The diversion was quickly turning into a suicide mission.
He cried out as his horse was struck by an arrow. The animal whinnied in pain before collapsing mid-gallop. Yepert flew from the saddle and crashed heavily to the ground, unconscious.
* * *
Sophia was quickly running out of arrows and time. Sarpi were running up the stairs leading towards her position on the battlements. She loosed another arrow, which took one of the enemy in his neck. The man screamed as he fell from the wall. She reached over her shoulder to draw another arrow from the quiver on her back, but it was empty. Swearing, she put her bow over her shoulder and drew her two short swords. She looked to her left and then to her right. Sarpi were stalking towards her from both directions, their swords drawn. She felt panic rising within her; she was trapped. The ground shook as the battle in the plaza intensified. To her amazement, Luxon and his mother still stood. The wizard was unleashing spell after spell and was surrounded by scores of dead N’gist and Sarpi. Standing further away was Danon, a cruel smile on his face. Why had he not intervened? Her question was answered when the dark lord stepped forward and raised his hands. Dark tendrils of magical energy flowed from his fingertips to envelope the dead. To Sophia’s horror, the bodies began to twitch and writhe until the slain were once again stood upright. Danon’s necromancy had resurrected his fallen followers to turn them into snarling undead. Desperately, she looked out over the battlements. Below her were the city’s main defensive walls, which were teeming with enemies. Beyond that was the Great Plains and the sight of the Keenlance forces being forced to retreat.
She had no choice. If she stayed, she would surely be killed. She cried out in frustration; she didn’t want to leave her friends, but if she did not she would die. Shaking, she muttered a prayer to Niveren and turned. She jumped and hauled herself onto the top of the wall. Carefully she lowered herself down and sought out handholds in the crumbling stonework before climbing downwards. She hoped that the enemy beneath her was too distracted by the tribe’s attack to notice her escape.
* * *
Luxon sagged to his knees in exhaustion. Seeing Danon revive all those he had slain had taken the fight out of him. It was pointless. No matter how many he slew, they would just return as undead. His head was pounding; he had over exerted himself and he could feel his limbs trembling. The Void sickness was threatening to overwhelm him. Behind him, standing defiantly, was his mother. She, too, was on the verge of collapse. Her magical powers were almost spent; the N’gist amulets had done their job well. Her tanned skin was now a ghostly white and her eyes dim. Yet, still she stood over her son like a mother bear defending her cub.
“Get up Luxon,” she said. “Touch the sigil stone; see the vision and destroy the stone. I will protect you.”
“You can’t hold them off alone,” he argued.
“Do it, son … I love you.”
Luxon closed his eyes against the tears forming. His mother stepped forward and held her head high. The snarling undead shambled towards her. Danon laughed.
“Laugh at this, you monster …” Luxon snarled.
He reached into his robe and gripped the sigil stone tightly. A tingling sensation shot up his arm as the stone reacted to him. Was he really the son of a king? Before he could think further, a vision flashed into his mind.
A dark place that stank of death and damp. Wetlands for as far as the eye can see, and in its heart stands a stone structure. Ancient ruins surround it and a doorway leads down into a dark tunnel, at the end of which was an altar. The resting place of the kings of old.
He gasped as the vision faded, and shook his head to clear the images that had burned themselves into his mind.
“Did you see it?” Drusilla asked. “The location of the final stone?”
He nodded as he staggered to his feet. He threw the stone onto the ground. Upon seeing it, the smile on Danon’s face dropped. It was Luxon’s turn to smile. Gripping Dragasdol, tightly he raised it high. He focused his power into the staff, making it turn as hard as rock, and smashed it onto the stone. The stone shattered, exploding in a blinding white light as the magical power contained within was unleashed. To his amazement, Luxon and his mother were unharmed as the white light covered them. The undead and Sarpi surrounding them were not so lucky. As the white light shot outwards, it vaporised all that it touched. Danon, however, was spared; he created a barrier to protect himself from the blinding intensity of the magical explosion.
