“That son of a bitch needs to be taken care of,” she heard from over her shoulder and was surprised to see Pendoran standing by her side, fighting off another bugbear as it lunged for them. “Want to flip a coin to see who goes first?” he asked as he dispatched his opponent and started moving towards the nearby beast.
She smirked; he had spunk. “That wouldn’t be fair, don’t elves use double-headed coins?”
Pendoran winked at her, then decapitated another goblin as he brought his shield up and deflected a flail aimed at his head. “Galahallt, pull the men back! You bloody idiots, don’t make it easy for him!”
She dispatched his attacker and found that they were now within range of the giant hammer arcing their way. She ducked, then dove forward, running straight for the ogre’s legs.
“I’m right here! How’d you miss me?” Pendoran taunted, moving to the right and drawing the ogre’s attention away from her as she dodged another mace, deflected an arrow strike with her shield, and came within range of the massive creature’s right leg.
She sliced cleanly into the exposed flesh, as the beast was merely wearing rags, and a howl erupted from above her. She grinned with delight as she cut through the tendons holding the beast up and felt the hovering monster begin to stumble forward. Then her grin faded instantly as something unforeseen happened; making her soul cringe with despair. Unable to do anything to stop it, she was forced to watch as a winged goblin dove towards Pendoran, distracting him as the raised hammer came down and slammed into his chest.
Blood erupted from the elven knight’s mouth as his armor caved in, and he fell backwards into the men behind him. A nymph dispatched the hovering goblin as it reached for Pendoran’s body and the ogre impacted the ground at the exact same moment.
“Pendoran! Knights of the Realm, protect your Commander!” she heard a woman call out.
An answering cry went up from the knights around them as they surged towards the fallen warrior, swords arcing down and finishing the ogre off before he even had time to lift his head. The knight’s arms were gripped on either side and he was pulled from combat. It didn’t matter, she had seen the look in his eyes and knew that he was already gone. He had given his life to give her a shot at taking the ogre out and she momentarily mourned his loss. He was a good fighter, a great leader, and the elves had taken a hard blow losing him so early.
Grinding her teeth, she turned and saw another boulder orc moving her way. Raising her sword, she stepped forward to meet him.
Chapter 27
Mother & Daughter
I
Kore was cleaving his way through a line of goblins, his kin at his side, the Horsemen of Alamar strafing the lines and trying to flank the enemy. He had yet to see an orc in the advancing army. Maybe they were being held back out of fear of what might happen when the two forces met in the field. The sight of free orcs fighting on the side of the elves must have given the enemy commanders pause; they probably feared losing more of their army, of which orcs made a large portion.
Druids moved amongst them, warily avoiding the berserker fighting-style of the orcs, working to battle the troglodyte spellcasters. He was constantly having to dodge magical bursts of energy being flung his way while dealing with the goblins trying to hack at his thighs. He reached down and grabbed one by the neck and flung it to the right, Grackthor’s greataxe arcing down at just the right second and cleaving the creature in two.
A halberd flashed by and he turned, working his tusks, his brow drawing together. A jackyl had been dismounted and had chosen to focus its attention on him. Leather armored, a helm barely covering its head, the nostrils on the long snout flared as it swung the halberd back and made to swing again.
He drew himself back into a crouch, then leapt into the air with his axe held high. Goblins surged forward in an effort to block his path, but his countrymen hacked into them, leaving Kore free to bring his greataxe down and bury it in the neck of the enemy. He landed with a loud crunch, his sabatons digging into the earth, his great forearms flexing as he yanked his axe free and kicked the newly-made corpse with a swift motion.
A flail nailed him in the side. He reached down, grasped the chain, and pulled the stunned goblin closer, then punched the creature in the face. The flail dropped as an orc brought a greatsword down; impaling the squealing goblin in place. His red eyes met those of his kin, then he turned to see what was next.
