by James Dale
A lone Raashani, who had somehow survived both Hammer and Dragon Guard lance, appeared suddenly on Jack's right. Though bloodied and disoriented, the man reacted instinctively and raised his sword. In the space between one heart beat and the next, time seemed to slow to a crawl. He could have killed the Raashani easily. Grimrorr was already at the apex of an arc that would remove the man's head. Yet in this space between heart beats, Jack had time to examine his foe.
The Raashani was young, perhaps early twenties, with sand colored hair, and smooth cheeks sporting only the wisp of a new beard. His brown eyes were wide with horror at seeing his death approaching. It was his eyes which gave Braedan pause. Despite wearing the red and black of Raashan, the eyes belonged to a Doridanian. He was one of Anna's countrymen. Like the princess had been, like her father still was, and like her kingdom would be if Kiathan was not stopped, the man was a prisoner of treachery and lies sprung from the depths of Agash Thugar. The real enemy was the dark-King Graith, and the unholy power of his Bloodstone, not this too young Raashani with horror filled eyes.
Jack's heart beat again; Grimrorr descended, and the flat of the Elven blade struck the young Raashani's helm, knocking him senseless from this saddle. Perhaps he would awaken in an hour with nothing worse than a concussion. Perhaps he was trampled to death in the seconds after Braedan rode passed his now rider less Val'anna. But Grimrorr had not drank the blood of a soldier of the Whesguard. It had been forged to slay the true enemies of light. Until it had done so in his hands, Braedan would do everything within his power, so long as Annawyn was not endangered, to delay that tragedy. He sparred a quick glance at Anna to ensure she was indeed still safe and protected by Einnael and the Horsemaidens, then urged Eaudreuil forward.
Forward. That was where the battle lay. Braedan could sense it growing closer. He could feel Grimrorr humming in his hand like it was alive. Humming. And thirsting. Not for the blood of men, but...for its forged purpose, to drink the blood of fell things, things of the dark, of creatures bound to the Sa'tan. Suddenly, Jack felt a dark madness on the edge of his senses. The na'Hhoul! Braedan saw Theros and Cilidon look to each other and nod and he knew they felt it as well, through Dragon-slayer and Grimblade. At that moment, a concussion of power rumbled up ahead and a shadow of blue light danced off the cliffs around them.
"En ahylia Ail'itharain!" the Ailfar king shouted, raising Grimblade above his head. 'For Light and Ail'itharain!'
All along the column, Ailfar Rangers echoed their lord's cry, raising their bows and letting loose clothyard shafts. Following the flight of arrows, Braedan saw the bulk of Kiathan's Raashani perhaps one hundred yards distant, their escape from the pass barred by a wall of blue fire. One Ailfar Spellweaver's at least had recovered sufficiently enough to join the battle.
Trapped to the front by a wall of Spellweaver fire and to the rear by two hundred galloping horsemen, the Raashani soon found themselves also assaulted from the cliffs above by a shower of rocks and the occasional well-placed arrow. With a shout, the ambushers on Maadim's Ridge slowly began to make their way down into the pass.
They had actually done it! Kiathan was cut off from escape! Granted, he wasn't finished yet. There was still the na'Hhoul to deal with, and a fight ahead that would likely turn the Pass of Galhir into a river of blood, but if Ara’fael or the twins had the strength to hold the pass...
Even as the thought entered Jack's mind, Grimrorr began to grow warm in his hand, the Ailfar magik forged in the blade calling out in challenge or warning as it felt another source of power rising to do battle. The na'Hhoul!
"Cilidon!" Braedan shouted in warning.
"I know!" the Ailfar king replied. "Ride! Ride! We must stop it before it can..."
A gust of wind, thick with the smell of sulfur and brimstone, blew down the enclosed pass. There was a shriek, then a sense of rushing heat as if someone had opened the door to hell. Seconds before it reached the front ranks of the Dragon Guards, the wall of blue Ailfar fire barring the exit to the pass vanished, only to appear in front of the men from Brydium. Blue fire met Hell fire, and though the fury unleashed by the na'Hhoul howled and raged against it, the Ailfar magik held. Slowly, the force conjured by the servant of Sa'tan dissipated. With its passing, an eerie silence settled over the Pass of Galhir.
