The snake hissed in a high-pitched cry, its long fangs showing for all to see as poison dripped from their tips. The beast’s vertical pupils narrowed as it focused in search of its attacker.
Unexpectedly, a dagger pierced its left eye, and the serpent reeled in pain. The creature howled and hissed, enraged by the blinding attack. Its body writhed in defense, striking all that were near, and it slung its neck back and forth, knocking down rows of soldiers to either side.
As its head whipped about, its remaining eye focused on a small mortal running away from it. The serpent hissed and wove with great speed across the ground in pursuit.
Saalkain sprinted as quickly as he could toward the outer gate. His lungs heaved in and out. His feet floated across the dirt and stone. His arms swung swiftly forward and back as his cloak whipped up behind him.
He was only a few feet from the gate, but he could feel the snake breathing on his back.
In a split second, he spun, released several daggers with one hand, and said, “Compreto.” The daggers rapidly gathered rotational speed and launched with magical influence, piercing the snake’s chest and belly like bullets.
The snake reeled from the unexpected attack and screamed in pain.
The attack had bought Saalkain just enough time to reach the doors. He raised a foot and stepped on the door, then began to run up the gate’s length vertically. He sprinted at full speed.
The snake rushed after him and hit the gate hard, bowing it from the heavy impact, jostling Saalkain’s footing. But Saalkain did not stop. He sprinted upward, and the snake followed. Its body propelled its massive length as its underside undulated against the surface to race it forward.
The snake’s wide maw gaped as it raced upward after Saalkain. Its fangs unfolded and spread forward as the snake’s jaw opened wide.
Saalkain reached the top of the door and ran through the solid stone up to the battlements on the other side.
The snake was caught off guard and slammed snout-first into the solid stone, violently shaking the wall from the collision. The snake was stunned and confused by the sudden disappearance of the fleeing cloaked figure.
Saalkain emerged through the stone and landed hard on his back as he sprinted out of the ground, gravity taking hold of him without a surface for his magic to work on through his feet.
He flipped over and jumped to his feet, shouting, “Gavina, pull that lever!”
Gavina turned and was startled by the guardian’s sudden appearance but did not hesitate as she knew he would have good reason for the urgent request. She pulled the lever behind her, and Saalkain pulled a second lever closer to him.
The long-spiked log defense unlatched and began to spin as it rolled down its chassis. The sharp metal protrusions picked up speed, and the log rolled off its metal track. The barbaric instrument of defense reached the limit of its rope and swung downward toward the gate doors, iron spikes spinning.
The snake’s length was still reaching up to the full height of the gate as it tried to understand what had happened to the missing figure. Its head turned just in time to see the massive log swinging toward it.
The log slammed into the snake’s belly and tore its flesh as the metal spikes impaled the beast and pierced the wooden doors. The structure’s momentum halted as the metal would not relinquish its hold on the gate, dug deep into its wooden beams.
The snake cried and hissed, spitting venom in rage at nearby soldiers.
“Now, Baskla!” Saalkain shouted from the battlements.
Baskla turned toward the ballistae. “Scindia, fire!”
The three ballistae triggered, and the bolts slid from the siege equipment to fly straight at the snake. They pierced the serpent’s forehead, gaping mouth, and throat. The serpent’s body slouched and stopped moving. The weight of the massive beast pulled heavily on the ballistae bolts, but they remained deep and firmly seated in the gate doors behind the snake. The snake’s eyes remained half-open but lifeless.
Some of the soldiers cheered and roared in triumph. The snake was dead—but now the gate was barred by its body and the spiked defensive log.
The horses would no longer be able to ride out and meet the foot soldiers on the battlefield beyond.
Baskla presented a calm posture and lack of concern about the new obstacle. His experience and understanding of battlefields and their disorder kept him focused. Adapting to new challenges in the chaos of war was comforting to him; it oddly made him feel in control. The feeling was something he was used to but had missed since his war in the south had ended.
Baskla turned his attention from the front gate and began to bark orders again. “Eclipse and Pangolin formations reform!”
The elven soldiers did as he commanded.
The general glanced up at the battlement stairways and did not see the archers beginning to evacuate as he had commanded.
“Runner!” he shouted.
A soldier ran up to him and saluted.
“Get the archers off that wall!” Baskla commanded as he pointed at the battlements above.
“Yes, sir!” The soldier sprinted up the stairway.
Baskla reassessed the battles raging in the military ring and saw that the ring formations still held around the tunneler passageways. He could see they were still in control of the situation, though tenuously.
Suddenly, a horn sounded from the east, and a chant rose on the air.
“Hrok Kai Chonak! Hrok Kai Chonak! Hrok Kai Chonak!” War drums beat behind the words.
Baskla peered in the direction of the guttural chanting and deep cadence. He knew that battle chant well, but he was used to being on the opposing side. It opened unhealed wounds and left a bad taste in his mouth.
Some of the trolls walked with uneven gaits, makeshift weapons in hand, while others rode war-hyenas. Their mounts were bred to be much bigger than their wild cousins, and their manes stood taller, a perfect length for a rider to hold on to. They exuded wildness, and their gaze was filled with bloodlust as they marched with great presence across the military ring.