The enemy had withdrawn in a half circle in front of them and his eyes widened, trying to figure out what was happening. Then horns appeared and a large figure strode into view. He was wearing brown chainmail, had a long black cloak, and was holding a large lance with his left hand. The minotaur’s eyes burned with hunger and he noticed how quickly the goblin horde was backing up to gain distance on the creature; as if afraid to even be close to it.
Coming to a stop, the Horseman glared at the renegade orcs, threw back his shoulders, raised his snout, and roared a challenge in their direction, one hand beating his chest for effect.
Xutag let out a bellow from the left and before Kore could stop him, was charging across the open area towards the awaiting minotaur. The Horseman’s lance whipped around and Xutag blocked with his right forearm, then brought his sword down. Famine’s wrist shot up, caught Xutag’s sword arm, and pulled him close. The minotaur’s snout bent towards the furious orc and the Horseman took one long breath in.
As Kore watched, the body of his countrymen began to shrivel in upon itself, the armor becoming loose, his limbs hanging limp at his side, the life leaving the orc warrior’s body with every second of the Horseman’s intake of breath. Famine’s eyes hungrily watched the rest of them take in the death of their comrade, then thrust his arm forward, flinging the dead orc at their feet; waiting to see who would be next.
“Grackthor fight,” his companion stated on his right and he turned to look at the worried orc. It was obvious the Horseman had given the orc warriors’ pause and throughout the immediate area, the battle had ceased in anticipation of what would happen next. Grackthor was fingering his two hand axes as he looked to Kore for approval.
He shook his head. “Mage make spell, protect Kore. Kore fight,” he told his brother-in-arms. Merlin had met with the orc earlier that morning, having seen that this battle was going to take place and wanting to help prepare him for it. The orc never really believed in fate, but what did it hurt to let the magician do what he needed if it made him feel better? He had no idea what it was about, what Merlin had done, but he had trusted the man this far, owed him his life; there was no reason not to believe in him now.
Grackthor reached out and clapped Kore on the shoulder. “Daɪ̯, wel ˈbɹʌð.ə.”
He nodded, then stepped into the makeshift arena, adjusting his armor with his fingers and hefting his greataxe on his shoulder. “Famine want fight, Kore give fight.”
II
Pendoran had been killed in combat and Tar Reiz was working his way forward to rally the men. The lines were starting to show wear, the constant barrage from the enemy tiring them out. He issued orders for fresh men to be sent to the front and give those in combat a chance to catch their breath. Neither side was making progress, one side skilled in battle, the other using their numbers to balance it out. It was a push and pull, one step forward, one back. The corpses were beginning to pile up and he would soon have to decide if they needed to find a way to retreat behind the wall and give his men time to recover. A lot of lives would be lost if he did so, and he wasn’t sure he could live with that. Still, if he waited too long he might not have an army left to evacuate.
The humans to the south seemed to be pulling their own weight as they held the southern flanks firmly in place, not allowing the advancing horde purchase, but also not gaining any ground either. And the fighting had come almost to a halt on the northern end of the field. He hadn’t had a chance to find out what was going on yet, but he was sure that whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He ordered a sprite to go find out what was happening
and turned his focus back to the men fighting below.
Death had finally decided to join the battle and was flying directly for the vanguard of his army. His heart shifted into high gear and he called for Kallen to return him to the ground below. The gargoyle landed in the middle of one of his formations, the scythe swinging in an arc and every living soul in range simply fell over dead. Unfortunately for the enemy, that included their fighters as well and a perfect oval had formed where no one would dare stand or go through. The Horseman started to make his way forward, eyes intent on the drawbridge and the army in-between; he knew that the time had come to join the battle.
Leaping from the back of his griffin, he motioned for a nearby archer to approach, then turned to Kallen. “Take him in my place, try to get some arrows into that thing!” he requested of the magnificent beast, eyes looking at the approaching Horseman in the distance.
“I’ll do what I can, good luck Elf King,” Kallen returned, then was airborne the instant the other elf was saddled and ready, his mighty wings pumping furiously to get them back into the air.