Chapter Six
Battle for Dorshev
The company rode hesitantly forward, and into a charnel house. Littering the narrow pass, most burned beyond recognition by the unholy furnace of the na'Hhoul, were hundreds of dead Val'anna and Raashani soldiers.
"Why?" Annawyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What purpose did this serve? The na'Hhoul cannot imagine this will deter us?"
"Purpose, princess?" Cilidon shrugged. "The creature has no purpose but to slaughter in the Sa'tans name. The deaths of ten thousand Raashani would mean nothing to it. But the chance to slay the bearers of two Highswords? It would burn down all of Aralon to accomplish that service to the Lord of Shadows. The Raashani were just in its path."
"Kiathan?" asked Jack.
"You will not find him among the dead," Cilidon said confidently. "Though I imagine his master will not be pleased his treachery has been unveiled, Kiathan is still needed to cause disruption in Doridan. He was likely gone before the blast. The na'Hhoul has taken him."
"We must stop Kiathan!" Jack vowed quietly.
"We will," Cilidon replied. "Our purpose has only been delayed. A Spellweaver strong enough to bar the pass and protect us from Hell's Wind will be strong enough to travel the Stream of Time. We can stop Kiathan yet. But we must be swift."
"Captain Beltaran!" the Ailfar King cried. "Find my sons and the Lady Ara’fael. We must follow Kiathan and the na'Hhoul to Dorshev. Find them quickly!"
"At once, sire," Beltaran replied.
As the Ailfar captain went in search of the Spellweaver's, General Gamrin ordered a detail to the grim business of counting the Raashani dead.
"Why count them?" Annawyn asked.
"Because Kiathan and the na'Hhoul would not have fled the pass alone," Malik answered. "The Dog a Raashan would have to take some Raashani with him. His personal body guards most likely. To enter Dorshev escorted only by a creature of darkness would destroy any semblance of legitimacy he needs to usurp the Ivory Throne and weaken Doridan. Even deluded by his lies and deceit, your people are still Children of Yh. For Kiathan to maintain his ruse, the na'Hhoul must exit the Stream of Time out of sight of Dorshev. It will be the moment he is most vulnerable. The moment when he can still be caught or killed. To do that," Gamrin finished, "we will need to know how many pursuers to send after him."
General Gamrin's detail counted three hundred dead Raashani in the pass. Including those which had fallen beneath lance and sword, both wounded and the dead, the total number of fallen Raashani on this day was a shade over four hundred.
"With the company of heavy horse meeting him here," Theros concluded, "at the most, Kiathan and the na'Hhoul can only be traveling with one hundred men."
"That sounds about right," Malik Gamrin agreed.
As they were speaking, Lady Ara’fael arrived. She looked tired to her very bones, but her eyes were still full of fire.
"I have a task for you Ara’fael," Cilidon informed the Spellweaver.
"I had hoped my day was finished," she said wearily. "But if you wish me to follow the na'Hhoul, I will find the strength."
"Enough to travel with a hundred men?" her king asked.
"I will need the assistance of Cilandrion. He’s not fully recovered yet to weave the spell but with my added strength, but…yes," she nodded. "We can do as you ask. But we will be of no use to them when we have arrived in Dorshev."
"Just get us there," Jack said, "that's all I ask."
"Yesterday, all you asked of me was to bring your men here," Ara’fael said coolly. "What will you have me do on the morrow?"
"I'll try and think of something easy," Jack promised.
"If you mean to reach Dorshev
before sunset, Prince of Desperation," Spellweaver sighed. "Pick your men quickly.”
Prince of Desperation? Ara’fael knew his situation very well. Braedan picked quickly. Annawyn and her Horsemaidens, Duke Morgan, and all his guard where obviously going. If they did not catch Kiathan before he reached the city, well...he doubted the guards on watch would open the gates for him, no matter how nicely he asked. Theros and Cilidon were also going. If the na'Hhoul remained with him, or if Kiathan had some other nasty surprise hidden up his sleeve, he would need the High-swords. A squad of Dragon Guards, with Captain du'Gail as their commander, and a Shaft of twelve Ailfar Ranger's, would accompany the two kings. Ten Golden Lions would come with Jack; Kirk, Cyran, Erlwin, Anghol, Brian, Borg Cassaban, and four new Lions who'd been recruited in Immer, Arrgenn Dunnahel, James Th'nael, Maendel val'Anar and Graeg d'Vis. d'Vis seemed so young it pained Braedan to look at him, but Cassy had picked him, and he knew swords-men.
