Flywinger tripped, and Eliesmore went flying. He soared through the air, gritting his teeth as he flipped over and landed in the middle of the woísts. Those closest to him formed a circle, growling as they approached him, holding out their weapons. Eliesmore held out his blade and spun, an arch of light shooting off of it like daggers.
Above him, Mermis wheeled on the Silver Herd before alighting on the hill with archers. Their arrival meant the ships had reached land and Idrithar’s division of the army would soon appear. The Mermis dismounted and pulled out curved blades, running forward with silver painted faces as they joined the onslaught.
“Énvictosry!” A cry rang out.
Green fire poured out of the Jeweled Sword as Eliesmore spun, the charred remained of the woísts falling around him. He saw Visra, wings spread, a manic grin on his face, her eyes gleaming like wicked jewels as she swung her blade, amour shattering with the strength of her blow. To her right the dark blur of Captain Elidar moved in sync, parrying and thrusting, using his fists, covered in chain mail, to punch through the creatures.
Eliesmore pursed his lips, surprised when a spurt of gold light burst through the air. Shrieks and cries rang out as the light rose, like a golden hand before turning into a fist. It continued to grow, tripling in size before it punched, smashing the woísts flat into the ground. The ground quaked beneath them at the strength of the fist. Eliesmore saw, in the distance, Idrithar, holding the sword of Alaireia the Ezinck up high while golden light poured out of it, like an endless river of fury.
Time passed as Eliesmore fought his way through the valley while the walls of the great city of Sidell rose before him. Blinking Eliesmore flicked his sword around, the jewels glowing hot under his hands. The woísts in his vicinity were nothing more but dead vessels, and he ran, jumping over them, moving closer to the city walls. From his vantage point, he saw an immediate victory for the White Steeds as the woísts fell before them. “Take the city!” He shouted, encouraging the warriors running to catch up with him. “We have to take the city!”
The Xctas took up the cry, passing it from one division of the army to the next. Around Eliesmore, warriors surged forward, some still riding horses, others running on booted feet. The slaughter of woísts was so high he could not help but run across them, and as he did, he saw an army of Crons and Tiders. They wore black armor and stood in front of the city walls.
High above him, archers took aim and Eliesmore felt a violent rage twist around him, like a snake smothering its prey. It was one thing to kill the woísts, vile creatures of the deep, but quite another to face his brethren, the mortals, those whose hearts and minds had been deceived by evil. Bones snapped under his feet as he slowed to a walk, his mouth set in a grim line as his arm carrying the Jeweled Sword came down, the glinting edge pointed toward the ground. What was wrong with the Black Steeds? Why hadn’t the mortals converted to White Steeds when they saw the Green Light in the sky? The number of White Steeds swelled daily, while the Black Steeds stood strong, for no reason. It was inevitable, the White Steeds would win. As the prophecy proclaimed. Eliesmore gnashed his teeth as the words from the black book swirled around him.
The world belongs to the mortals. Despite revising history, time and time again, the world is taken back by the mortals regardless of what the immortals do. It is regrettable that a race with long life and deep knowledge is not able to outmatch the mortals. Some say it is because their lives are short, they are focused on how precious life is, and are bent on saving it for themselves and future descendants. If the immortals are to take back the world once and for all, it will be a long-term plan, made in secret. It will be a plan that makes the mortals believe they are winning. It is a long, twisted game, and only those with the power of mind control can pick the players and begin. It is only through a long deception that the immortals shall gain the right to rule the world. Once we rule, there will be no return for the mortals.
He lifted his sword again as the rage mounted and his feet ran forward. It did not matter. The Black Steeds made the wrong choice, they had to die whether they were mortals or woísts.
