He let out a battle cry, and the foes before him turned their horses about in surprise. They began to spur their horses, but several got stuck in the mud. Now he knew why they were circling the army instead of charging through: the ground was much too sodden. His sword beheaded an enemy atop his horse as he rode by and went through the left side of another attacker who sought to get too close.
An arrow whizzed through the air, striking Quentin’s horse in the neck. The animal crumpled beneath him, and he was thrown far ahead of it. He got to his knees, looking around quickly for his sword. Seeing it lying near the dead horse, he raced over and grabbed it just in time to meet the blade of a foe in midair. He grunted, and pushed with all his might. The man, clad in dark green leather with a matching shield, fell backwards as he stumbled over a dead body. Quentin swiftly pierced the man’s stomach with his sword and ran off. He grabbed the reins of a horse running loose and mounted it, still searching for his brother and Silvia.
Duke Byarne was holding his own well. He’d rushed out to the forepart of the army upon the queen’s insistence to meet the enemies charging in from that direction. Byarne, atop his gray mare, had let out a war cry to greet them with before riding into their midst. His broadsword was heavy, and he waited to make sure he made each swing with accuracy. A blow to his back with a mace nearly toppled him, but he righted himself and brought his horse about to challenge his aggressor, killing him with two swipes of his sword. With his blood rushing through his veins, he barely felt the pain in his back.
His horse faltered in the mud, and he hurriedly slid off before the beast could topple them both. The horse picked up its feet, regained its balance, and trotted off towards the Moseman Hills.
“Blasted creature,” he muttered.
A tap on his shoulder made him turn, and a fist connected with his face in a well-dealt blow. He took a knee before he could stop himself, but could sense the enemy coming up from behind. He rolled to the side and looked back.
The man who had punched him stared blankly, blood gushing from his throat as the woman behind him knocked him out of the way with an expensive boot.
“Shoes like those need to be on a cold stone floor in a palace far away, milady,” Byarne said.
His wife smiled at him wickedly. “But I can’t have this kind of fun there.”
“It’s dangerous here, Tinaya,” he replied, blocking a thrust from another enemy.
The knife Tinaya had been holding stuck out of the enemy’s forehead a split second later.
“I know where the danger is,” the Duchess said, holding out a hand to help her husband up. “And I know where my heart is. Both are with you, so this is where I belong. Now, are you going to stand there gawking, or can we argue later?”
Gordy had never been skilled in battle, even after the small forays they’d had since departing from Lystia. But he gave his all and was able to slay some of their attackers. Most were green-clad and were easy to spot amongst his peers. The swampy ground did not hinder them for long, and they spread like vermin through the army. He didn’t know how many there were, but it seemed like the hoard had been waiting to surround them. He wished he’d taken his mother’s advice when he was younger and sparred more with his cousins; at least he’d be more seasoned than he was now.
A shrill scream caught his ear. His head twisted around to see where it was coming from. Surely, he’d been mistaken…
But he wasn’t. Not fifty feet from him was a young boy, running amidst the skirmishes which surrounded them all. Gordy tore after him. What in the name of the Parent Gods was a child doing here?
The boy darted around people quickly, and no one seemed to be paying him any mind until he bumped into one of the green-clothed men. The man sneered at the boy and raised a spiked club to hit him with, but Gordy plunged his short sword into the man’s back, crippling him. The child was even more frightened now, and ran off. Gordy shouted at him to stop, however the boy was filled with panic and it was unlikely that he was going to listen to anyone. Gordy chased after him and came upon a small knoll to the side of the army where there were not as many people fighting.
“Hey wait! Stop! I want to help you!” Gordy panted.
The boy glanced at him with a tear-streaked face, and scurried into a large hole in the side of the hill. Gordy hesitated a moment, looking at the bones scattered around the entrance to the hole.
“Oh, I do not feel good about this,” he mumbled. But the boy was inside, and someone needed to get him to safety. Who knew if there were more of these men hiding in the hole? It was certainly big enough for several grown men to crawl into. He knew that if the boy could just see that he was trying to help, that he’d calm down. Then Gordy could take him to one of the women in the army to be cared for until they could find out where he came from.
He sheathed his sword, yet withdrew a dagger from his belt just in case. Swallowing hard, he knelt down and crawled into the darkness.
The God of War roared as he ran another man through. He knew better than to be out here on a battlefield: it was unfit for gods to help mortals this much. But things had changed greatly, especially since he’d seen the extent of the young queen’s powers. She was more significant than most of the mortals he’d met in his entire lifetime, and something inside him desperately wanted to believe that she had not played her most vital role yet. There was more to her than what met the eye. He watched her feint to the right and spin around to drive a blade home into a woman with a club in each hand.