A loud horn rose on the air, over the sounds of battle. Baskla could see the giant who was blowing the great spiral horn approaching, and his kin marching behind him. They wore various forms of cloth and hide garments. A few giants even had enormous axes that seemed worn and chipped from past use.
Chondrose led the giants across the military ring beside the trolls on their way to the western wall. But before they passed the main gate, Chondrose motioned to several of his brethren who wielded thick redwood limbs as improvised weapons, and they followed his command.
The branch wielders took their massive logs and walked over to the tunneler passageways. They paused briefly outside of the ring formations.
“Crush them!” Chondrose roared.
The giants swung their great logs vertically overhead and slammed the thick ends down on the openings. The ground shook from their collective pulverizing strikes. The giants bashed and slammed the entranceways as the elven soldiers backed away. The demons died from the crushing blows, and the entranceways caved in from the might of the giants. The ground crumbled, and rock chipped and exploded from strike after strike.
Chondrose lifted a hand and commanded, “On me!”
The giants executed one last slam of their logs and relented. They followed their leader’s command and fell in position next to him.
The trolls and giants were many. Their force was menacing, and whatever stood in their way at the western wall would find a tough fight ahead.
The horn blew again from the giant’s hold, high above the battlefield.
“Hrok Kai Chonak!” The troll chant began again, and the deep drums sounded.
Baskla watched as the giants and trolls crossed through without regard to the elven formations, weaving through the elven ranks.
“Baskla!” A shout rose through the masses. “General!”
Baskla turned toward the call and saw the blue wolf guardian traveling toward him. His pace
was quick but stalled by all the trolls and giants.
“Caedmon.” Baskla greeted the guardian as he approached. “Where have you been?”
“I had to help the king and his family. It is not safe here for them,” Caedmon said.
“What?” Baskla was surprised.
“They are leading the citizenry south, down the King’s River.”
“Why? Who made the decision?”
“The king did. The west wall has fallen; the demons flow through its broken barrier. The orcs are holding them, but who knows for how long.”
“It is safer within the walls! They could be ambushed in the forest to the south!” Baskla showed his first sign of emotion on the battlefield.
“We have no other choice, Baskla! Tunnelers are breaching the grounds within the inner wall. Lyvnevar is managing to hold them back with his cavalry, but they will not hold for long! Our defenses are failing. They are undermining our strategies.”
Baskla looked around at his men. He saw their determined and resolute faces, black blood coating some of their armor. He looked at the snake pinned against the outer gate and the archers battling in hand-to-hand combat with flyers on the outer wall.
The general turned back to Caedmon. “We hold them back for as long as we are able. The people will need time to evacuate. We will not lower our defenses.”
“We need to retreat, Baskla,” Caedmon shouted.
Baskla faced the wolf guardian and stepped forward. “We cannot just flee because some old wolf wants it to be. My men would not make it out of the city alive if we just turned tail and ran! I will not have it; you are not commander here. Find your place, mage.”
Caedmon stepped back from the elven general’s tirade.
“Do something with your magic! I thought you were supposed to be strong—or did the Ikalreev lie about that, too?” Baskla raged.
The ancient guardian was stung by the general’s words and backed away from the confrontation, knowing he would not budge the unmovable force.
Caedmon stepped away from the general and glanced around at the soldiers and the formations. He saw that a great deal of fighting had already taken place behind the outer gate.
After a moment, he glanced up to the outer wall and saw the struggle that was actively happening far above them. He sprinted toward the battlement stairway and ran up the steps to the archers in the hope of protecting as many soldiers as possible.
His eyes changed and shined with green light as the Ikalreev magic came to life. Vines emerged from his body and struck flyers down, slinging them into stone, crushing skulls and limbs.
The wolf guardian’s attacks were fueled by his anger at Baskla, and his magic tore through the demon ranks as he protected soldiers and bolstered their morale by his presence and power.
Chapter 19
Fleeting Reality
His mind will be like a house of mirrors in an earthquake. Fragments of memories visible and piling together in a welter of unfamiliarity and confusion.
The Ikalreev Prophecies 22:20–21
Faolan’s dreams wove myth and memory into intense but impermanent environments, leaving him breathless and startled as he abruptly sat up in waking terror, screaming into the empty room.
His heart pounded, and his lungs heaved for air as sweat dripped from his brow. His gaze was distant but focusing as he withdrew from the terrors into reality, remembering vividly the scene he was just ripped from.
He looked down at his hands and could still feel his parents’ heads resting there as he bowed over them, tears flowing freely from his eyes, droplets tapping his mother’s forehead as he cried over them.
His heart sank as he remembered his loss, and for the first time since his torture, he could recall the details of his parents’ faces. His chest ached, and he yearned for their presence, even if for only a moment.
Faolan’s mind slowly drifted back to the room he sat in, and he noticed that Aili was no longer lying beside him. He wondered how long he had been asleep.
