From the throngs to her back, Mau reached out with annoyance. What's the big idea, sticking me all the way back here? It's a real waste, leaving me out of the action. I should be at the front lines!
Both Mau and her father had been ordered to take position behind the dragons, and to act as support for the masses of lesser-trained conscripts filling out the bulk of the army. Though Minx understood—and even sympathized with—the Faelyr's frustration, she ultimately agreed with the First's orders. How is my father holding up? she asked. Is he actually in his right mind, keeping steady? I still can't believe he's up and walking around like his old self...
Valdar's recovery had been nothing short of incredible. The once-senile Fae was now fully-armored and marching alongside the others, ready to do battle. Oh, he's all right, was Mau's reply. Should have given him some of that water from Gloirs' spring much sooner. It really fixed him up!
It heartened her to hear it. Well, that's why it's so important that you stay right where you are, Mau, rather than jumping to the front lines. You have to protect him, just in case he's in over his head. And the others, too... I know it'll be difficult in the heat of battle, but try your best to defend the new conscripts. They don't have much experience in battle.
Yeah, yeah, spat the Faelyr. If anyone tries to hurt so much as a hair on their heads, I'll take 'em out. Don't worry about it.
The borderline was coming into view. Thinning shields, whittled away continuously by dark magic, were on the verge of giving out completely. Threads of magical energy hung limply from the tattered barriers, snipped one at a time by meticulous Krah spell-casters. Somewhere beyond them, Torrent himself was likely exerting his magical influence upon the shields as well. The First surveyed the damage with a spyglass, wincing. “The shields are nearly down. They're relentless. I don't believe we'll be able to repair them—not without another ritual.” He turned to Kaleb as he marched, adding, “I don't suppose one of your fellows back there would be willing to spare a fresh dragon's hide for the cause, would he?”
Kaleb blanched. “What, another one?”
“I'm kidding,” said the First with a chuckle. “We've spent far too much time hiding behind shields as it is. Instead, we need to engage with the enemy directly. It's a shame to see the barriers in this state, however—especially after all you gave to make them.”
“I suppose if we do our job right, we won't need shields any longer,” replied Kaleb, grinning.
The army proceeded to march toward the thinning barrier, the First's sights set on the expanse beyond, where Torrent's forces were known to lurk. The exact positions of Torrent's battalions were unknown; though the dragons had spied large groups of dark warriors on their way to Pan, the positions of said forces had almost certainly shifted in the interim, and the enemy's true numbers remained a mystery.
Drawing near to the barrier, the masses fell silent. The moment they set foot beyond the protective boundary, they would be at risk of attack. Minx and Kaleb, having struggled against this enemy a long while, knew just how devastating Torrent's forces could be, and the Fae huntress felt a surge of anxiety as they began passing through the shields to the unprotected lands. This is it. We're out in the open now. Torrent may show his face at any time and these untrained soldiers of ours will encounter a threat unlike anything they've ever seen. Will we be able to handle it?
Kaleb followed the First out of the protected territories with something of a spring in his step; his sword held tightly in his fist, he looked poised to use it, and began combing the distance at once for a target to break it in with. “All right,” he uttered as the troops began passing into contested lands. “We're in the thick of it now. Who wants to taste this blade of mine first?”
They didn't have to search for long; scattered in the distance were a number of warriors, many of them Krah spell-casters, who immediately took off running at sight of the organized Fae legion. Minx nocked a preemptive arrow, but the handfuls of enemies lingering just beyond the shields retreated too hastily for her to take a shot.
“They're going to report to their superiors,” said the First, skimming the horizon narrowly. “Our force is large enough to draw attention. Don't be surprised if we encounter significant resistance within the hour.”
