by Toni Cox
“At least now we know how they have been coming though,” her father grumbled. “What else?”
“The Vampyres’ strategy all along has been to divide our forces and weaken our defences. They are planning a mass attack on the Gate with the bulk of their army. They plan to overrun what is left of our forces and then take Grildor. Their ultimate plan is to spread out to the neighbouring countries and eventually rule Elveron. Plans to attack the other Gates are also underway.”
“When is this supposed to be happening?” Her father’s voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know how much time we have left. We spoke to the traitors only a few hours ago and they were in a hurry to get away. I do not believe we have much time.”
“Where are these traitors now?” Silas asked, worry in his eyes.
“We bound them and Rothea has taken them to Shadow Hall to be put in the dungeons.”
“You and Rothea did this alone?” Silas asked.
“We need to act swiftly then.” Jagaer cut in before she could answer. “Rally our forces. We need to get to Greystone before the Vampyres do. Maia, do you know where the rest of our forces are?”
“Yes, Father, Midnight has shown me. They are spread far and all are engaged in battle, but if I fly with Midnight, I believe I can reach them all to give them your orders.”
“Aye,” he replied, “so be it. Summon your dragon and bring as many as you can. I will gather what is left of my troops and make for the Gate immediately. Meet us there, but I want you to remain with Midnight. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then go. Fly fast and may the Mother be with you.” He stepped forward and for a brief moment wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, my daughter,” he whispered in her ear. Then he stepped away and, with a nod to Silas, turned and strode off towards the battle.
Silas touched her arm and she felt a tingle of his power run through her. Old as he was, Maia knew there was still strength left in him. He would be alongside her father every step of the way.
She watched them walk away only for a moment before she reached out and summoned Midnight. Her dragon acknowledged her and she knew he would be with her within a moment. Quickly she removed the saddle from Fire’s back and then took off his bridle. The stallion shook his head, unsure of what was happening, but she stroked his face and whispered in his ear.
“Run now, you have done enough. Stay away this time. Go home.” She kissed him on his wet nose.
Fire snorted as the wind of Midnight’s wings buffeted them, but then he was running even before Midnight had landed. Maia watched her stallion go, glad in the knowledge that he would be safe.
It was almost completely dark. Maybe the roiling thunder clouds made it seem like night. Maia had no sense of the time. It had been early morning when they interrogated the General in the dungeons. They had been fighting ever since. She knew the men would be tired, and she was about to ask even more of them.
“Time to go,” she said, more to herself than Midnight, and ran up his outstretched leg.
His wet hide was slippery and she had to hold onto his spikes so she did not fall. Finally, she was in position, holding one of the larger spikes on his neck. Kicking off powerfully with his hind legs, he jumped into the air. With a few strokes of his leathery wings, they were soon high and soaring over the battle below. They were already too high for her to recognise her father in the melee, but she knew he was down there.
Focusing ahead, she thought about what she had to do. From Midnight, she knew where their forces were, but now that she was on her way, she was not so sure she would reach them all in time. And, even if she did, she did not believe all of them would reach Greystone in time to protect it.
Her mission seemed futile and she had to fight rising despair. Midnight gentled her thoughts, but she knew that even he had his doubts.
Although it was barely evening, it was already fully dark by the time he reached the dark forest. This part of Grildor-Bron Forest did not have its own name. The term ‘dark forest’ was only used to describe its location, rather than its name. People believed that naming such a place would bring to life all the myths the forest was known for. It was notorious for its impassable terrain and dark, dense trees and underbrush. It was a haven for wolves, owls, lynx, and all sorts of forest creatures, including Riven if the stories were to be believed. Now, it seemed, this dark part of the forest had become a haven for Vampires too.
He followed the small group of Vampyres from the spot where he and Maia had separated. Although on foot, they had moved at speed. Nevertheless, it had not been difficult for Lilith to keep pace. The rain and thunder muffled her hoof beats and the Vampyres were oblivious to the fact that they were being followed. They led him steadily in the direction of the forest and then disappeared into it.
Blaid dismounted and led Lilith behind him. A drooping, wet branch touched his shoulders as he stepped into the forest and it gave him the strangest sensation: fear. Quickly he looked about him, but was unable to detect anything untoward. Lilith seemed completely unconcerned and he took comfort from that. He wondered what could have made him feel like that. Other creatures were supposed to be afraid of him. Death did not feel fear.
He shook the thought off and followed the trail the Vampyres left behind. It was tough going through the thickets and thorn bushes and the narrow path was treacherous with mud and loose rocks. Soon it was too dark to see and he had to rely on his other senses to make any progress at all. Elves had incredible eyesight, even at night, but it seemed Vampyres had better night vision yet. He soon fell behind and, had it not been for the faint smell the Vampyres left, he would have lost them completely.
The trail became narrower and less manageable as he went along and, after about an hour, he realised there was no trail at all. The Vampyres had split up, fanned out, and were making their way through the forest individually. He hesitated for a moment, indecisive as to which trail to follow, but then instinct told him they would head to the same place eventually.