Falan and Michael had been wounded in the fight on Maadim’s Ridge. Though their injuries were not life threatening, they were not fit enough for another battle today. Captain d'Kenna insisted on the Hammer accompanying him. They had surely earned that right, but he allowed only a single platoon. It was all the room he had left. Tarsus, Baranir Samil, Tarc Mancuna, Julian Brin and Lukas a'Maeridon were the last he picked to round out his company of one hundred.
Of the rest; Maadim Khalmiya and the Razorbacks, the Galekindar, including the few Raashani that still lived, they would remain behind and travel with the A’randrial as soon as the Ailfar prince had recovered enough to take them. Of those, no fewer than two dozen would be making the journey on make shift stretchers. Arrinor and Ailicia would stay with their brother as well, their protests swaying Cilidon not in the least. Even Jack would not argue against the wishes of their father. He may have been the Heir of Ljmarn Bra'Adan, but he was not the head of the An'Mera family. He gave Ailicia a quick kiss on the cheek and Arri a consoling pat on the back, then informed Ara’fael he was ready.
"It took you long enough," the Spellweaver grumbled.
It had taken Jack all of two minutes, but he apologized just the same. With the Lady Ara’fael, it was best not to argue even if she proclaimed up was down and the sun rose in the west. The Spellweaver must have thought him sincere, because she didn't snap at him before mounting her mare. She must have been even more tired than she looked, he decided.
Braedan gave no speech or words of encouragement as he had done in Immer before the chase began. None were needed. Everyone had witnessed the power and destruction the na’Hhoul had wrought. They all knew exactly what was at stake. They could all see, and smell, the slaughtered Raashani; comrades now in death, having fallen to an even greater evil than they had mistakenly served by following Kiathan Ellgaer. When everyone was ready, Cilandrion and the Lady Ara’fael joined hands, summoning upon the reserves of their strength, and began the spell that would allow them to defy the natural flow of time.
The familiar mist began to form around them as the company started forward through the last few hundred yards of the pass. By the time they exited the mountains, the spell was completed and they were traveling the Stream of Time. They crossed the Isinar Ford, the mist shrouded river as still as a pool in this place where time held little sway. On their left, the forest of Silverwood soon appeared. For fifty leagues the forest paralleled the Great South Road, but they traveled the length of its expanse in little more than an hour. Or so it seemed to the riders.
For Cilandrion and the Lady Ara’fael however, every second in the Stream of Time felt like an eternity. Braedan could see the toll it was taking on both the Spellweaver’s as they struggled to maintain the spell. Sweat was now beading Ciliandrion’s forehead and Ara’fael was growing paler by the minute and beginning to waver in her saddle. The mist surrounding the company thinned with each passing second. Never taking his eyes from Ara’fael, Braedan saw the instant her strength gave way and caught her as she started to fall. Pulling the exhausted Spellweaver into his arms, Jack cradled her against him as the mist disappeared and the company re-entered the normal stream of time.
“We can go no farther, father,” Cilandrion said wearily.
"I can go no farther," Ara’fael admitted with a whisper, her head resting against Jack’s shoulder. "I am sorry."
"You did great," Jack replied, kissing the top of her head. "For a wrinkled old elf crone."
The Lady Ara’fael was a beauty in a land full of beautiful Ailfar maidens.
"When I am rested," Ara’fael smiled weakly, "You will regret those words."
"Now was that so hard?" Jack grinned. "You have a lovely smile, you old witch."
"Flirting?" the Ailfar Spellweaver muttered, quickly back to her old self. "With your princess only feet away?"
"Hand her to me, High Prince," Captain Beltaran said, dismounting to stand at Eaudreuil's side.
"Take good care of her captain," Jack said, gently passing the Spellweaver down to the Ranger. "She just smiled at me. I think she's delirious."
"I will, High Prince," Beltaran promised with a rare smile of his own.
Three Rangers were quickly chosen to remain with Ara’fael and Cilandrion until they were strong enough to travel, then the company was off again at a gallop. In only a few minutes they spotted a dust trail in the distance. A few minutes more and the gleaming white walls of Dorshev appeared on the horizon. Energized by the thought of his quarry so near to the safety of strong walls, Jack urged Eaudreuil onward.