And the girl had such brazenness about her. Although weak from using her magic, she was keeping up with the men as they fought the onslaught of adversaries. Her focus was strong, and her aim was true. He admired her. She wasn’t bad for a mortal.
He drew an arc with his weighted sword, and it cut through air and flesh with precision. Beside him, Lord Cambry and Prince Dalton fought off assailants and tried to keep them from getting near the Dead Queen. He shifted his position to watch Cambry more carefully. The man was more than skilled when it came to fighting, and Geldin found himself taking notes of a couple of his movements.
He felt a familiar presence and saw his sister drawing up to him on horseback. She slid off and walked over.
“Sister, what brings you here?”
“Many things, brother,” she replied. “I belong here—something is pulling all of us together. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m staying with the Lystian Queen and her army until I can make sense of it.” She looked around, concerned. “I do not see her king.”
“Firayis has him in the wagon. I’ll explain later, but he could use your help.”
Aldoa shook her head firmly. “I can sense something wrong with him, but I am needed to help whom I can to survive on this field. The water killed many, did it not?”
“More than we think, I’m afraid. But enough talking—help those that you can. I will protect the queen.” He had not seen Aldoa on a battlefield helping the dying since before their parents, Aklamon and Saphrite, had gone missing. Her attendance comforted him in a way. It felt, well, right for her to be there on this field, in this battle.
He refocused his gaze on the enemy ahead, and smiled ferociously.
Saris watched from the safety of the trees, hidden in their dark shadows. The leader of the Wyld stood with her, watching the battle. Saris’ excitement was ebbing.
“We do not have enough men,” she said. “How many did we bring?”
“Over four thousand,” Jaborg answered.
“I put a spell on that water the Lystians drank,” the witch said. “I do not comprehend why more of them were not killed by it.”
“Perhaps your spell did not work?” he suggested, but the look Saris gave made him regret speaking his mind.
“I was strong enough to transport your entire regiment here with my magic,” she spat. “Do you think I cannot taint a pond of water?”
“Without question you could, milady. I will be awaiting your next command.” He walked off to speak with a small
group of fighters he’d kept behind.
Saris rolled her eyes at him before glowering at the war raging before her. “They’ve thrice and more times the men that we have, but that damn spell should have killed more than half of them off. I made it strong.”
“Is something not quite right, dear Saris?”
Eerich appeared beside her, watching the battle with interest.
“Why did my spell not work? I thought you said I was stronger now.”
“Indeed you are,” he said thoughtfully, still staring out over the expanse between the forest and the fight. “Even now your strength is growing. Do not be impatient.”
“My plan was well-thought out and well-executed. Why are there so many of these bloody Lystians still alive?” she asked angrily. Her hands found their way to her hips and planted themselves there.
Eerich’s eyes were drawn to the black wagon with silver trim that was near the front of the assault, and the people who fought around it. He straightened as he recognized one of the figures fighting next to the Lystian queen. His face soured and he tugged his beard as he pondered what he saw.
“I believe I know the reason they are not dead,” he told Saris. “They have Geldin’s help, so it would seem.”
“Geldin? The God of War is on their side?” Saris was fuming. “But why, Eerich? Why would he help them?”
The god next to her was silent for so long that she was beginning to think he would not answer. “I do not know Saris. But the other gods know the dangers of gods interfering with mortals. It will bring destruction to this world.”
“But you are helping the mortals, my Lord,” Saris pointed out. “How is that so different?”
A smile touched the corner of his lips, yet did not spread up to show in his eyes. “Because I am the God of Evil, and I never play by the rules.”
A strange snarling sounded as the form of the Hound of the Dead appeared alongside his master. Its recent wounds had mostly healed and the smell of blood on the battlefield made it sniff the air eagerly.
Saris looked at the creature in disgust. It had been Rohedon’s key to unlocking a world of magic and power for them all, yet the beast was hideous and chilled her to the bone.
“Do you think he will kill many before he is captured or killed?”
Eerich stared down at his favorite pet and patted it on the head roughly. “Oh, he might. But there is one out there he’s had his sights on. Did you know that he nearly took the Dead Queen when Zela had her in a tight spot?”
Saris shook her head.
“Yes, it was on a mountain pass a ways back. Silvia was run through, but Aldoa saved her just as my Hound tried to bring me her soul.”
“I thought Aldoa had disappeared,” the witch said. “Such a shame she came back into this game to save the wrong person.”