The contested parts of Pandling Grounds were, in a word, ruined. For many of the Fae, who'd fled these areas in recent days and had not witnessed the full extent of the damages, the sight was a devastating one. The land was unrecognizable; every familiar structure had been torn down and the grounds themselves—once lush and well-kept—had been trodden into oblivion. Longstanding trees had been hacked down by the invaders and used as kindling for poorly-managed fires. Tents, carrion and other unpleasantries had been abandoned by the nomadic warriors and blighted the landscape as far as the eye could see.
The First, despite recent involvement in the war effort, was visibly incensed by this destruction and marched on at a furious clip, a hand fixed upon the hilt of his sword. Disgusted mutterings from the Fae conscripts began to fill the air, and even the dragons began remarking that the damages of the war looked far worse on the ground than they had from the air.
This is what all of Aleio is going to look like if we lose today, realized Minx. Winterlimb, Heilo Lake, Gloirs Mountain... all of them will be flattened, destroyed. Nothing will remain except for destruction.
Up ahead, clustered within a mass of canvas tents, Minx noticed several archers in black cloaks. Some of the fleeing Krah had seemingly run to this camp, alerting the warriors within of the incoming Fae. Something about the hooded archers set Minx on edge; she felt as though she'd seen them before, and their seeming willingness to engage with the much larger Fae legion was more than a little concerning.
“They're not fleeing,” began the First, nodding toward the camp. “There can't be more than twenty or thirty men stationed in a camp that size. Surely they'll retreat at any moment. They can't possibly hope to take on a force of our size... can they?”
Kaleb accepted the challenge and picked up the pace. “They must be real hotshots if they think they can take all of us on. But I suppose the fight has to start somewhere. What say we send the dragons in? Just one of them can fly over there, drop a fire blast and destroy the entire encampment in a single pass. Then we'll march on. Sound good?”
The First considered this course carefully before signing off. “Yes, better to strike hard and fast. The fewer our casualties early in the day, the more muscle we'll have at our disposal when the fighting really begins.” He turned, singling out one of the dragons. “You, I have a favor to ask. Would it be possible for you to shift and attack this camp just ahead? If you destroy the camp and send the warriors stationed there into disarray, it'll make things easier for us. There only appear to be archers stationed there, and a few Krah. What say you?”
The dragon, a young man with bright green eyes and a mop of messy red hair, bobbed his head in agreement. “You want me to drop in with some fireworks? Sure thing.” Stepping away from the larger force, the young dragon shifted, becoming at once a towering and frightful creature. Glittering scales of molten orange covered his titanic form, and his long tail was coated in jagged spikes the color of embers. His piercing green eyes stared out from within a blunt, scaly face, studying the mass of tents and archers. His large nostrils flared, emitting streams of gray smoke, and with a gentle leap he took to the air, gliding some ten or twenty feet over the ground.
The Fae onlookers gasped at the sudden transformation and many of them reeled as the immense thing took to the air. All eyes were set upon the shifter as he sailed toward the enemy encampment, a trail of smoke following in his wake. They watched as his long neck hitched and his fang-filled maw tensed in anticipation of the forthcoming fire blast.
But he wasn't the only one on the move.
Minx spied a burst of sudden movement from within the camp. A tall, hooded figure clad in dark furs burst from one of the tents, armed with a large bow and an arrow already nocked
in it. With nary a pause, he stood bolt upright at the center of the encampment, took aim, and sent his arrow flying at the incoming dragon.
You can't take down a dragon with an arrow, thought Minx. He's out of his mind!
The arrow, however, found its mark. With a sharp roar, the shifter jerked at being struck and nearly fell out of the air. It was only by a sudden ascent that he avoided crashing into the tents, and a fresh flurry of arrows followed him as he swerved away from the camp. The archer who'd struck him loaded a second shot and lowered his hood, baring his face for all to see.
To Minx's horror, she recognized him.
Tugging on Kaleb's arm, she drew near to him and pointed at the ominous figure stationed within the camp. “Kaleb, that's... that's the hunter!”
“What?” Kaleb strode past the First, fixing his gaze on the far-off archer. “Are you sure?”