The light faded.
Luxon blinked.
Drusilla grabbed him by the hand.
“Now’s our chance!” she cried.
There was now nothing standing between them and the plaza’s exit. The hope of escape invigorated them and they broke into a sprint. Behind them, Danon roared.
“Kill them!”
The Sarpi and N’gist that had avoided the blast now surged after them. Hope of escape turned into despair; they would never outrun the pursuing enemy.
“Look!” yelled Drusilla breathlessly.
In the sky and diving towards the ground was the unmistakable shape of a dragon. For a moment, Luxon thought that his old friend Umbaroth had come to save the day, but he realised that the dragon was too small and not silver.
The dragon roared and unleashed its fire. Luxon and Drusilla glanced over their shoulders as they fled. The flames struck the pursuing enemy, instantly vaporising them.
Ferran was ahead of them. The Nightblade was standing in the alley leading to the plaza and gesturing for them to hurry up. The dragon circled in the sky.
“We are even, Ferran of Blackmoor!” the dragon roared before flying off into the night. Ferran tossed the dragon a salute. He hurried forward and put an arm around Luxon to steady him.
“We’re getting out of here,” Ferran said. “The Keenlance forces have withdrawn from their attack, and horses should be waiting for us where we got in.”
A scream made him spin around. Drusilla’s eyes were wide and blood seeped through her dress. A Sarpi arrow had found its mark.
“Get out of here!” she cried. She staggered forward two more steps before collapsing to the ground, the arrow sticking out of her back.
“Mother, we can’t leave you!” Luxon yelled. He tried to struggle out of Ferran’s grip but he was too weak.
More arrows were striking the stonework around them. Striding towards them was Danon.
“There’s nothing we can do. We have to leave, Luxon!” Ferran shouted.
He tightened his grip around the frantic wizard and dragged him away.
23.
The sunrise in the east cast the plains in light. Craters still smouldered from where the grass had been struck by fireballs and arrows littered the earth. Bodies of hundreds of Keenlance warriors and their horses lay like broken toys, and hungry ravens now greedily feasted upon them. Danon walked through the carnage, savouring the sight of devastation and the smell of charred flesh.
His N’gist followers were spread out over the plain collecting the bodies of the slain. They would serve him in the coming battles. His fury at losing the sigil stone had been terrible to behold; many more undead had been added to his army’s ranks after he had vented his frustration upon his followers.
He stopped as he spotted a body lying face down in the tall grass. It wore the cloak of a mage.
Curious, he walked over to it and rolled it onto its back with a foot. A smile split his face as he recognised the young man. He touched Yepert’s face, his smile widening. He was alive.
He snapped his fingers and two Sarpi hurried over to him.
“Luxon’s friend … Perhaps the sword is not lost to me,” he muttered to himself. “Take this mage to my quarters in the city,” he commanded.
The Sarpi bowed deeply before picking Yepert up and carrying him off.
Danon watched the sunrise with contempt. He detested the light; it, like his brother Niveren, had betrayed him long ago, and he would not stop until he had extinguished it from the fa
ce of the world. He looked at his hands. They were not his own; his original body was long lost, destroyed by his brother, only his soul remained unchanged. He smirked; Niveren had sacrificed his immortality and that of his descendants to stop him. Danon however retained his.
He would live forever; victory would be his, either way.
24.
The weary Keenlance warriors rode back towards the tribe’s camp. Of the thousand that had ridden to Stormglade, less than four hundred had returned. The cries of the wounded, and of wives and children now left widowed and fatherless, joined the awful cacophony of despair. Amongst the survivors were Luxon and the others. After escaping the city, the wounded had been put onto carts that had been waiting a few miles away. It had been touch and go if Kaiden would survive the trip, but thanks to Grig and Huin’s powers of healing the knight still clung to life. Sat at her husband’s side was Alira, her eyes red from tears. She had to be strong for Ilene, who clung to her skirts. The sun had risen in the east and the sight of the broken army was a miserable thing to behold. And yet, despite the losses and injuries, the mission had been a total success. The prisoners had been liberated and the sigil stone destroyed, Danon’s hunt for Asphodel had been halted, at least for now.