“Yes,” Eerich agreed. “But it will not happen again.” He bent down and grabbed the Hound’s face to look into its many eyes. “Go hunt her down, my friend…and this time, do not let the Lystian Queen escape.”
Chapter Nineteen: The Hound of Death
Fatigue. It pulled at her muscles and struggled with the very fibers of her being. Her dress was still heavy with water, and she had not the time to say a simple spell to dry it out. It weighed her movements down, and she chose to stand in one spot and maneuver as best she could to fight the oncoming enemies. Her beloved dragon twisted within her, urging her to let it free, but she did not have the strength to let the dragon out. If she did, the exhaustion would overtake her, and to succumb to the weariness would threaten her with death.
Movement at the tree line snared her attention, and her eyes pierced the blonde-headed woman standing at the edge of the forest. The woman was hardly dressed to be in such a place at such a time and she looked hauntingly familiar.
A horse galloped behind her at full speed, but before she could turn around completely, it sped past her and its rider jumped to the ground at her feet. The horse fumbled and took a nasty fall to the ground and lay there, panting as it took its last breaths.
The rider stood up and Silvia let her sword fall to the ground as she threw her arms around her husband’s brother.
“I have returned to your service, my Queen,” he said into her hair. He hugged her back fiercely, and then pushed her away to look into her eyes. “Where is my brother?”
“Quentin, he is sleeping. He’s in the wagon, but he’s safe.”
He nodded, glancing at the wagon behind her, and then back at her. “You look a little worse for wear, Your Highness,” he said with a smile. “Allow me to take over.”
He bowed, and then whirled about to bring his sword up to fight.
Silvia regarded the tree line again. The woman had vanished, but in her place was another large assembly of adversaries running towards them at full speed. She looked about frantically, thinking how poor their formations were and how her army had considerably thinned in such a short time. She hoped fervently that there were not many more enemies in hiding nearby.
With Quentin fighting in front of her, and Dalton, Cambry, and Geldin fighting on her other sides, she was finally able to dry up her dress with a few words in Kieluna; now it would be easier to maneuver. That done, she set her mind back in fighting mode and picked up her sword. The enemy from the woods met her army in a clash of metal and war cries. These men seemed to be more experienced, and quickly cut a path through her men to get to her circle. She realized the group had specifically targeted her party of men. She should have expected it, but it disturbed her.
The men in their green garb encircled her troupe with ease and the ones on the outskirts turned the opposite way.
They were being trapped! But why?
“Geldin, I do not like this. What are they doing?” she yelled.
But the God of War could only shake his head. “Just hold your ground, milady. We won’t let them take you.”
At that instant the inner ring of foes attacked wildly, thrusting swords and daggers from every angle. The men protecting Silvia were hard-put to keep them at bay without being hurt. Silvia steadied her sword in her hands and walked up behind Quentin. As he blocked a downward blow from a scruffy looking man, Silvia shoved her blade at the man and ran him through. Swiftly, she withdrew it in time to swing up into the gullet of another man who lunged at them. She went around their small enclosure and kept plunging her blade into each unguarded place that she could. Between her helping in this way, and her friends’ fighting skills, the enemies which surrounded them began to diminish in numbers.
It was then that Silvia noticed something on the outskirts of the Wyld men encompassing them. It was trotting in and out of sight but she glimpsed enough of it to be sure of what it was.
“Lord Cambry,” she said. “I believe it is time to take you up on your word.”
Cambry whipped about, his topknot flying through the air to smack him in the face. He followed her gaze and froze as the beast in question came into view. The Wyld men parted and the Hound of Death came forward, several of its eyes fixated on the Lystian Queen. Its ugly countenance showed an eagerness for her blood. Its dark pink skin crawled with what looked like tiny people, but Cambry knew the stories: they were the souls of all of the ones whose lives the beast took.
Silvia raised her weapon defensively, since Dalton, Quentin, and Geldin were still busy trying to fend off the Wyld men from the other side; Lord Cambry stepped around her and confronted the beast with a look of intolerance. The Hound snapped its jaws at him and tried to sidestep the man, but Cambry wouldn’t have it. He stuck his blade in front of the creature.
“Not today, heathen brute.”
It considered Cambry in a new light, hearing the threatening tone of his voice. This man was not going to let it get to its prey. Snarling, it swiped a large paw at him, tipped with three inch claws. Cambry dodged it by leaning back and tightened his grip on his sword. It swung again and Cambry brought up his sword to block the damage that would have been dealt from the claws. The claws rak
ed grooves into the blade before sliding off. Lord Cambry had never seen anything of the like and knew that he had to be wary of catching the wrong end of those talons.
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