Eliesmore dived into the melee, letting the power of the Jeweled Sword control his actions. He swung high, cleaving heads from bodies as he surged like a wave through the Black Steeds. White eyes of Crons backing away in fear rose before him. Black armored hands came up, shielding themselves from his relentless attack. He tossed helmets from their heads and kicked them over until they lay, begging in surrender at his feet. Yet, for all his accomplishments, he heard the cries of his army and he turned, his own safety forgotten as he narrowed his eyes. In the distance he saw a white flag, twirling in the breeze, yet the archers were gone from the hill, standing in the lowlands while an army of woísts surged over the hill, ripping the flag out of the ground and smashing it under their feet. A woíst moved to the top of the hill, lifted a broadsword and roared, his silver blade gleaming in the darkness, while red blood dropped off it, a bold display of battles won and victories taken at the risk of many lives.
“Turn back!” Came the cry. “Turn back to the hill! Protect the archers!”
Eliesmore’s eye swarmed in fury as he turned to the east and saw, again, another army of woísts pouring out. He saw Idrithar turn in alarm, shouting for back up as he raced back toward the Jaded Sea. A boom rang through the air, and a fireball of red and purple exploded toward the waters. Eliesmore placed a hand on his heart and closed his eyes, hearing, even in the distance, the screams and cries of those burned as the ships went down in flames. The sudden victory disintegrated under his fingers, and when Eliesmore opened his eyes, he knew it was not enough, they were not enough. As long as they continued the onslaught the Dark Figure would meet them, blow after blow, with her endless armies of dark creatures. He had to face her and end this once and for all.
“To the east, they are coming from the east!” voices shouted as mayhem took over.
“Turn to the south! They are coming from the south!”
Rivers of black streamed around them, like a bitter stream flowing to froth with red, and Eliesmore lifted the Jeweled Sword once again. Scanning the area, he saw Wekin and shouted. “Wekin! Hold them back!” There was more to say, but Wekin understood, he lifted the blade of Starman the Trazame and turned toward the south, clearing a path for the army, pulling those in need out of harm’s way. A bolt of yellow lightning rippled across the sky as Idrithar took up the sword of Alaireia the Ezinck and ran east to hold back the army from the sea. Eliesmore lifted the Jeweled Sword, and as he turned to face the city, he saw yet another horde, coming from the mountains, woísts marching as far as the eye could see. He lifted the Jeweled Sword and let rage surge through him as he ran forward to face the armies of the Dark Figure.
75
Arldrine
A snap vibrated through the air, louder than a tree falling in the forest and Arldrine jumped. From where she perched in the tower, she saw a wall of snow hurling toward the bridge, and her heart leaped. Zhane was down there, standing firm with the Therian. She meant to fight by his side, but when the Tribe of Minas asked her to lead them, she’d given in to their request. It was on the way to build trust with the tribe and she’d noted the way the Tribe of Minas separated themselves from the Therian. “We have to help them. The bridge is going to fall the Therian will perish,” she shouted, turning back to those who stood with her.
“Why should we help them?” an Ezinck spoke up. “They have been nothing but a burr in our side. With them gone, all of our problems will disappear.”
“Aye.”
“Hear hear,” the voice agreed.
Arldrine spun, fear and fury churning within her. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if the Black Steeds and those deadly creatures, the woísts, find us. They will slaughter us all. Is that what you want? At least with the Therian standing by they had a reason to stay away, with the Therian gone they will come after you and take your home. Would you rather serve the Black Steeds, or fight with th
e Therian? We were coming to an understanding, at long last, would you give up all that progress now?”
Róta stepped forward. “Arldrine. I will stand with you. What is your plan?”
“We get down there, and we save the Therian, with me!” Arldrine cried.
Without thinking, she slung her bow onto her back and leaped out the window, climbing hand over hand as she made her way down the mountainside to the drawbridge. The bridge was covered in snow, and as the Xctas dived to save those they could, the middle of the bridge began to cave in.
“Zhane,” Arldrine shouted as she climbed, sliding in places, losing her footing and skidding. At one point she almost fell from a height of twenty feet, her fingers catching a foothold just in time. Her heart thumped in her chest so hard she could taste it and her vision blurred as she willed her body to go faster.
Someone hit the rock beside her, and the sharp claws of an Xctas snatched at ice and stone. “What do you need?” a harsh male voice rang out.
Shocked, Arldrine met the beady eyes of the creature, wondering if she should trust it. “I need to get to Zhane. He’s on the bridge.”