He followed the trail that led straight towards the west, always checking his surroundings to make sure he was not being followed himself. Although he picked up no traces of Vampyre or Werewolf behind or left and right of him, the sensation that he was being watched became more intense the deeper he went into the forest. He was wary and proceeded with caution. Even Lilith picked her way with care and sensed that she was tense and alert.
Finally, he heard sounds other than the constant dripping of water off the branches above. At first, they were almost too faint to pick up, but as he closed in he could make out footsteps, muffled voices that were unmistakably Vampyre, and the rattling of chains.
“Stay here, my sweet,” he whispered to Lilith and stroked her wet face. “I will come back for you.”
The mare shook her head, displeased with her orders, but she stayed and watched after him in the darkness as he headed towards the camp.
Soon the light of their torches came into view. At first there were only two or three, but then the forest thinned out somewhat and more torches were evident. He was startled by the extent of the camp. He spent some time circling it, always careful not to be discovered, and finally estimated the camp to be home to at least a hundred Vampyres. He was also surprised to discover that they had an almost equal number of Werewolves with them. These were not accommodated separately, as you would livestock, but each Werewolf seemed to share the same quarters as his or her Vampyre companion. It brought into focus the relationship between the two species, which he had not noticed before.
However, the camp was divided into two sections; the lower ranking Vampyres, as well as the elven prisoners, occupied one side, and the other was reserved for the Generals. The status of the Generals was clear by the way they were treated; the others tended to all their needs and they were spoken to with deference. Although Blaid could not understand their language, the respect in their tone was unmistakable.
By just observing, Blaid learned m
ore about the Vampyres than he had until this point. He had dealings with them often, especially in the Crystal Mountains, but here the Vampyres seemed at ease, acting as they would at home. It was clear they felt completely safe.
Unfortunately, he had to admit to himself that was entirely true. There were simply too many of them for him to defeat alone. The prisoners were being held in a stockade, shackled to stakes driven into the ground. The stockade was made from sturdy wood and was constantly patrolled by six Vampyres with their hounds. He estimated there to be about fifty prisoners. They had not been given blankets and sat shivering on the muddy ground. Blaid could feel their discomfort, but also their defiance; they had not yet given up.
He was about to take a closer look at the stockade, when he noticed one of the Werewolves look in his direction. Although the Vampyres seemed more relaxed here and less on guard as they would be otherwise, the Werewolves were always alert. Blaid pressed himself deeper into the thicket and completely suppressed his Eläm. If he could successfully hide from Midnight and Wolf, the Werewolves should not prove a problem. He waited and it was not long before the Werewolf lost interest.
Sneaking closer, Blaid noticed other things about the camp. There were some items, unmistakably from Naylera, such as black crates that seemed to hold equipment, but most of the items around camp were of elven make. Tents, weapons, lamps; had he not known better, it could have passed for an elven camp.
Anger rose within him at the degree of betrayal from his own people. Kanarel’s notions of modernising Elveron and then ruling it were the ravings of one man. How had he managed to sway so many over to his side? It was madness to think that the Vampyres would honour any kind of promises they made to receive this amount of assistance.
As evening became night, Blaid made no progress with freeing the prisoners. There were simply too many Vampyres to overcome. He had, by then, circled the camp three times and checked for weak spots in their defences and found none. If it had not been for the Werewolves, he might have sneaked in and opened the stockades. He might even have had time to unlock the shackles. As it was, the Werewolves were all around and it took all his skill not to be detected. He would need a miracle to accomplish anything here and he was desperate to get back to Maia. He shuddered to think about what was happening at Greystone and hoped that the main Vampyre army had not come through yet.
He was about to abandon his mission, hoping to free the prisoners at a later stage and instead rush off to help Maia, when there was a sudden commotion in the camp and the Werewolves started howling. The hairs at the back of his neck stood erect as the feeling of fear he felt earlier crept over him anew.
Warily, he attempted to pierce the dark forest around him, to no avail. The noise within the camp grew louder. The Vampyres struggled to control their hounds and soon there was complete pandemonium.
Blaid struggled to control the fear that spread through him, which he assumed was the same reason the Werewolves were so frantic. At the same time, he realised he could use this situation to his advantage. With the Vampyres and Werewolves distracted, he finally had a chance to reach the stockade.
Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he made his way through the camp. A few Vampyres looked in his direction, but were too busy trying to restore order to worry about him.
Quickly he dispatched one of the guards patrolling the gate to the stockade. The Vampyre wrestled with his Werewolf on the ground and it took only a moment for Blaid to slit both their throats. He searched through the Vampyre’s pockets and retrieved a set of keys. Fumbling in his haste, it took him longer to unlock the gate than he would have liked, but then the heavy gate swung open and he was through.
The prisoners were on their feet and looking at him in astonishment. They were an assortment of warriors, some from Rathaés, some from Tarron Heights and even some from Dragonfort. The fear was intensifying within him and he saw the fear reflected in the warriors’ eyes. They felt it too and thought he was the cause of it. Quickly he made his way from one to the next to release them from their shackles.
