It was impossible to tell which way the tide of battle was running, whether in favor of the Army of Anuire or the Gorgon’s troops. The only way the opponents could differentiate one another was by the color of their armor. Only at close distance could humans and demihumans tell one another apart.
Aedan’s ears were ringing from the sound of battle, thousands of swords smashing away, clanging like a symphony of blacksmiths pounding on their anvils. Bodies of men and riders surged back and forth, many tripping over those who’d fallen, and those wounded unfortunate enough to be unable to rise to their feet were trampled to death within moments of hitting the ground. The screams of men and beasts mingled in the air, creating a sound unlike anything Aedan had ever heard before. No battle cries could be distinguished now, only snarls and growls and hoarse-throated screams coming from both human and demihuman throats.
It sounded as if the earth were groaning.
As Aedan fought, twisting left and right and slashing out at opponents both mounted and on foot, he lost all sense of direction. But when he had a brief chance to glance around, he saw that the mountains to the north were closer now. In a flash, he realized what that meant. The Gorgon’s troops, having the advantage of fighting on their own ground, were better able to orient themselves in battle, and they were slowly pushing the Anuireans to the edge of the plain where they had met, trying to force them back against the rocky cliffs, where they could surround them. Aedan glanced up and saw black-clad archers perched up on the rocks in the distance, waiting for the Anuireans to be pushed into range of their bows.
He cried out, “Anuireans! Forward to the center!
Avoid the cliffs! Beware the archers in the rocks! Pi4sh forward!
Forward!”
The cry was taken up all around him as the men realized their danger and redoubled their efforts to push the enemy back. In the distance, toward the center of the plain, Aedan saw one of the siege towers burning. The Gorgon’s troops had separated Michael’s army from their siege engines and enveloped them. Now they were torching and toppling them, rendering them useless. Aedan pitied the souls who had been manning them, but he could spare no time to dwell on their loss. He was beset on all sides as he urged his mount forward, trying to make headway and fighting off opponents as he searched for Michael every chance he got. But it was becoming impossible to see anything clearly beyond a few dozen yards or so. The rocky and volcanic ground on which they fought was being churned up by now, and a grainy ash was floating in the air, making it appear as if they were fighting in a thick, dark fog.
Aedan cut down a mounted goblin, then quickly glanced around. They had gained some distance from the cliffs, but only a little, and it seemed as if they were being forced back once more, within range of those archers on the heights with their deadly crossbows, which could shoot with enough force to pierce right through armor plate and chain mail.
Then, suddenly, Aedan’s horse reared up with a cry as an ogre leapt upon it and fastened its teeth into his mount’s throat. Aedan almost lost his balance, but regained it and chopped down at the loathsome-looking creature, severing its spine, but blood was streaming from his horse’s throat. The ogre had severed a major blood vessel, and the poor horse was rapidly bleeding to death. In moments, Aedan would be forced to fight on foot.
He searched quickly for a mounted opponent that he could engage, in hopes of taking his mount, but there were none close by. A moment later, his horse wheezed and stumbled, then went down to its knees.
Aedan had only an instant to dismount before the animal fell over, trapping him. He swung down out of the saddle just as the horse fell over with a gargling exhalation, thrashed its legs several times, and died. Holding his sword and shield, Aedan fought on foot, pressing forward against the tide of warriors trying to push him back.
He could not see Michael. He had lost the advantage of clear visibility and, on foot, he could see only those immediately around him. He ignored the soreness in his legs as he pressed forward, but kept being pushed back by the determined fighters in black armor. He fought despite the burning in his arms and shoulders, hacking with his blade at goblins, gnolls, and mercenaries alike. His shield was badly buckled from the force of all the blows it had taken, and his helm was dented on one side from a glancing blow that struck it and slid off the plate upon his shoulder. He felt blood trickling down past his left ear and did not know how serious the wound was.
There was no time to heal it; all his efforts and attention were taken up by the task of trying to stay alive.
It seemed to him that they were losing. They were trying to fight their way back toward the center of the field, but they were slowly, inexorably being forced back against the cliffs. And then he spotted Michael.
The emperor was astride his horse, perhaps some twenty or twenty-five yards away, battling two mercenaries. And closing in upon him, moving relentlessly through the press of bodies, was Raesene.
