by M J Webb
* * *
At the eastern end of the main wall Ben, Jean and Verastus were watching the scenes of carnage in the centre, gazing on in horror as the revalkas tore into their ranks. This was nothing short of a massacre. The warriors of the Estian Alliance were surely doomed unless something, a miracle of some description, happened very, very soon.
“Agh! Come on! There has to be something we can do?” screamed Ben. The youngster’s nerves had disappeared now. He was still terrified of course, but he was also feeling very, very angry and frustrated. He felt completely useless.
Jean gripped his arm tightly. “There’s nothing we can do to help them from here, Ben. But, our time will come,” she said, in a soft voice which betrayed her fear and shock.
“Yeah? Well it had better hurry up!” the teenager stated, clenching his fists.
Suddenly, a single beast dropped from the sky like a stone and landed right in front of them. It was the last surviving sraine, one the evil assassins from Estian legends and history who had so nearly killed Princess Zephany and Jake in their last encounter. It had been carried to the fight by a graxoth. Spotting the distinctive shape of Verastus from up high, it had immediately decided to attack.
As it hit the ground however, two nearby Estian warriors turned to confront the savage beast. The sraine reacted swiftly and it leapt upon them with lightning speed. It sank its venom-filled fangs into their necks, administering its deadly toxin in the blink of an eye. Then it pushed off its victims to land only yards away, completely unharmed. The courageous Estians fell to the ground instantly, never to rise again.
The sraine then turned to face the three horrified onlookers who had witnessed the gruesome deaths of their comrades. Verastus moved in front of the others, drawing his sword with his right hand and shielding them with his giant frame, protecting them. The sraine responded again and launched into an immediate attack. His powerful legs propelled him through the air and his poisonous fangs came within inches of Verastus’ neck.
However, the Falorian’s incredible reflexes and strength saved his life. He caught the sraine by its neck with his left hand and halted its flight, though the beast’s momentum and weight toppled him and he fell backwards, onto his own sword. The sharp, jintan blade easily pierced Verastus’ clothes and cut into his tough, Falorian skin. His whole body weight fell down upon it and the steel ripped through him to emerge on the other side, exiting his body on the right side of his stomach. He cried out in agony, but somehow he managed to keep hold of the sraine. He was now struggling violently to keep it at arm’s length, to stop it from biting his neck and ending his life. But, despite his phenomenal strength, the wound in his side was sapping all of his energy. The sraine was inching closer and closer to his neck and soon, its blood-stained fangs were virtually touching the Falorian’s flesh.
A high pitch shriek suddenly sounded. It was not the sraine who had cried out, but Ben. In his excitement and alarm, he sounded more like a young girl than a teenage boy. He screamed for all he was worth as he raced forward with his sword outstretched and ran it clean through the horrid creature, narrowly avoiding striking his friend as the weapon came out the other side of its body.
The mortally wounded sraine took a moment or two to die. When it had ceased moving, Verastus cast it aside with one great, monumental effort and yelled again as the incredible pain returned. He tried to stand but he couldn’t. Ben was overcome by a feeling of complete and utter terror as he realised how close his friend had come to death, and seeing the terrible nature of his wound.
“Oh my God! How bad is it, big man?” he yelled.
Fireballs continued to reign down around them. People were dying everywhere, buildings were ablaze and crumbling, but Ben Brooker scarcely noticed any of that now. He just stared with extreme concern at the pained expression of his Falorian friend. Jean raced forward and took hold of his hand, sensing that he needed her support.
“It is bad enough, Ben,” answered Verastus. “You must help me. You must pull the weapon out. I cannot fight on like this.”
“What?! Fight on? What you on about? Don’t talk so daft. You can’t…!”
“I can do nothing else!” interrupted the giant. “I fight, or I die. It is as simple as that. Quickly now, there is no time to waste.”
Jean squeezed Ben’s hand and then let go of it to help turn Verastus over onto his side. “Go on, do it, Ben. He is your friend and you have to be strong for him. It is what he wants,” she said, looking deep into the young boy’s eyes.
Ben gulped hard. His mind was in turmoil and his throat was parched. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing, and he suddenly felt very, very queasy. But, he shook it off, took hold of the sword, and breathed in hard. “Okay mate, if you insist… Right… Ready? This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me.”
* * *
Back at the main wall, things had rapidly gone from disastrous to catastrophic for the Estian Alliance. No warriors were left manning the ramparts now, as everyone was sheltering from the fireballs and graxoth, leaving the advancing enemy footsoldiers free to take the wall unchallenged, completely unopposed.
Princess Zephany was incensed and dismayed by the way the battle was going, but she could do nothing to alter the situation and she decided against ordering her followers out needlessly, to face certain death. She gathered as many as she could around her and they waited under the stairs, ready to jump upon the first of the enemy to breach the wall. She could hear them approaching. The noise of their march grew louder and louder, until it seemed as though they were almost right on top of her.