“You will die,” the creature told her matter-of-factly. “But I will take you.”
The next moment she was airborne as the Xctas shot downwards, and Arldrine focused on the bridge, peeling her eyes to glimpse Zhane. The Therian were digging themselves out of the snowdrift when Arldrine saw Zhane.
“Drop me!” she ordered the Xctas.
“Your death,” he told her and let go.
Arldrine fell from the skies, landing on the bridge as Zhane’s head appeared. “Give me your hand,” she shouted.
Zhane moved his shoulders back and forth, lifting a freezing hand to touch Arldrine’s. She grabbed his hand and the bridge shattered.
They fell toward ice while the icicles shuddered and danced above them. Sound disappeared as she stared upward, her mouth open in a silent scream as bodies fell around her. Snow twirled beside her like a blizzard while Xctas wheeled and soared. Her eyes were drawn down to Zhane’s and instead of fear she saw pure light shining out of them. His voice was the only one she heard as he called her name. “Arldrine. Now.” There inside of her swept the power, and visions of what Zhane wanted to do danced before her eyes. Lifting her free hand up, she let the white light shoot out of it. Above her, the Black Steeds came out of Stronghold to gloat in their victory, and the white light shot past them, blasting into the icicles and send them down on the heads of the Black Steeds. At the same time, the broken bridge turned to solid ice, sealing itself back in place. Arldrine watched in awe as the light poured out of her and Zhane, blasting away the Black Steeds as they tried to flee and catching the Therian as they fell.
As they neared the river of ice a great Xctas, with a wing-span of twelve feet dived below them, snatching them from death’s grasp at the very last second. Safely on the back of the Xctas they flew past the icicles and shattered ice back toward Stronghold while shouts and cheers erupted around them. Zhane slipped his arm around Arldrine’s waist, calling to the beast. “Thank you Gykin. Arldrine, are you okay?”
“Aye, I did not realize…” she trailed off. Pointing. “If I had known what powers we had earlier…”
“We did what we needed. Perhaps they will see and believe. Gykin, what word do you bring from the White Steed?”
Arldrine did not hear what Gykin said as they flew over Stronghold. She looked, and she saw the Tribe of Minas, bows, and spears raised as they cheered while the Therian stood on the frozen bridge and roared. Their hands were all pointed in one direction, and their cries echoed off the ice as they entered Stronghold.
From there the Black Steeds had no cause to stand in their way, they stood in surrender to the Therian and the Tribe of Minas. Zhane and Arldrine joined them in the warm caverns of Stronghold as sunrise pierced the chill. Shawdi gathered them together, and they stood under the torches in the flickering light.
“Stronghold is ours once again!” he shouted, causing the Therian to roar and stamp their feet. “We hold the sacrifice of the Tribe of Minas fulfilled for a hundred generations, but we owe this great victory to Zhane the Warrior and Arldrine the Ezinck. Without their help, without their power, we would not stand here today, without a single death to the Therian or the Tribe of Minas. There is word the Black Steeds are marching in Sidell, war is coming to the South World, and this is just the beginning. Those of you who would fight alongside such a great power, come with me and swear fealty to the Rulers of the West because they are in our midst.” He lifted his sword and turned, pointing toward Zhane and Arldrine. “We march with you now.”
76
Eliesmore
Eliesmore lifted his head. His heart felt heavy. It seemed each time they destroyed an army of woísts a thousand more surround them. His body felt numb, moving forward automatically. Eliesmore wavered on the battlefield. His throat was raw. Dust turned his eyes red-rimmed, and he could see the light of dawn peeking through the dark clouds. His strength was failing, and he feared to look behind him, to see the disgusting pit of mangled body limbs and the faces of the fallen, those he’d traveled with, feasted with and led to their deaths. An overwhelming hopelessness rose within him as he realized he had not seen the Dark Figure, and her coming did not seem to be imminent. He still held down the southern side of the city, and yet, as his burning arms fell to his side, he saw a light in the north. White lights danced through the air like starlight, and for a moment he imagined he saw the bronze wings of the Xctas, flying through the skies, bringing the first hints of gold as the sun rose. He blinked, his eyes taking in a steady stream of white light. Glancing east, he noted Idrithar walking forward while his golden blade burned with light. Although the jewels burned his fingers, Eliesmore held up the Jeweled Sword, and for a moment, he saw nothing but shimmering colors, and then it happened.