Aedan fought like a man possessed in an attempt to reach him, but in the tangled melee, twenty yards was as good as twenty miles. He came face-to-face with a snarling gnoll brandishing a spear. As the wolflike creature lunged at him, he batted the spear aside with his sword and brought the blade up in a slashing motion across the creature’s face.
The monster howled with pain and went down, clutching its ruined travesty of a face. When Aedan next glanced up, he saw that Michael had disposed of one of the mercenaries and was fighting the other. But Raesene was moving closer. There were only about ten yards between them now, and the Gorgon was steadily cutting his way through to reach him.
“Michael!” Aedan screamed. “Michael, look out!”
But Michael couldn’t hear him.
Grunting with the effort, Aedan hacked his way through the press of bodies around him, desperately trying to reach the emperor’s side. He was perhaps fifteen yards away now, but the Gorgon was much closer.
The second mercenary fell then, his skull split by a powerful blow, and Michael spurred toward the Gorgon, each intent on reaching the other.
There were no other mounted men around them, no one to protect him.
Aedan gasped as a strong blow smashed into his shield and buckled it completely, starting a split in the top that reached almost a third of the way through it. Aedan smashed the shield into his goblin opponent, charging him behind it, and he knocked the goblin off his feet. He brought his sword up and finished him, then turned to meet an ogre who was rushing at him. The lumbering, drooling beast was carrying a huge club with
spikes in it, and Aedan knew if even one blow connected, it would finish him.
He hurled his ruined shield at the ogre, and as the brute flinched and tried to block it with its club, Aedan ran it through. Then, using both hands to swing his sword like a flail, he slashed around him in all directions as new opponents pressed in, desperately looking for a shield he could seize. He cut down several goblins and one gnoll, then came up against a human mercenary … with a shield large enough for him to wield. He smashed at the man, who took the blow upon his shield, and Aedan ludicrously hoped his blow had not been strong enough to damage it. He blocked the mercenary’s blow, taking it upon his sword, then launched a hard kick at the man’s groin. As the mercenary doubled over with a grunt, Aedan cut him down and wrenched his shield from him. Then he looked up, searching for Michael.
An instant later, he spotted him. He was locked in combat with the Gorgon, dwarfed by his opponent, and they were smashing away at one another with a fury. By the movements of his body, Aedan could see that Michael had loosed his divine wrath. His blood abilities allowed him to call upon great strength, as well, which made him an unstoppable juggernaut in battle, but the Gorgon was three times his size, massive and powerful, with a sword twice as large as his. Michael fought furiously, but Raesene was his match, and as Aedan fought to reach him, he saw that Michael was being steadily forced back by the rain of blows falling on his shield, smashing it into a twisted, buckled ruin.
Aedan c
ut down three more opponents in quick 498 succession, plunging through the throng around him. He was about ten yards away now. He glanced up and saw that Michael’s shield was gone and he was swinging his sword with both hands, trying to batter his way through the Gorgon’s guard.
Then the unthinkable happened. Before Aedan’s disbelieving eyes, the Gorgon brought his sword down in a vicious blow that Michael took upon his sword … and his sword was snapped in two. The blow continued down and cleaved him right through the shoulder, severing his arm.
“NO!” screamed Aedan as he battered his way through to reach him.
But he knew it was too late. Blood was pouring from Michael’s wound, and Raesene’s next blow struck him from his saddle. Aedan charged his way through the bodies all around him and reached Michael just as the Gorgon dismounted and raised his mighty sword for the killing blow, and the bloodtheft that would follow. In that instant, Michael struggled to his knees and reached out with his one remaining hand, placing his palm flat upon the ground. He jerked, convulsively, and bits of earth and rock erupted from the ground where he had placed his palm, grounding his powers, channeling them into the earth and denying Raesene the ultimate victory of bloodtheft.
With a howl of rage, the Gorgon brought his blade down and cut Michael in two.
Aedan went berserk. With a wild scream, he charged Raesene, slamming into him with all his might, but it was like hitting a stone wall. He bounced back and fell, shocked by the impact, and the Gorgon raised his blade to finish him. If he could not
have the satisfaction of bloodtheft from the emperor, he would take what he could get from his lord high chamberlain.
The sword came down, but Aedan rolled at the last minute. It struck the ground beside him with such force that Aedan felt the impact. He struggled to get back up, but the Gorgon was already raising his blade again for the final blow. But it never came.
There was a fierce gust of wind, and a funnel cloud came down, enveloping him and spinning him around, causing him to lose his balance.