“We cannot fight them. There are too many,” he told them as he freed them. “Run into the forest and get as far from here as you can. I will delay their pursuit for as long as I can.”
The warriors did not have to be asked twice. One by one, they ran out of the stockade and disappeared into the darkness of the trees. Blaid was the last to leave and was relieved to discover the camp still in disarray. Werewolves howled, tails tucked beneath their bellies, and even the Vampyres now seemed to feel the fear.
Blaid did not waste time wondering what was going on. The prisoners were free and he wanted to get away from this cursed place as fast as possible. He ducked low beneath a branch and stepped out of the light of the camp. Almost immediately, the fear intensified and it brought him to a dead halt. He stared into the darkness, unable to move, and then he noticed the eyes staring right at him. The eyes were grey, but glowed even in the almost completed blackness of the night. They seemed to look right through him and for the first time in his life, he knew what true fear felt like.
Then the creature moved. His fear shifted and he was able to think more clearly. He noticed long, black strands, something waving through the air. Spikes sticking up at odd angles. The swish of a tail. The hiss through sharp teeth. Then, one last time, he felt the eyes on him, before the creature was finally out of sight.
Blinking in the darkness, he realised he had been face to face with a Riven.
Midnight flew at speed and they covered the distances between armies quickly, but Maia was frustrated. There was fighting everywhere; to the north, the east, the south and the west. Even with Midnight, she could not get all in time.
When she reached the waylaid army of Braérn, she discovered that half the men had already been slain and the enemy surrounded the rest. The fight looked to be at its end and the warriors defeated. She swooped in with Midnight and incinerated every Vampyre and Werewolf pair on the perimeter. Even with her newfound ability with Air, Midnight was not able to use the full force of his dragon fire, but it was enough. Soon the air was rank with the smell of burning flesh and hair. It sickened her.
The men on the ground rallied at the sight of her and fighting on the ground resumed with full force. Nevertheless, it was another half hour before the enemy had been defeated and she was able to land and give the Commander his new orders. She knew it would take them at least four hours to get to Greystone.
It was the same everywhere she went. Although the men rallied when they saw her fighting for them, they were worn out from the hours of fighting they had already endured. Their troops were depleted and none was close enough to Greystone to be there anytime soon.
She took little comfort in the fact, in the process of seeking out the Commanders, every Vampyre and Werewolf on the ground was killed. She made sure none was left standing before she gave the Commanders the order to march for the Gate.
Night descended on Grildor, but Maia hardly noticed. It had been so dark because of the storm all afternoon, it really made no difference. Midnight could see perfectly well, and they flew all across the Yllitar Plains, assisting where needed and relating Lord Longshadow’s orders.
As evening progressed, the weather turned for the worse again. Rain came down hard and pelted her skin, stinging. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and eventually even Midnight conceded that it might be too dangerous to fly. Once, lightning struck so close to them, Maia could feel the electrical charge vibrate through her body.
They made their way back towards Greystone and were relieved to find her father’s forces already encamped around the Gate. Midnight landed on the muddy ground, his talons leaving deep furrows in the soft earth. Maia hated to leave him out in the open in weather like this. There was no safe place for him to roost, but he refused to leave her to seek shelter in the forest. She hugged his neck, warm even in this weather, and then followed a Server to her father’s tent.
The command tent had been set up
about half a mile from the Gate. They had set it on one of the highest rises of the rolling hills surrounding Greystone; from there they had a direct view of the stones. The rest of his men, as well as those that had already managed to make their way here, were encamped in a wide circle surrounding the Gate. Maia noticed the Battle Dragons resting on the western perimeter, looking miserable in the rain.
The drenched guard at the entrance to the tent admitted her with a bow. Inside, it was blissfully dry, but the howling wind was barely muffled by the tent’s walls. A small fire had been lit in a grate and it seemed that her father’s men had scavenged some furniture from the destroyed camp around them. Her father sat on a stool in front of the fire and Silas studied a map by lantern. A Server made tea.
“Father,” she said as she stepped in.
He rose from his stool immediately and went to her, embracing her.
“I am glad you are all right. The weather is frightful. This must be the worst summer storm we have had in a century. How did you fare? Were you able to reach many?”
“Yes,” she replied, and stepped closer to the fire to dry her sodden clothes. “We spoke to every Commander we could find. They are all on their way here. Some, however, are further away than we had hoped and might still take a few hours to get here.”
“You have done well, Maia,” her father said. “Rest for now and warm yourself. We have been monitoring the Gate; there has been no movement in or out.”
Lightning struck close to the tent and the crack that followed made them all duck in fright.
“I think they are also waiting out the storm,” Silas said and joined them at the fire. “They seem to have an unusual aversion to rain.”
“Thank you,” Jagaer said as the Server brought him his tea.
Maia took hers gladly and sipped it carefully, the hot liquid warming her from the inside.
