looked back; only Chirenya remained behind them, staring at him through slitted eyes. “Come on,” she said. “I’ve had enough of these dark elven beasts. Let us be done with this.”
Cyrus looked down the line to Longwell, then back to Vara. “On three. One...two...” He saw the next wave of dark elves beginning to charge, then cast a look back to Chirenya. “Three.” He froze, his hand only a second from grasping the orb, and a cold shock ran through him. “NO!”
It was too late; Odellan and Longwell vanished in a blast of blue fire, teleported away. Cyrus watched Chirenya as if she were in slow motion. Her hand grasped for the orb in front of her but came up short, her momentum interrupted by a sudden and vicious attack from behind.
An elf stood behind her in dark robes, a wicked expression on his face and twin daggers in his hands. Assassin, Cyrus thought as he watched the first blade buried in the wizard’s back. He heard a scream from Vara, a howl of inarticulate fury, and watched as Ch
irenya grimaced as her hand slipped away from the orb. The elf buried the second dagger in her back, and Cyrus watched as the wizard turned in numb shock, looking at the face of the man who had stabbed her.
Then she went limp and dropped from the assassin’s arms, crumpling on the ground, unmoving.
Chapter 35
“NOOOOOOO!!” Vara’s anguish echoed down the street and Cyrus watched her charge, all-consuming fury taking hold of her. Her hand glowed white as she moved, casting a healing spell, and he watched the light encompass her mother, then fade, then rise again to no effect. Chirenya was still.
Vara brought her sword forward in an assault that lacked any technique but was born of the fury of a daughter who had lost her mother. Great overhand slashes were thrown at the assassin again and again, but he remained outside the reach of her blade, sashaying and whirling to avoid the paladin’s attacks.
Cyrus looked for the orbs of teleportation, but they were gone. They vanished when she died, he realized. The next wave of charging dark elves was near now, and Cyrus did not have time to assist Vara. He turned to attack the dark elves and found himself surrounded on three sides. Using an offhand slash he cleared two of the sides, and with a heavy overhand blow he cleared the last.
“We’re about to be surrounded!” He looked back as two more soldiers commenced attacks on him. Vara was still hammering at the assassin, her face red with emotion; tears streamed down her cheeks and she leapt forward and caught the assassin with a blade in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. He spun from the wound as she pressed the attack and impaled him on the tip of her blade. A sob of rage flew from her as she thrust the sword deeper into the elven man.
With shocking speed, the assassin forced himself further down her blade, driving it deeper through his chest, all the way to the guard that separated the blade from the hilt. He reached out with his dagger as Vara watched, stunned, and buried his weapon into the gap in her side armor. She cried out and fell to her knees, wrenching her sword from the assassin’s body.
“NO!” Cyrus hit the remaining two dark elves attacking him with an assault born of desperation. They flew backward, one missing an arm and the other short a head. He turned and sprinted to where Vara knelt in the street, one hand on her sword and the other at her side. The hand at her wound came forward, pulling the dagger from it. She held it, staring at the bloody blade before dropping it to the ground. She tried to stand, but failed, sinking back to her knees.
Cyrus reached her as she tried to stand again. “Mother,” Vara croaked. “I need to see...”
“She’s dead,” Cyrus said, his voice no more than a whisper. He saw the horror and loss in her eyes as she looked to where Chirenya lay. “We need to get out of here.” The next line of dark elves was approaching, no more than a hundred feet away. He sheathed his sword, then hers, and placed her arm around his shoulders, lifting her to her feet.
“I can...walk,” she said, trying to shove him away.
“I’m sure you can, but we need to move fast right now,” he said as he shuffled them off the Olenet’yinaii into an alley that ran south. “We have to get out of the city before the dark elves catch us, and we’re short on magical transportation.”
He half-ran, half-walked her down the alley, the morningstar’s chain still wrapped around his armor, rattling against it as they went. Far ahead, past dozens of cross-streets, he saw the Entaras’iliarad, still clear. Behind he could see the formation of dark elven soldiers marching down the Olenet’yinaii. Immediately behind him he heard the jeers of a few that had broken off from the column, following them and no more than fifty feet back.
He half-turned and raised Vara’s palm in their direction. “Any chance you can knock them backwards?”
“I...what?” Her eyes were unfocused, and she blinked. “Oh.” Her hand wobbled in his grasp, and then a blast of energy shot from it, sending their pursuers bouncing off walls from the force of her spell.
“Thanks,” he said, “saved me from having to stop and draw a sword.”
“Aye,” she said, sounding as though she were groggy.
How do we get out of here? His mind was racing. We’ll have to take the Olenet’yinaii out of town, southwest toward Pharesia, and hope that we get a good enough lead on the dark elven army that they don’t catch us. We have to get through this alley and onto the Entaras’iliarad before that army reaches this alley, or we’re going to be stuck in the city.