A new sound filled the air, rising above the din of battle.
The sound of wailing horns blowing in concert mingled with the shrill, high-pitched war cry of the elves.
As in the Battle of Mount Deismaar, they had arrived to join forces with the Anuireans at the key moment of the battle, when it seemed all was lost, and they pitched into the Gorgon’s troops with a frenzy. As Raesene struggled to rise to his satyr’s legs, the funnel cloud swirled away from him toward Aedan, enveloping him, and Aedan felt the dizzy, falling sensation he had felt once before as his corporeal body faded, transmuted into wind that raised him high into the air, above the battlefield.
Gylvain!
Sylvanna would never have forgiven me if I had let you die, the elf responded.
You should have left me. Michael’s dead. The Gorgon killed him. All is lost. I should have died with him.
All is never lost, the elven mage replied. And you must live. It is on you now to assume the regency and hold the empire together. You must salvage what you can from this defeat and build anew. You must live, Aedan, for
Soo
your wife and for your children, for your friends who love you and for the people who will need you. I share your grief and sorrow and regret that we did not arrive in time.
But life goes on. It must. Even if it hurts.
Below them, on the battlefield, the Gorgon’s troops were in retreat, heading back toward the obsidian fortress. The Anuireans were still fighting them as they retreated, but they were tired and grateful to the elves, who forced the monsters back. There would be no siege, for the siege engines were destroyed. The towers, the trebuchets were in flames. At a glance, it seemed as if only half the army remained. The field was so thickly littered with bodies, it was impossible to see the ground.
It was over. The emperor was dead, and his troops had no will to fight on without him.
It does hurt, Gylvain. It hurts more than I could ever say. And I am so very weary….
Sleep, my friend. Let go of the pain now. Everything shall pass in its own time. Sleep and take your rest upon the wind….
Sol
The Eve of the Dead. The winter solstice. The longest night of the year. It was, indeed, a fitting night to mourn. Aedan Dosiere, Lord High Chamberlain of the Cerilian Empire of Anuire, sat slumped over at the table in his tower study in the Imperial Cairn. The bottle of brandy he and Gylvain had drunk stood empty, and a pleasant warmth suffused him. He raised his head and looked out the window, across the bay at the flickering lights of the city of Anuire.
It was nearly dawn, yet every window in the city was still illuminated with the glow of candles that commemorated the spirits of those who passed on.
“A dying flame. An appropriate, if rather maudlin metaphor,” Aedan muttered with a sigh. The weight of his years rested heavily upon him.
He had sured. Survived his wife, who had passed on and viv left him alone to bear the heavy burden of his responsibilities. Survived his liege lord, who had fallen all those years ago, leaving him to assume the regency and lead the people of Anuire as best he could. Survived Derwyn, who had returned from Battlewaite a cripple and had lingered on for several years before taking his own life in misery; survived Laera and Faelina and nearly everyone else he knew back then. He had survived them all and carried on, even though it hurt.
Now the flame was dying. He could no longer hold the empire together.
Truly, it had died with Michael, and over the years, one by one, the prov inces had fallen away, forming their own independent nations until there was almost nothing left of the glory that once was. The dream.
The goal he and Michael had both fought so hard to accomplish.
“Everything shall pass in its own time,” muttered Aedan drunkenly as he turned from the window.
“Yes,” Gylvain replied. “Even the pain.”
“Truly. It is little more than a dull ache now. An exhaustion that has seeped into my soul and drained me.” Aedan folded his arms on the able and rested his head upon them.
“How is Sylvanna?” he said thickly without looking up. “Is she well?”
“Yes,” said Gylvain. “She is well. And she often thinks of you. You had already asked that once before.”
“I did?” Aedan muttered sleepily. “I had forgotten. But it is good she remembers me.”
“She will not forget.”
“I am so very weary, Gylvain……
“Sleep now,” Gylvain said, rising from the table and gazing down at his old friend. Aedan’s shoulders rose and fell several times as Gylvain watched.
His breathing became more labored and heavy. Gylvain raised his arms and spun around, fading away as wind blew papers in a flurry through the chamber. Aedan Dosiere took one more labored breath and let it out in a final, long, sighing exhalation, and then he breathed no more.
The swirling funnel cloud moved over him.
Sleep, old friend, and take your rest upon the wind.
He slowly faded away into the wind that bore him out the window and across the bay, over the flickering lights of the city and heading north into the first gray light of dawn.
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