Everyone stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared in awe at the artifacts that had been placed in the center of the room. There was a suit of stunning white and silver plate armor magnificently displayed on a human bust, the same type that a tailor might use to fit a king’s clothes. The armor was a dazzling white lined with silver and the Finarthian symbol shone with brilliance on the spectacular cuirass. The helm covered the entire head of the bust, leaving slits for the nose, mouth, and eyes. Expertly carved eagle wings flared from both sides of the helmet. Everything a warrior needed was there, gauntlets, boots, greaves, shoulder guards and metal plates that protected the arms and legs. A white shield with the Finarthian symbol leaned casually against the bust. And there, resting in an ornate sheath strapped around the bust’s waist was Tihr-Alliam, King Ullis’s sword, the sword that had been created by the elves to combat Malbeck. Its two handed pommel was wrapped in white leather and the butt and cross piece was polished silver that looked very similar to the replica that King Baylin held in his hand. But it wasn’t exactly the same, since the dwarven smith who had created the replica had based his design on stories and paintings, neither of which were truly accurate descriptions of the blade.
“What now?” King Baylin asked, gazing in awe at the treasures before him.
“No one can take them but you,” Lor-telliam replied.
“Should I draw the blade?” the king asked.
“Yes, you may as well use the true power of the blade until you give it to Prince Riker, which you must,” Lor-telliam said sharply as he noticed the pained expression on King Baylin’s face. “Put the armor in here,” he said as he handed a large cloth bag to the king. The bag was big and made of a strong canvas material.
King Baylin slowly moved towards the armor and when he was close enough he reached out and gripped the pommel of the sword. Immediately everyone felt a slight pressure in the room and then, when the king drew the blade there was a bright flash, causing everyone to momentarily shield their eyes. The light, however, quickly dissipated, and they looked back at the king holding the glowing blade before him, his wide eyes reflected in its brilliance.
“You are witnessing the Light of Ela,” Lor-telliam explained. “Tihr-Allian is made from a metal that came from the stars, and within it its power resides. In your hands, King Baylin, the sword's true power can be found. Even I who helped create the blade cannot access its full Power. Only someone of Finarthian blood can unlock it.”
“I feel so energized, and more alive,” the king whispered as he gazed upon the glowing blade. No one had ever seen a light quite like it. The magic of their own weapons paled in comparison to the brilliance that emanated from Tihr-Alliam. Within moments the light disappeared and the king now held a magnificent sword with a blade as brilliant as a polished mirror.
“Put the armor in the bag and let us leave this place,” Kromm said, glancing back nervously up the stairs.
King Baylin reluctantly sheathed the sword and buckled on the belt. He then carefully placed the armor in the bag, strapped his own sword to his back, and grabbed the white shield. “Should I use the shield?”
“Yes, now let’s go,” Lor-telliam said as he hurried back up the steps.
“Kromm, take my own shield,” King Baylin said, handing his shield to the Tarsinian king as he buckled the new one to his left arm. They all hurriedly followed the elf up the stairs. King Baylin and Kromm were the last to leave the darkness of the stairwell.
Lor-telliam began to chant again, and as the rhythmic magic of his words filled the air, the statue started its slow grinding movement to cover the opening once again.
“Elf!” Allindrian yelled, “We are not alone!”
Everyone jumped into action, spreading out around Lor-telliam as he completed the spell. The elf then turned to join the Blade Singer. “What is it?” he asked.
As he spoke, a dark form cloaked in black armor stepped out from behind a pillar. It carried a black shield and a long wicked sword with a serrated edge. Crackling blue energy danced around the blade. “I am Korthanos!” the creature growled, its voice deep and grating.
As it spoke, dozens of orcs jumped upon the platform from the darkness below. They were giant beasts with massive muscular limbs, yet their heads were more human than orc. They were armed with various combinations of shields, spears, swords, maces, and war hammers. These were the Gould-Irin, the same orcs that Kromm had faced in the mountains and at Cuthaine.