He hobbled along, Vara becoming more dead weight as they went, until finally she went limp and he was forced to lift her up and carry her cradled in his arms. Blood ran down his gauntlets from where the dagger had penetrated her side. She’ll need care. Something to stop the bleeding, and it’s doubtful a healing spell will do it. That assassin’s blades had to be covered with black lace.
He cursed himself. How could we have gotten so involved in the battle that we forgot there were still lunatics out to kill her? He let out a string of epithets. They may have succeeded. I’m going to have to carry her to the next town, over uneven roads and with the dark elven army in pursuit, and it’s unlikely they’ll be very forgiving if I surrender since I did help kill about ten thousand of them last night. His feet felt heavier with every step, though Vara was relatively light. Can I carry her to the next town? Yes, he decided. I could carry her to Reikonos if I had to. To Fertiss. Anywhere.
He burst from the alley into the light of the Entaras’iliarad and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the dark elven army was still several blocks behind them. He ran the remaining block to the Chancel square, puffing with exertion by the time he reached it. The loud whinny of a horse followed by the sound of hooves beating against the street came from behind, causing him to turn. He nearly dropped Vara, already reaching for his sword to fend off whatever was coming.
Instead, he smiled. The horse whinnied again, hooves clomping to cut the distance between them. Windrider approached from across the square, Vara’s mount following behind. “Smartest horse I’ve ever met,” he said as his steed galloped to him. He placed Vara in the saddle and she slumped forward, still unconscious. He climbed up behind her, grabbed the reins to her horse and urged Windrider forward. Vara’s horse followed behind, unburdened. We’ll need the second horse; Windrider is bound to get tired of carrying both of us. He kept an arm protectively around Vara’s waist, holding her in place in the saddle, listening to the clink of her armor hitting against his on every step.
They ran at a full gallop for quite some time. They passed out of the Chancel square and headed southwest toward Pharesia, the buildings growing smaller and smaller, from mighty row houses into two story structures, then one story buildings, until finally they became spaced out wooden hovels and then wide open fields. The horse bore them on, still riding at full tilt as the sun rose behind them.
Chapter 36
The land sloped as they headed southwest up to the crest of a hill a few miles away from the city. When they reached the top, Cyrus brought Windrider to a stop. He dismounted and looked back. Termina was laid out before him and he could see the fires still burning in Santir. He could see that Chirenya had done well; the wharf by the river was in flames, thick black smoke covering the Grand Span from the fire. The dark elven horde moved through the streets, their columns dissipated. A full fledged sack was in progress, and he tried not to think about those who had remained behind for whatever reason.
Pillars of smoke were visible above the Chancel of Life. They’re burning the Chancel, he thought, his mouth dry. Similarly, the government center had smoke coming from it, as well as a few other points throughout the city. A concentrated knot of the dark elven army seemed to be grouped around the Great Bazaar, flowing in and out of it like ants from a hill.
Cyrus reached up to Windrider and lifted Vara from the saddle with utmost care. He carried her to a patch of frosted wheatgrass and set her down, placing his hand under her head and lowering it onto the soft bed of green. Her face was whiter than usual, the flush of battle gone
from her cheeks, but her chest rose and fell under her breastplate, now dirty and spattered from the battle. Her hair was still bound and ran to the ground, her ponytail absorbing the frozen dew.
He took her pauldrons off first, removing them over her head with care, and then worked the plate gloves and vambraces from her hands and arms. Next came the breastplate, and finally he rolled up the chainmail at her side. The cloth undershirt she wore was torn above her hip and a small gash spat a thin stream of blood as he raised it. The stab wound was no more than an inch, and the blood around the edges had already begun to crust over.
I’m not a healer, Cyrus thought. I have no idea how to treat this wound other than to bandage it and hope she doesn’t bleed to death. Vara stirred, murmuring something, but did not awaken. Dammit. This is so ridiculously unfair. We finally... He shook his head. No time for self-pity. We need to ride.
He gathered up the pieces of her armor and stuffed them in the saddlebags of her horse, where he found a spare cloak and a few articles of clothing. He took a shirt and wrapped it around her waist, covering the wound before setting her back on Windrider. He climbed up behind her and urged the horse forward again.
They rode on, slowing after a few hours because of the increasing congestion on the road. Cyrus tried to bring the horse to a stop to change several times, but the white destrier ignored him. “Don’t kill yourself,” he whispered, and the horse whinnied. This is no ordinary horse, he thought for not the first time. Something is very peculiar about him. He held tight to Vara, who grew colder in his grasp. The nearest portal is three days’ hard ride. The words bounced in his mind, over and over, and he clung to them, hoping he could force time to move faster.
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 03 - Champion Page 28