Then, all of a sudden, a mighty roar echoed across the battlefield. It was different somehow from the shrieks and cries of King Vantrax’ beasts and, unbelievably, it gained the enemy’s full and immediate attention. The advancing hoards stopped!
Princess Zephany decided quickly that she had to see for herself what it meant. “Caro! Come with me. Whatever that was, it holds their concentration, and we have the chance to regain our positions!”
Lord Caro responded in typical fashion. “I am with you Princess, to the bitter end. Lead on.”
They broke cover and the warriors around them followed. As they reached the ramparts and looked out over the battlefield, they were greeted by an awesome, incredible sight. The entire army of King Vantrax, thousands and thousands of warriors, had halted only twenty feet or so from the wall. Their heads and eyes were all turned upwards to the sky. Zephany could see their features clearly and a surge of adrenalin shot through her body. She instinctively reached for her bow. Lord Caro’s hand stopped her however, by grabbing her arm firmly.
“Let go of me!” she screamed. “That’s…!”
“Look!” cried Caro, pointing upwards. “Look at why they stopped!”
The Princess lifted her head just in time to see an entire army of dragons launching attack after attack upon the unsuspecting revalkas. Fire flew in every direction and beams of deadly light crossed the sky. Suddenly, there were scores of magnificent, lethal aerial dogfights of all descriptions raging over Te’oull.
The evil wizard’s land forces recovered themselves almost immediately and resumed their attack, roaring with renewed rage and passion, as they realised that they were too committed to halt their advance now. The Battle of Te’oull was destined to enter into Estian folklore, whatever its outcome. This was the first conflict in hundreds of years where Estians and dragons would fight side by side. A resounding cheer suddenly arose from the defenders of the city as they emerged from their hiding places and retook their positions on the wall, just in the nick of time. With the revalkas and graxoth now otherwise engaged, they were left more or less free to engage the Thargws and their allies on the ground. The first of the ferocious beasts began placing the ladders and siege towers in position, as a solitary dragon flew swiftly down into the main square and unloaded its two passengers.
Princess Zephany witnessed this and cried out to Lord Caro. “Ra! Now Caro! Now they will
see for themselves how we fight! The time has come to make good on all promises, to fulfil the vows we made as warriors, and show our worth. Stand by me and watch me work. This is what I was born to. It is all I have known. I am better at nothing else. I confess to you right now that whilst I value peace above all, I am at home here, fighting, and waging war!”
She looked up at the small rise at the end of the valley, where King Vantrax was standing, watching the battle unfold. “…Never, ever, kick me when I am down, uncle! You underestimate me at your peril. I am my father’s daughter and always will be. When I rise, for you may be certain that I will, I shall take my revenge upon you! You will not live to rue the day you betrayed the true King, I swear it!”
Chapter 15
3rd September - The City of Te’oull - Siatol
The mother of all battles was now in full swing. An army of majestic, fire breathing dragons had flown straight out of the Estian history books to appear over the besieged city, hoping to rescue the soldiers of the Alliance and wage war against the terrifying forces of evil threatening to destroy their new allies. Arriving just in the nick of time to stop the main aerial attack, the dragons engaged their enemy immediately and without warning. The element of surprise was on their side and it enabled them to kill several of the wizard’s beasts in the initial assault. But, many of their awesome foe still remained and the dragons were now battling fiercely with the revalkas and graxoth in the skies above Te’oull, which had now become the battleground for a fight every bit as fierce and important as the one taking place below. There, the massed ranks of King Vantrax’ mercenaries had reached the main wall and begun to scale their ladders. Thousands of ferocious warriors, of all creeds and origin, stood poised to take the city. Hundreds of their comrades were waiting inside the siege towers, about to lower the ramps and storm the ramparts. The Estian archers were firing their bows for all they were worth at the enemy trying to scale the wall, sending arrow after poison-coated arrow into the attacking throngs, from almost point blank range. However, the defenders of Te’oull had regained their defensive positions too late to inflict maximum damage upon the advancing troops and, despite their frantic and desperate efforts, they were unable to stem the advance.
Sawdon watched on from below as the first of his warriors stepped off a ladder and onto the wall. The great Gerada protected his own body from a hail of arrows being fired at him with the aid of a large Thargw shield, as he watched the fearless young warrior fall to a combination of Estian arrows and spears. The frustration and fury he felt within him was too much to bear and, despite his King’s explicit orders that he should remain far enough away from the fighting to retain effective control, something snapped inside. He was incensed and could contain his rage. Blood rushed through his body and clouded his judgement as his heart rate rocketed to an unbelievable pace. He raced to the nearest ladder and pulled the young Thargws waiting to ascend it away from the rungs. With his sword in one hand and his shield in the other, his huge claw-like fingers managing to hold onto the ladder at the same time, he raced up the rungs as fast as he could.