He watched for a moment, then turned to the stunned and frozen men around him. He felt two similar landings to his rear and watched as Serix and Merlin dismounted and came to his side. He nodded at them, then smiled grimly. “Death awaits us,” he muttered, cracking his neck and making a last adjustment to one of his greaves.
“Then let’s not keep him waiting,” Serix responded with a grim smile.
The three of them began making their way towards the advancing Horseman and whatever fate awaited them.
III
Tristan drove both swords into the hindquarters of the red dragon, piercing flesh. Purity flared to life the instant it made contact, the smell of searing skin rising upon the wind. His hands gripped the pommels of his swords as hard as they could in an effort to hang on to the screaming dragon as it tried to buck him free. He had nailed the dragon by the right rear leg and the howl of anguish emitting out of the beast was bittersweet. The dragon was trying to throw him off, but he held on and slowly started to pull the swords backwards, cutting further in.
Clint was cursing at him from his saddle, but the words were lost on the wind.
He just smirked back and gave the swords a twist. The dragon bucked in response and he almost lost his grip. Hanging onto Justice as tightly as possible, he slid Purity free, used his legs to walk along the dragon’s rear, and swung his sword down on the red’s right wing; severing it completely. Then, with a quick salute to Clint with his sword, he pulled Justice free, and leapt backwards into the storm.
It had only taken a few seconds, but the damage was done. The red dragon was falling from the sky, barreling out of control, its rider hanging on as he was thrown about. If Tristan was lucky, Clint would be thrown free and die on impact; kind of like what he was about to do.
His armor may be lighter than any other knight’s, but it was still heavy enough to drag him down hard as he picked up speed and barreled towards the army below. His eyes scanned for the silver dragon that was supposed to be there to catch him and felt a tinge of fear when he realized Wyrddlin was nowhere in sight. This plan had hinged on being caught, where the hell was he? As the ground rushed towards him, he cursed himself for his idiocy and sent a prayer of love to his wife in the fortress below.
He closed his eyes and prepared to meet his end; hopefully it’d be a quick one.
Talons gripped his waist and he was pulled upwards a mere thirty yards from the battle below. The momentum wasn’t enough to gain altitude right away and he opened his eyes and watched as he skimmed the top of the enemy army. Orcs tried to hack at him with their pikes, his body barely out of reach. Slowly, they began to level off and he let out a quick sigh of relief. He saw brown fur, white feathers, and a dark pair of boots gripped in the stirrups.
Silently, he thanked whoever it was for saving his life.
Arrows were being fired their way, the wind knocking some of them off course, the rain affecting most of the rest. Unfortunately, a few found their mark and he felt the jerk of the beast overhead. They started to lose altitude and he was forced to reach up and cover his face as the griffin glided into the grasslands just shy of the northern army’s position. They weren’t in the middle of the battle, but they weren’t that far off either. He was quite sure they were already being chased down by the opposing force so they could be finished off, but there was nothing he could do about it as they impacted the earth and he lost consciousness; his vision fading to black.
IV
Willow was standing before the palace where tents had been erected for the commanders of the fortresses’ defenses. Amysta was busy talking to aides; barely pausing for breath as she barked orders to the runners constantly flying in. Riska was standing off to one side, eyes looking wistfully at the western horizon and the battle raging on without him.
She could sympathize. Almost her entire family was out there, and she was at home, grounded; with a babysitter to boot.
“You should go, no point in you being here. There are plenty of soldiers around to protect me should things get this far—and let’s be honest, if they do, we’re fucked anyways,” she told the dwarf, kicking at the cobblestone with her foot and trying to not look worried. “Won’t matter whose exiled or not when we’re all just a bunch of corpses lying about.”
The warrior gave a loud belly laugh, drawing a few curious glances from aides rushing past. “Lassie, ye gonna kiss yer bairn wi' 'at gob?”
She had to giggle, despite the nerves firing; sometimes you just had to laugh to relieve stress. “I haven’t told him, but you should hear Tristan in his sleep. Cusses like a drunk getting kicked out of tavern.”