Luxon slumped in his saddle; despite the success he felt little joy. His mother was dead, their reunion ended by a Sarpi arrow; his best friend was missing and another severely hurt. He rubbed his eyes, the tears leaving them red and sore. Ferran and Sophia rode at his side. The witch hunter had done her best to comfort him, but from personal experience she knew that he would need space and time to grieve on his own.
Faramond was at the head of the column. He stared into the horizon, his expression grim.
“We have riled the beehive,” he uttered softly.
Ferran, who was at his side, nodded.
“Danon will come,” the Nightblade replied soberly. “His army will sweep across the Great Plain like a flood. The tribes cannot stand against such evil alone. Send word to the other tribes, unite them and then march on the Watchers. There we may have a chance of holding him.”
Faramond looked at his companion, a haunted look on his normally stern face.
“How can anyone resist such power? His N’gist wiped out more than half my force. Our weapons couldn’t even get close to them. Against magic, we are powerless.”
Ferran looked down the column at Luxon.
“We have a wizard,” he shrugged. “I saw that young lad do the impossible at Eclin. I saw him slay a dragon, I saw him stand toe to toe with Danon and Cliria, and win.”
Faramond followed the Nightblade’s gaze. “He is a broken man. His mother and friend’s deaths have taken the fight out of him. You can see it as plain as day. Look how his shoulders slump. I fear the weight of such responsibility is proving too much to bear for the wizard.” The prince sighed heavily. “I will send riders to the other tribes and do as you say. We must unite if we are to stand a chance of surviving.”
Ferran nodded. On the horizon they saw the thin plumes of smoke drifting lazily into the sky. The Keenblade camp was not far away. The long grasses of the plains swayed in the cool breeze, and small birds flitted to and fro, eating the insects that lived on the wildflowers covering every patch of earth. Ferran envied the animals, for they were not burdened with the troubles of man.
“I will ride ahead to the Watchers and warn Commander Fritin of the danger heading his way.”
Faramond scoffed at the mention of the legion commander. The tribes had no love for the legion, and the feeling was mutual. Centuries of skirmishes had made them enemies.
“Perhaps the threat of Danon will be enough to allow both sides to put aside their differences,” Ferran said seriously. “Only together can we hope to stop him.”
The Nightblade turned his horse and rode down the column. He trotted over to Sophia and told her of his plan to ride ahead to the Watchers.
“Stay safe,” Sophia said to her husband. The two embraced tightly.
“Same to you, my wife. I’ll make sure the gates are open for you.” He glanced at Luxon, who was staring blankly at the ground.
“Keep an eye on him,” he added softly. “We’re going to need him.”
He kissed Sophia deeply, before spurring his horse into a gallop and riding away from the column.
* * *
The ride to the Watchers passed without incident, but Ferran did spot a group of riders from one of the plains tribes riding hard on the far horizon. The massive walls of the fortress stood strong and unbreakable on the thin peninsula that led the way into the heart of the Kingdom of Delfinnia. Banners flew on the high walls. Ferran narrowed his eyes and counted them: twenty two altogether, far more than had been flying on the previous visit. Cautiously, he rode towards the heavy iron gates, his hands at his sides to show he came in peace. High on the ramparts he spotted legionaries taking up positions. A hundred bows were no doubt being trained upon him.
He slowed his horse as the gates creaked open. Six Bloodriders charged out, their lances lowered. With expert skill, the horsemen surrounded Ferran.
“Are you alone?” the Blood Rider captain asked.
The man’s clean shaved face was grim and his eyes had dark rings around them.
Ferran nodded.
“I am. My companions are a day’s ride behind me. I have to talk to Commander Fritin.”
The riders raised their lances.
“That might be a problem. Commander Fritin has been replaced. The Baron of Bison has taken command of the Watchers and Bison soldiers have reinforced the garrison.”