The hunter, with his black, tangled hair fluttering in the wind and half of his face obscured by a mask of sun-bleached bone, was presently standing amidst a circle of what appeared to be dark Fae. They'd had had the misfortune of meeting this particular character in battle numerous times; he was a savage fighter, armed with an assortment of weapons and possessing a mastery of them all. Though taking down a dragon with a bow was an almost impossible task, if there was anyone out there who could do it, then it was the mysterious hunter.
Minx began sprinting toward the camp without being ordered to. Nocking an arrow of her own, she raised her bow and let her shot fly. The arrow arced across the field and barreled straight at the hunter from above. Sensing the projectile in his periphery, the hunter stepped quickly to the side, avoiding it, and then set his sights on Minx. Without hesitation, he sent his second arrow speeding toward her with a gentle tug of his bowstring.
Minx dove to the ground, avoiding the shot, and found herself in the crosshairs of several Zuscha archers clustered between the tents. Their arrows, so often poisoned, escaped the encampment in unruly swarms, and as Minx continued her sprint across the plain she narrowly avoided being pierced by several. Even a glancing wound from one of their arrows could mean death; she would have to navigate the camp with the utmost caution.
The hunter, recognizing her from across the way, began to chuckle. “Well, if it isn't you again. Just can't stay away, can you?”
Minx answered him with a furious shot from her bow. The arrow went long by several inches, and the hunter watched it pass over his shoulder without flinching. From all around her, the shuffling’s of the plotting Zuscha could be heard. She was outnumbered many times over. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...
From up above, there came a jet of white-hot fire. It surged down upon the camp from the clouds, reducing the tents to cinders on contact and striking the punished land with such force that the ground trembled. Waves of dizzying heat emanated from the molten spray, leaving all in the vicinity running for cover.
The orange dragon, previously wounded, had not abandoned his mission after all. Having taken a brief trip into the clouds, he was now rushing back to the scene of the battle, lobbing a succession of blinding fire blasts. His brilliant scales glittered in the sun and his jagged tail swayed back and forth like a scorpion's. The hunter's shot had been remarkably well-placed, striking him between two bony plates, but it had not been the hoped-for killing blow. Instead, it had served to enrage him.
Both Minx and the hunter had no choice but to put their grudge match on hold. They hurried away from the fire, barely avoiding the scalding spray from above. The hunter sought to line up another shot, but the blinding light of the dragon's fire blasts interfered with his aim. The next arrow went wide, and he didn't have time to draw another from his packed quiver before he had to dodge a punishing wave of flame. The impact of the blast left him unsteady, and one of the furs he wore caught fire when it brushed against a burning tent. He tore it away and fell back several paces, combing the encampment for signs of Minx.
The Fae huntress hadn't been idle; falling back to the edges of the camp, she nocked a fresh arrow and stood behind a burning tent, watching as the Zuscha abandoned the site wholesale. The dozen or so dark archers went running from the burning camp, only to be intercepted several yards away by a handful of dragons—Gidiam among them. The dragons met the Zuscha with terrifying force, striking them down where they stood or flinging them back into the smoldering encampment.
Now clearly outnumbered and overpowered, the hunter began weighing the possibility of his own exit. He darted behind the remaining tents, attempting to remain out of view, but could not altogether hide from the orange dragon still soaring overhead.
That was when Minx made her move.
Rushing across the camp with an arrow pinched tightly between her fingers, the Fae huntress leapt through the flames, strode past the smoldering tents and trained her bow on the hunter. He'd been hurrying off in the direction of Heilo Lake, possibly intending to regroup with other forces. At Minx's shout, he halted, bow still locked in his fist, and glanced at her narrowly.
She immediately launched an arrow his way. The hunter shifted to the right, avoiding the shot, and then abandoned his bow in favor of a stout sword he'd been wearing on his waist. Like an animal, the hunter galloped toward her, his sandaled feet kicking up dust and his sharp, ivory teeth bared.