The Val'anna stretched his legs and ran, his endurance seemingly knowing no bounds. Annawyn and Iraesh stayed beside them stride for stride. Unable to admonish the princess...his love to stay back, to stay safe, he prayed she would remain unharmed in the coming fray and silently called to Iraesh to ward her well.
"No harm will come to Fire Mane," the Val'anna mare vowed.
The walls of Dorshev grew closer, as did the Raashani. Braedan could make out the shapes men and horses now, riding hard, as if the devil were on their heels. Or perhaps...as if he was riding with them? Though Grimrorr was still in its sheath, he could feel the Ailfar blade's warning, and he knew the na'Hhoul was still with the Raashani.
For what purpose? Such a creature could not move openly in Dorshev. No matter its power, the citizens, the soldiers, even those sworn to Kiathan, would not harbor such an abomination within their walls. Why had it not transported Kiathan to safety and simply faded away? How had the na'Hhoul known to come to the Pass of Galhir to collect him at all? There must have been a spy in Immer…someone to inform the creature Kiathan was being pursued by the bearers of two Highswords and Ljmarn's Heir? Too many questions, and the only one who could answer them was about to slip beyond his reach.
The Raashani were less than a mile ahead now, but the open gates of the city were nearly within their reach. Though they were slowly gaining on the Raashani, Braedan could see the massive gates beginning to swing close. In less than a minute, the Raashani reached the walls, and as the last rider passed through, the gates closed behind them. Jack opened his mouth to shout his frustration, but Annawyn was quicker.
"Raise the gates!" the princess commanded, reigning Iraesh to a halt just short of the city walls.
Her demand produced archers along the top of the wall, dressed in the blue and silver livery of the Doridanian regulars. With bows drawn, they stared down uncertainly at the odd mixture of troops who had just chased Kiathan into the city.
"Raise the gates!" she cried again, her ringing voice carrying easily to those gathered on the battlements.
"The gate stays closed!" replied an unseen officer. "By order of Prince Kiathan."
"I am Annawyn Ellgereth! Princess of Doridan!" Anna shouted, her auburn hair falling free as she removed her helmet and flung it to the ground. Drawing her sword, she pointed it in the direction the refusal had come. "Open the gate, or I will see each man upon this wall arrested for treason!"
"I know who you are," her adversary sneered, finally showin
g himself. The man wore the red and black of Raashan. Even standing atop the fifty-foot wall, the smug smile on his lips was plain for all to see. "Prince Kiathan has ordered the city sealed. I doubt he will judge me treasonous for carrying out his commands."
"Lukas," Annawyn said coldly, turning to the Ailfar Bow-master. "He is relieved of command. Remove him from my wall."
The last word had scarce passed the princess's lips when an arrow hummed from the Ailfar’s bow. The Raashani officer was struck in the chest by the Bowmaster's arrow and he tumbled back-wards out of sight.
"Now open the gate!" Annawyn commanded, turning back to the guardsmen. "Or I will have them blasted them open!"
Recognizing their cue, Theros and Cilidon drew their Highswords. Dragonslayer and Grim-blade flashed like lightning as they cleared their sheaths, their power ready to be unleashed at the slightest thought of their wielders.
There was a moment of tense silence, then faintly, the sound of voices engaged in heated debate. The words grew fierce, then a scream was heard. A few seconds later, a Doridanian appeared on the wall, motioning for the archers around him to lower their bows.
"Move back princess," the guard shouted. "We are opening the gate."
As the massive gates began to slowly open, Jack reached out and grabbed Iraesh' reigns. "Slowly," he ordered Annawyn. "It may be a trap."
"This is my city," she replied fiercely. "I will not enter it in fear." She kicked Iraesh flanks and the Val'anna mare sprang forward, jerking the reigns from Braedan's hand. Her Horsemaidens followed.
"Damn it," Jack swore, and drawing Grimrorr he chased after her.
Luckily, he was not alone in his concern. Captain Eraehart sped past him as soon as he was through the gates, and Annawyn her Horsemaidens were quickly surrounded by Duke Morgan's guards as well, before they had ridden fifty yards.