Jonas looked around nervously, realizing that the orcs had completely surrounded them. The entire perimeter of the monument was lined with the powerful creatures, and they looked hungry for blood. There was at least fifty of the Gould-Irin, maybe more, as he could not see into the shadows beyond.
“Korthanos,” Lor-telliam whispered. The name would mean nothing to anyone but him. Long ago when Malbeck created the Banthras from the fallen cavaliers, Korthanos was a famous first rank warrior for Ulren. His powers and fame were renowned and he had never been bested until Malbeck captured him. He had been lured into a trap, one set by the Forsworn that even the mighty Korthanos could not evade. It was believed that it had taken Malbeck many years to crush the spirits of the imprisoned cavaliers, eventually turning them into the dark creatures known as Banthras. Every ounce of who they were had been wiped out and replaced with a core of blackness. Jonas, of all people, could empathize as he had nearly met the same fate when he was captured by Dykreel clerics. No one ever knew what had become of Korthanos…until now.
“Kill them,” the Banthra hissed, his command instantly unleashing the hoard of orcs who swarmed at them from all directions.
“Back up against the statue!” Kromm yelled. Just behind them was the giant statue. The stone dais on which it rested would offer some protection from rear attacks. It would force the orcs to attack them from three, rather than four sides.
A few handfuls of the Gould-Irin Orcs were armed with spears, which they hurled with tremendous power into their midst as the group shrank around the dais, trying desperately to form a protective perimeter, a tactic that proved virtually useless against spears as thick as child’s wrist and tipped with long barbed points.
Jonas had less than a second to respond, and he did the only thing he could think of that might save them. He used his cognivant powers to grab the particles around him, quickly forming a swirling shield of bluish energy. He didn’t have time to create a larger shield so it only covered those nearest him, which included Fil and Lor-telliam. The others were at the mercy of their skill and luck in order to avoid the deadly missiles.
Allindrian pivoted in the tiny space she had between Tolvar and Kromm, snapping her sword forward and down upon one of the flying spears, cutting the weapon in two, the pieces clattering harmlessly to the ground. Both Kromm and Baylin had lifted their shields as several heavy spears crashed into them. One spear tip punched through Kromm’s shield, narrowly missing his shoulder. The spear that struck Baylin’s magical shield dropped harmlessly to the ground. But the force of the throw hammered his arm, throwing him back a full pace.
Cade and Tolvar did their best to avoid several of the dangerous projectiles, but unfortunately they were not as lucky as their comrades. And although the Dakeen warriors had miraculously deflected several spears by expertly using the flat part of their blades, a fourth slammed into Tolvar’s chest, punching through steel, flesh and bone and vaulting the dwarf backward to crash into the dais. Normally, dwarven made Dakeen armor would stop most weapons, including spears and arrows. But this spear was twice as heavy as a normal one, and it had been thrown by a Gould-Irin Orc who was two times as strong as a man. Tolvar didn’t have a chance.
“No!” Cade screamed. But he had no time to check on his brother as the orcs were upon them in seconds, their weapons coming at them from every direction. The sheer force and strength of their numbers pressed in on them like an iron vise.
Orc bodies began to pile up as the defenders of Tihr-Allian fought with all the skill they could mus
ter, which was a considerable amount. One could live ten lifetimes and never see the culmination of skill that these warriors exhibited as they fought together against a common enemy.
Jonas’s black blades lit up along their razor edges, their blue light tracing mesmerizing arcs of color as he fought with the skill of a master swordsman. The whistling of Allindrian’s sword floated around the monument, its beautiful music interrupted only when she paused to plunge the blade into the flesh of an orc, after which the cadence of her swordplay would start again, so quickly that the human ear could barely perceive the pause before her silver blade resumed its deadly dance. Kromm and Baylin, meanwhile, were fighting side by side. Orc blades crashed into their shields, and yet they managed to hold their positions against the onslaught, their magical blades humming as they sliced easily through armor, flesh, and bone.