Minx yanked a fresh arrow from her quiver and successfully evaded the barbarian's initial thrust. The wide blade cut through the air audibly, and would have split her in two had it connected. With a bit of careful footwork, Minx had managed to creep just out of his range, and to load her bow.
“It's too late,” spat the hunter, raising the sword in both hands. “You can't win, not anymore. He's too powerful.” He loosed a terrible shout, leveling the sword on her and swinging downward.
Minx jumped back, watching as the blade struck the earth and sent up a spray of soil. From above, the shadow of the rampaging dragon momentarily blotted out the sunlight, and a fresh wave of heat washed over her from his most recent fire blast. The ground shook as the column of blistering flame connected with the remaining tents. “I don't care how strong he is, we aren't going to give up.” With a quick jab of her boot, she knocked aside the tip of the hunter's sword, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. Then, setting a fresh arrow, she took aim at his center of mass. “But if you're smart, you will.”
The furious hunter bristled at being backed into a corner, and immediately reached beneath his furs for a new weapon. Pulling a small blade from a sheath strapped to his chest, he lurched toward her and went in for the kill.
He wasn't fast enough, though.
Minx let the arrow fly, striking him in the abdomen with such force that he was knocked off his feet. The arrow pierced his leather armor cleanly, and made its home just above the navel. “You should have surrendered,” she uttered. “I would have let you live.”
On all fours, the hunter sneered. He took hold of the arrow and pulled it out of himself, casting it aside. Then, with an explosive thrust of the legs, he lashed out at her a second time, swinging his dagger in a wide arc. “You think you've beaten me? I'm only getting started!” he barked.
Minx fell back, attempted to avoid the blade, but took a glancing blow to the forearm as she sought to protect herself. The wound, though not particularly deep, stung terribly—doubly so as she reached for a new arrow. She attempted to hit him a second time, but to her surprise the hunter's speed had seemingly increased, and without warning he sheared off the tip of the new arrow with his dagger. His eyes, wide and bulging, had gone all white, and spittle erupted from his mouth in a fury of shouts. He was like a man possessed by the spirit of war; berserk.
She had a problem. Once, after having been taken captive by Alla and led to the hunter's hillside camp, Minx had clashed with him in this agitated state, barely keeping her head as he'd lashed out with every weapon in his arsenal. It had only been with help from Mau and Kaleb that she'd survived. Now, she was on her own—and the raging hunter, veins pulsing in his arms, i
ntended to settle their rivalry once and for all.
The Fae huntress took a swing at him with the edge of her bow, meeting his hand mid-thrust. The dagger he'd been waving was knocked to the ground, but to her surprise he forewent weapons altogether and attempted to destroy her with his bare hands. A meaty fist came swinging at her, and she was so dumbfounded at his display of fury that she nearly took it across the chin. Ducking with a yelp, Minx loaded a new arrow and staggered several paces back, launching it into him before he could close the gap and wrap his hands around her throat. The shot sank into his left arm, just below the elbow, but upon wrenching it from his flesh he started once again into a frightful assault.
She could have emptied her entire quiver into the man without effect; he was driven by rage, impervious to wounds that would have felled lesser specimens. The Fae huntress fell back further, nearly cowed into a full retreat, but decided to hold her ground and attempt another volley. She selected not a normal arrow, but one of the newly-forged ones, its tip glittering in the spreading firelight. Let's see how he likes this...
At his next rush, Minx shifted to the left and sent forth the glittering arrow, catching the rampaging hunter in the right shoulder.
This time, the effect of the shot was profound.
The rage and light disappeared from his eyes at once and he collapsed onto his knees with a bestial yowl. Wrapping both of his meaty hands around the shaft of the arrow, he tugged at it in a panic. He removed it by small degrees, the wound proving deep, and fell onto his haunches with a shudder.
How to Bond a Mage (Heir of Dragons Book 3) Page 15