He cocked his head and looked at her. “An' whit is a lass loch ye daein' in a tavern?”
Shaking her head, she looked at him squarely. “Just because I’m a princess doesn’t mean I can’t drink the likes of you under the table. If you had to hear what I have to at court all day, you’d drink yourself to sleep every night as well.”
He sighed, then frowned deeply.
Shit, she had briefly forgotten that he was exiled from home and he was the King of Branhams’s first cousin. “My bad, sorry.”
“Nae, ye’re reit lass, Ah shoods be it thaur fightin' alongside mah coontrymen, nae kickin' it back haur while guid men ur dyin'. Still, it wasn’t a lecht request yer guidman gart an' Ah shoods be honored 'at he speart—,” he trailed off, looking west.
“Go, I can take care of myself,” she persuaded, not wanting to be the reason the eager warrior had to remain behind.
“I’m sure ye can, but Ah gart an oath,” he told her firmly.
“Aww, how sweet,” came a slithery voice from behind them.
She gave a start, not realizing that anyone had been back there, much less someone with a voice like that. Upon turning, she saw a large chimera straining it’s three heads against the storm raging around it, as well as a black and green armored figure standing not more than ten feet away, cloak whipping with the chaotic wind surging past.
“Makk aln ha'ak!” Riska cursed, bringing his axe up and moving between the two women.
“What’s going on? Who’s this?” she heard Amysta ask, as the elf turned to gaze at the newcomer staring into their tent. “Guards!”
The female warrior stepped towards them, the rain pelting her hard, her cloak dragging along the ground as the cloth became to soaked to move with another gust of the storm. “Oh, Mother, is that how you greet your long-lost daughter? Why not embrace me instead?” a sickly voice croaked, giving her the chills.
“Lass, don’t come onie closer ur I’ll cleae yer heed frae yer shoolders,” the dwarven warrior warned, getting ready to follow through should the woman not take heed.
“Bella?” Amysta suddenly interrupted, coming to stand by Willow’s side and giving the armored woman a good look. Her eyes widened as if not believing what she was seeing; rooted in place with shock. Surely Erik had told her what he’d seen
on the grasslands the night before, had warned her what had been done to their daughter.
She threw her arm out and slammed it into the Queen’s stomach as the elf next to her began to move closer. “Your Majesty, do not move.”
Bella’s eyes found hers and she felt a shiver run up her spine and the hair on her neck stand up. “Do not interfere bitch. This is between me and my mother.”
Amysta’s face was full of motherly warmth and horror at the sight of her daughter standing there in the rain. “What has that witch done to you?”
“Done to me? She has made me powerful. She has made me a commander in her armies. And when Forlorn is made to kneel, I will be installed as ruler and claim my rightful place on the throne. More than you or my cowardly father have ever done for me,” Bella snarled.
“That is not my daughter talking. I know you, Isabella Pendragon. It’s the witch’s magic making you act this way. You’d never do any of this of your own accord,” Amysta proclaimed, trying to reach the armored youth before them. She was pushing against Willow’s arm but made no move to step any closer.
Soldiers had formed a ring around them, swords at the ready, and Willow’s eyes widened as the forgotten chimera stretched its three heads forward and yanked the armed men away swiftly; throwing them like they were made of nothing but feathered pillows. Harsh screams followed as the guards suddenly threw themselves into battling the beast, the four of them temporarily forgotten.
A light shone in the Horseman’s eyes as she looked upon her mother. Hands raised and lifted her helm; revealing the horror beneath. Poison appeared to be dripping from the corner of her mouth, her lips black, eyes sunken, yellow splotches staining her cheek bones. She had fading bruises around her neck and face and they were peppered with black spots. Her once beautiful hair was dirty and hung in clumps. The evil smile that formed on the young girl’s face defied the look of death that hung upon the air. “Look upon your daughter, see what your negligence has spawned! For I am what you have wrought!” Bella suddenly bellowed.
The New Age Saga Box Set Page 88