Fil had slipped on the blood drenched pavers and would have taken a blade to the head if Lor-telliam’s sword hadn't been there to deflect it. The elf fought with a thousand years of experience, and his long sword and blade tipped staff seemed to be an extension of his arms. Fil scrambled to his feet, regaining his footing and jabbing his blade into the kneecap of the attacking orc, striking the beast’s bone and slicing through flesh and tendons. Lor-telliam’s magical blue blade sliced through the beast’s throat while his silver sword parried another blade while thrusting into a second orc nearly simultaneously. But still the enemy came, and there seemed to be no end to the roaring creatures.
Cade had lost track of time. He fought on, energized by pure rage, the image of the orc spear hitting his brother flashing in his mind and fueling every swing of his mighty axe. His arms bulged with the effort of his powerful swings as he sliced through limbs and necks. He roared savagely as orc blood splashed across his body. Several orc blades had struck him when two or three had attacked at once. But the weapons had only grazed him and the wounds were minor compared to the hole that had been torn in his heart.
Baylin, wielding Tihr-Alliam, had never looked so magnificent. The sword, lit with the Light of Ela, the very essence of the energy that made the world, lit up the area like the brightest cavalier light. Each swing of the blade cut through anything that it met; swords fell in pieces, chests were cleaved in two. Nothing stood in his way and the total destruction that the sword caused left the ground and the king drenched in orc blood. A spear had managed to strike him from behind, its long point slicing across his bicep. He felt an instant flush of heat and then the pain was gone. The wound closed as the sword infused the king with its healing energy. Baylin roared almost ecstatically, lashing out at the enemy and fighting with what seemed to be boundless energy. Never had he imagined a weapon could be so magnificent. Never had he felt so utterly alive.
But the little group, despite their skill and momentary victories, were fighting a losing battle. They had fought all day against impossible odds, and the physical exertion and stress were taking a toll on their bodies. They were operating on little sleep and insufficient food. Even the mighty Kromm was beginning to feel the effects of the constant strain. Yet still the orcs came and the Banthra had yet to enter its sword in the fight. It was not looking good.
“We cannot keep this up!” Kromm yelled over the battle.
Then Fil went down. One orc had grabbed his shield while a second brought a wicked war hammer down on his exposed arm. Bones shattered and Fil nearly passed out from the pain. The power of the strike had sent him sprawling backwards, while everyone shuffled to fill the gap so they would not be separated and overrun.
“Fil!” Jonas screamed as he fought frantically to evade attack after attack.
“I’m okay!” Fil said through gritted teeth. The pain was obvious in his voice but it sounded like he would live.
It was then that they heard a loud roaring howl penetrate the din of battle, and there, directly in front of Jonas, appeared Tulari’s huge form as it came crashing into the orcs from behind, scattering them with teeth and claw. She was so large and so powerful that she was able to literally toss the huge creatures left and right as her massive claws slashed back and forth. Before the orcs knew what had hit them she had fought her way through the enemy, and skidded next to Jonas, powerful jaws snapping into any orc who got too close. She was so quick and her claws so deadly that she could flick her paw, snag an orc, and yank the poor creature towards her in a mere instant, then rip it apart with tooth and claw. Jonas noticed that some of her thick coat had been badly burnt, exposing her bare skin, blackened and red from the Banthra’s magic, but she moved as if the wounds didn’t bother her.
“I have a plan!” the Ekahal shouted over the fighting. “We need to get back below!”
“But we’ll be trapped!” Jonas yelled.
“Trust me,” he responded.
“See to it!” Kromm yelled as he smashed his shield into the face of an orc who had tried to jump in and grab it. The beast’s face snapped back and the beast collapsed into the throng of enemies.
“Go ahead, Elf, I’ll fill the gap!” Cade yelled.
Lor-telliam jumped back and the Dakeen warrior expertly leaped into the gap created by his quick departure. The others shifted, purposefully trying to create space to fight but also not to leave any weak points for the enemy to penetrate.
Jonas heard the Ekahal chanting behind him, followed by the familiar scraping of stone on stone as the statue slid sideways. There was some shuffling behind them and he assumed that Lor-telliam had taken Fil, who was injured and incapable of fighting, and maybe even Tolvar’s body, but he could not say for sure as he didn’t dare take his eyes off his attackers.