Light shot out into the air, moving past him in a blur as it joined with golden light from Idrithar’s blade and the white light from the north. An ecstatic hum burst through the air like thunder after a flash of white-hot lightning. Eliesmore’s hair stood on end with the momentum of the burst, and his fingers twitched. The ground began to shake with the intense light display, and thunder rolled in clouds from the mountains, covering the sunrise as it turned into a whirling tornado of cloud and light, hurling toward the shaking ground. Cracks splintered around Eliesmore’s feet as the dry brown ground gave way and opened, a yawning mouth seeking to devour all. Words came to his mouth, yet he never said them as he held the sword high, watching, waiting, ready.
A wave of light erupted around him, hurling chunks of mud and bodily lifting the woísts, slinging them in cyclones and dropping them back onto the ground. The quake continued as the ground opened up, swallowing pockets of the Black Steed’s army as they shouted.
The white light in the north turned into a pillar, and as thunder and lightning rained down upon the army, the light burst into shooting balls of fire, pounding the woísts as they stumbled into the ruined caters of the ground. An intense burning ignited in Eliesmore’s head as two warriors walked out of the light. Their faces were painted, they wore battered armor and swung their blades beside them. Light poured out of their eyes. Eliesmore stared, taking a step back in awe as they moved toward him. He blinked as he recognized Zhane and Arldrine. The light curled around them as if it obeyed their wishes. Zhane lifted his sword, oracles dancing off of them and Arldrine twirled her blade in her hand, her long black hair flowing around her as they marched. Behind them, Eliesmore saw an army of Tiders and Ezincks, males, females and animals all at once. There were wolves, bears, and Xctas, a mix of vicious creatures.
“The army from the mounts has come,” Arldrine’s voice rang out strong and clear as she addressed Eliesmore. “We have come to fight with you.”
“Where would you have us?” Zhane swung his blade once more.
Eliesmore opened his mouth, but no sound came out as he gaped as the unexpected army. “How?” he utte
red. “How?”
Arldrine gazed at him, a calm light in her eyes. She held out a hand toward Zhane. He took it. White light flashed between them, a sea of sparks igniting the ground. “We know who we are, and with that knowledge, our true power has been released,” Arldrine told him, although her eyes turned to Zhane and never left his face.
They gazed at each other, and the adoration and respect they had for each other was clear to see. Eliesmore felt as if he were intruding on a sacred moment although there was no shame in the intrusion. He saw their bond, strength, and wisdom. When they returned their eyes to his, he felt something deep within him. This time it was not the rage or the pain, it was hope, and that hope was enough. He pointed the Jeweled Sword toward the gates. “We take the city!”
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” A collection of voices rang out.
Eliesmore turned toward the east and saw Idrithar running toward them, leaping over the cracks in the ground. Visra twirled as she flew and Captain Elidar ran at her side. Optimistic led the remaining archers while Yamier, Wekin, Skip, Bruthen, and Sir Regante moved toward the city. The ground shuddered as it began to close, taking the army it has swallowed with it into the pit of darkness.
“For the White Steeds!” Wekin shouted, raising his sword.
Spirits renewed the army surged forward, and this time nothing could stop them. The remaining woísts tried to stand firm, yet they were buried under the avalanche as the White Steeds broke open the gates and hurled into the city, streaming over the cobblestone roads like water, taking down anyone and anything that stood in their way.
As Eliesmore ran, he saw the city was built in layers all pointing toward the center. Buildings lined the roads in a matter Eliesmore had never seen before, being used to the countryside. As he moved to the center of the city, a river of water rushed in, filling a bubbling stream that moved in the center, shooting hot steam off into the air. He paused, listening.
Eliesmore and the Jeweled Sword Page 31