Faolan waited for his heart to settle and his mind to calm, then he slipped out of the sheets and placed his feet on the stone floor. It was cold but comforting to him, an unusual sensation.
He eased himself up and put his clothing back on, strapping his belt around his waist and hooking his swords on it. He took one last glance around the room before he stepped toward the door.
He paused before the wooden threshold and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as a painful memory flashed in his mind of the dungeon door and the tiny room where he was tormented. For a moment he was back there. Screaming. Bleeding. Then he shook his head violently and opened his eyes, returning in a rush to the castle room in Lesley.
“Faolan, look around you. What do you see?” Faolan whispered to himself. “Stone. Tapestries. A warm bed.”
He took another deep breath and calmed his nerves, then grabbed the door handle and swung it open. He looked out into the hallway beyond and listened for a moment, but he heard nothing. It was dead silent and eerie.
He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He walked down the corridor toward the main hall, listening intently and stepping softly.
When he reached the main entranceway of the castle, he stopped. There were no guards. The castle doors were left open, and gray particulate matter was falling outside. The throne doors were open, and the room was vacant.
Faolan was confused by the lack of activity and wondered where everyone had gone. Part of him began to believe he was still in his night terrors. The scene around him was so unnatural and surreal.
He stepped up the stairway into the throne room and saw thick cloud cover through the windows. The room was dim but undisturbed. He slowly walked around the marble table over to the tall windows.
Faolan looked through the middle window down into the garden district below. He could see thousands of citizens running toward the King’s River gate. They seemed frantic, some holding children and babies, others the hands of their loved ones as they fled.
They poured into the garden district from both neighboring districts and bottlenecked at the small southern gate. Ships were being loaded in the lakes with citizens, and some were already departing down the wide river. A mass exodus was occurring, and Faolan didn’t know why.
Movement in the sky caught Faolan’s eye, and he glanced up, spotting demon flyers swarming above. A few began to dive toward the citizens below, claws reaching out and poised for attack.
At the sight of the demons, something clicked out of place in Faolan’s mind. His persona shifted abruptly, and his right eye lit up with a white glow as the Ikalreevian magic came to life while his left remained black with the color-changing iris.
He made no movement or sound, but the lightning answered his silent demand. Violent, forking lightning lit up the sky, summoned by his deep rage. Flyers were struck by high-intensity bolts, disintegrating on contact, leaving no body to fall. They simply turned to dust, wisping away in the windy skies.
His rage was unquenchable as he sought to kill every dark soul in sight. The citizens below cried out in fright at the sudden light show above and begged for mercy from whatever force produced such a terrifying event.
The flyers that had a chance to flee electrocution scattered on the winds in all directions. The skies above the fleeing Lesleians cleared, and the lightning died down as Faolan began to calm. Not a single evil creature dared to return in an attempt to strike down the weak mortals below.
Faolan turned around and left the throne room with determined and strong footsteps. His mind was focused but slowly began to slip beyond his control. He unhooked his swords and proceeded out the main castle doors into the courtyard beyond.
◆◆◆
“Faolan!” Aili cried out as she sprinted through the maze of hedges in the castle courtyard.
Her shoulder grazed a corner of sharp branches, which scratched her and created small tears in her delicate white dress. Her heart was beating fast, and her breathing was de
ep.
“Faolan!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
A huge creature burst through the hedge line, and an explosion of leaves and branches erupted behind her. It had tusks like a warthog, a torso like a bear, arms like a tiger, and legs like a lion. It chased after her on two legs, and its foul stench filled the air, suffocating her lungs.
The beast huffed and grunted like an animal after its fleeing prey.
Aili began to cry as fear overtook her. She ran, using the curves of the maze to obscure her, but the beast rammed through corners and walls in pursuit. She knew a straight-line run would doom her. The beast was much faster, and only the jarring changes in her route kept the beast from catching her as it failed to grip the ground properly through turns, its claws ripping at the dirt to correct its course.
“Faolan!” she cried out and whimpered.
In her fright, she turned left and dived into the dead end with Igtharia’s winged statue. She quickly realized her mistake but failed to find a route for escape as the beast tore through a hedge behind her.
She backed up into Igtharia’s statue and leaned against its base. The magic heart in her woke, and her eyes shined with a blue light. She held out her hands, and floating spikes of ice formed in the air. She propelled them forward with the magic, and they sped toward the amalgamation demon.
The shards of ice pierced the demon’s furry flesh, assaulting its body all over. Numerous wounds opened on the demon, and the pure ice turned black as the demon blood erupted.
“Faolan!” she cried out again through her tears as she felt the magic heart within her.
The demon absorbed the attacks, slowing with each piercing blow, but it kept its forward momentum. It lifted one of its huge clawed tiger paws over her as she pelted it with ice.
Unexpectedly, metal protrusions burst through the demon’s chest, and the demon’s body went rigid. Black blood streamed down the metal teeth emerging from its chest, and it screamed in pain. Electricity sparked from its skin and flooded its being, seizing it where it stood. Its eyes rolled back, and its legs buckled.
The First Seal Page 22