A sword flew down towards him and he knew he couldn’t get his left blade back into position in time. So he threw up a small cognivant wall and the sword crashed into it harmlessly. Jonas, suddenly overcome with anger, growled and used his power like a battering ram, mentally expanding the wall and hurling it forward, slamming into four orcs with the power of a dragon’s breath. They flew backwards into their comrades and fell to the stones in a tangle of steel and limbs. The rhythmic pounding of his head reminded him that he had to use that power sparingly.
As more rushed at him he wearily brought his swords up to the ready with arms beginning to burn with fatigue. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, he thought as he clumsily parried several strikes.
“Retreat back down the stairs! One at a time!” Lor-telliam yelled from the bottom of the stairs behind them.
“Jonas, go!” Kromm yelled.
Go, I cover, Tulari spoke in his mind when she saw Jonas glance at her. He cringed, not wanting to leave her by herself, but he reasoned that she could run if she had to. There was no way any of the orcs could catch her. So Jonas dispatched a huge orc in front of him, spun on his heal, and raced backwards down the dusty stairs. With a violent growl Tulari shuffled into the space, one powerful claw flashing out and catching an orc in the shoulder as it tried to follow Jonas. The orc’s flesh ripped like paper and the beast flew backwards, crashing into several more orcs.
“Baylin, your turn!” Kromm yelled as he swung his massive sword in increasingly wider arcs, covering more space and killing anything that got near.
Baylin knew that it would be futile to argue with the king. He didn’t want to stop fighting but he also knew the importance of the blade and he would not see it fall into enemy hands, not after what they had all gone through to get it. The Finarthian king swung the magical blade in a great arc at a near enemy and then jumped backwards and down the stairs.
Suddenly, great walls of orange fire erupted on both sides of the remaining fighters. Tulari, Allindrian, Kromm, and Cade were pushed closer together as the walls of flame covered their flanks. The flames, reaching twice the height of King Kromm, looked to be impenetrable. At least ten orcs were instantly consumed by the magical flames that erupted from the ground near where they stood, leaving nothing but smoldering piles of ash.
Kromm laughed maniacally as more orcs fell to his sword. Yet stil
l they came at them, futilely trying to break through the wall of steel and determination that the defenders had created. “I’m beginning to like wizards!” Kromm roared over the fighting. Bodies were stacking up left and right and the attacking orcs were forced to drag some of their comrades away so they wouldn’t stumble over the bodies as they moved forward. The defenders were slowly being pushed backwards almost to the opening of the steps, but the fire walls had created a smaller gap, so now only four or five orcs could attack at a time. The Ekahal had bought them more time by creating a funnel that had only one opening through which they could attack, an opening that was guarded by the greatest warriors in Kraawn.
“Allindrian, move!” Kromm yelled.
The nimble ranger was so fast that she was down the stairs before he had finished speaking. Cade and Kromm spread their legs wider, now blocking half of the opening. Tulari’s huge bulk covered the rest. Kromm glanced at the blood drenched dwarf. The Dakeen warrior spit blood from his mouth and smiled back. Each warrior planted their powerful legs and stood their ground, and as the orcs pressed forward they encountered their steel. Nothing and no one could move them. It was as if their legs had been rooted to the ground. Each had suffered a half dozen wounds, cuts from which their blood flowed freely, mixing with that of their enemies. But still they fought on.
“Your turn, Dwarf!” Kromm growled as a hammer smashed into his shield.
“Stayin here, King! You go!” Cade answered back. He now fought with a hand axe in his right hand and his huge doubled bladed battle axe in his left. It was amazing that someone who had been fighting as long as he had with no rest could even wield a weapon that size with one hand, but he single handedly swung it back and forth with practiced ease.
Kromm glanced again at the dwarf and knew that he would not win this argument. The dwarf was determined to keep fighting. His brother was probably dead and maybe he figured he’d join him at Moredin’s Hall. But the burning in his eyes and his determined stance canceled any rebuttal from the Tarsinian king.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow Page 28