Ferran’s eyes widened at the news.
“Well, that’s a surprise, not unwelcome but a surprise nonetheless. What brought that about?”
The Bloodriders took up formation around his horse and led the way towards the Watchers’ gate.
“A lot has happened since you and your friends entered the plains,” the Blood rider captain explained, his voice low. “Word reached us a day after you left that Davik, the king’s regent, had been murdered. The barons of Balnor and Robinta blame Ricard of Champia for his death, and as a result raised the banner of revolt against Sunguard. King Alderlade remains in the capital; what his condition is we do not know. The Baron of Bison came here to recruit the Watchers’ Legion to Ricard’s cause.”
Ferran slumped in the saddle. Davik had been a good friend and a good man. Now the kingdom’s leaders were again at each other’s throats, and judging by the grim looks on the warriors around him, civil war was on the horizon.
They passed through the gate and into a wide square which was filled with soldiers milling about. Unlike before, there were now men wearing the yellow and black surcoats of Bison, as well as the troops of the King’s Legion. Ferran and the riders dismounted. He was then led over to a group of men who were laughing loudly.
Standing in the centre of the square was a thin, tall man dressed in mail armour and ornately decorated surcoat. His clean shaven long face was offset by a pair of blue eyes and a head of short grey hair. It had been years since Ferran had last met him, but Baltar of Bison was a hard man to forget. The baron was a great horseman and had led his barony for more than forty years. He was a simple man, a man who lived for a women and drink. He was not a man of courage.
“By Niveren’s balls is that Ferran of Blackmoor I see before me?” the baron greeted jovially. As per usual, the baron had a tankard of mead in his hand. The redness in his cheeks showed that he’d been drinking.
“It is, Baron,” Ferran replied with a bow.
“That fool, Commander Fritin told me that you and a bunch of wielders had passed this way. What on Esperia sent you out onto the Great Plains?”
Before Ferran could answer, the baron downed the contents of his mug and lobbed it across the square. The mug smacked a patrolling legionary on his helmet. Baltar and his men boomed with laughter.
“Baron, why are you here?” Ferran asked after the laughter died down.
Baltar st
opped laughing, a dark expression crossing his face.
“I am here to take the garrison and march north to Robinta. I have been tasked by Regent Ricard to force Baron Rusay to reconsider his position. The wretch has halted all food exports from Robinta heading to the capital. If those supply lines are not reopened, then Sunguard will begin to starve by the end of the month.”
Ferran stared at the baron, and anger swelled in him.
“Are you mad?” he shouted angrily. “You want to strip the defenders from this fortress? What if I told you that Danon himself and a vast host of Sarpi, N’gist and undead is heading this way? Niveren damn you barons and your power grabs,” he added, shaking with rage.
The soldiers stopped what they were doing, and all looked at him. The colour drained from Baltar’s face.
“D-Danon you say?” the baron sputtered.
Ferran grabbed the baron by his surcoat and pulled him close.
“The tribes are heading this way, and Danon’s army will follow soon after. We must prepare to face him here. Send word to Sunguard. Hells, send word to every corner of the realm and tell the barons and nobles to send every warrior they can here. If we do not hold the Watchers, than Danon’s host will march on Bison, then Kingsford and then the rest of the realm.”
He turned to face the men that had gathered in the square,
“I have seen this evil with my own two eyes and it is coming.”
He released Baltar. The baron stepped backwards, his eyes wide. For a moment it appeared that he would dismiss Ferran, but the stern expression on the Nightblade’s face convinced him. The baron was a drunkard and a letch but he was also a pragmatist. For a moment he hesitated.
“If you are lying, Ferran, I will hang you from these walls myself,” Baltar muttered.
Ferran shrugged.
“Why would I lie? Send for aid. Send word to Kingsford; we will need the navy. If we do not, there will nothing to stop the Sarpi from bypassing the Watchers entirely. For Niveren’s sake, man, the fate of Delfinnia depends upon it.”
War for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 2) Page 19