Arrow after arrow struck his shield as he held it aloft to protect his advance. When this failed to stop his incredible charge, several courageous Estian knights attacked him the moment he set foot on the ramparts. A spear thundered against his shield, but Sawdon simply snapped it off with a strike of his sword and continued forward, killing with impunity as he took the rampart single-handed in an unbelievable display of courage, power and skill. He dispatched the Estian swordsmen who confronted him with effortless ease and fought his way swiftly along the wall. He was soon joined by two of his compatriots, who slowly beat the rest of the Estian defenders backwards and worked their way in the other direction, protecting his rear. Together, the three mighty Thargws suddenly halted and held their positions, showing incredible discipline and presence of mind, and enabling more and more of their comrades to clamber over the ladder and onto the wall. The Thargw warriors appeared to be unstoppable. Thanks to their amazing and awe-inspiring leader, the foothold they needed to establish on the wall of Te’oull had been secured.
But, Sawdon was not done yet. With every one of his Thargw instincts now awakened and alive, he felt as if his whole body was on fire, and he pressed home the attack for all he was worth. His eyes gleamed with uncontrollable excitement and saliva flowed from his fang-filled mouth. He began roaring loudly as he sent warrior after warrior along the ramparts in both directions. Now Sawdon and his Thargws were at their magnificent best. They excelled at close quarter combat and they tore into the Estian ranks without mercy. Their great battleswords ripped the defenders to pieces. Bodies and limbs were flung from the wall as they made their way along it in both directions. They were joined by several of the Estians, who chose to jump at the last minute, rather than face the ferocious assault.
Lord Castrad was commanding this section of the wall, but along its entire length the story was the same. The enemy forces were overwhelming the Estian defenders. Isolated sections had already fallen and King Vantrax’ troops were pouring into the gaps which had been created in the Estian line. Everywhere the terrified defenders looked they could see the fearsome warriors beginning to spread out and fight their way along the wall. It soon became clear to all that the outer defences could not be held for much longer.
Lord Castrad could not see it however. The hero of Dassilliak had his eyes fixed firmly on a single warrior; Sawdon! Ignoring the screams and shouts of Queen Bressial, who was commanding the secondary line of defence just behind him and could see everything that was happening, Castrad fought his way valiantly through defenders and attackers alike, killing and wounding several Thargws before finally coming face to face with their renowned leader.
“A knight of Nadjan,” stated Sawdon, the moment he caught sight of Castrad’s tunic. Blood dripped from his sword and shield as he paused briefly amid the chaos of battle to savour the moment. “…A worthy adversary on such a day. Step forward, and I shall send you to the afterlife swiftly, with a warrior’s death.”
His impressive array of teeth and fangs were exposed, enough to frighten any opponent. His eyes looked like they were on fire. The Thargw was having a wonderful day, a day as good as any he had enjoyed in a very long time, and it was just about to get even better. Each thick and rough hair of his fur seemed to stand on end increasing his already considerable frame, in an involuntary attempt to intimidate his much smaller adversary.
Lord Castrad though, was an experienced warrior in his own right and he had no fear of the terrible Thargw, despite his awesome reputation. “Save your words and threats for those who would listen. You have taken your last step forward. This is not your land, Thargw. You stain it with your presence. It all ends here for you! Remember me and my people when you reach the other side. Let it haunt your days and nights, how you failed in your attempt to defeat us!”
“Raarrrghh!!!”
Sawdon was enraged and he suddenly thrust his sword forward. Lord Castrad managed to parry the blow just in time and then launched several attacks of his own, all of which were repulsed easily by the mighty Thargw. They fought for several minutes whilst the battle raged all around them, watched anxiously from below by Queen Bressial and her contingent of Estians. The Nadjan monarch wanted to help but she was powerless to intervene, all she could do was collect and organise those fleeing the fighting at the wall, to try and build another line of defence against the relentless hoards.
The giant Thargw’s battlesword began to move even faster and it twirled and gleamed in the morning sun. Finally, one of the glints of sunlight caught Lord Castrad squarely in his eyes, distracting him for a vital fraction of a second… And a fraction of a second was all Sawdon needed. With astonishing speed he feigned an attack to the Nadjan’s right, but pulled his arm away when half way through the swing and switched direction, so that his sword now came from the left. The momentary loss in concentration caused by the sun’s rays undid the noble knight, he was too slow
in countering the move and the battlesword cut heavily into his left hand side, inflicting a serious, mortal wound.
Castrad fell to his knees almost immediately. He looked up at the Thargw warrior just in time to see the final blow, as Sawdon plunged his blood-soaked weapon deep into his neck. Below them, Queen Bressial screamed out in horror at seeing the death of her beloved cousin. However, her cries were lost amid the tremendous noise of battle. The death of Lord Castrad devastated her, she was immediately consumed with grief and despair, but all she could do was glare helplessly at the great Thargw warrior and watch, as he merely stepped over the body to continue the fight. He was now advancing rapidly towards the steps which led down to the city itself, and he would soon be upon them. He was relentless, invincible. Sawdon and his Thargws had now virtually cleared this whole section of wall. Hardly any Estian defenders remained to oppose them. It looked as though nothing could halt their progress.
