“He will be proud of what he has accomplished here,” Legone said. “He will survey the work of his hands, studying it, improving it.”
Crinte looked up. “And for that he will need a vantage point.”
“He will sense us coming,” Legone added. “We are an oddity in his land, a power source he will be prepared to meet.”
Crinte nodded and stepped forward. “Wait,” Alaireia said. She turned to Legone and held out her hand. “The Boleck.”
“Ah.” Legone’s face relaxed as he gingerly took the round, bowl-like sphere. “Thank you.” He held her eyes for a moment.
“I don't understand,” Marklus spoke up. “The Ruler created Gims and Bolecks, how can you use his own creation against him?”
“We can because this time we hold a greater power,” Crinte confirmed.
“But what of his minions?” Starman asked. “They will protect him, keep us from reaching him.”
Crinte’s eyes glowed as he surveyed the land. “His armies are amassing in the southern valley. Yes, they may protect him, but they cannot stop us. If we must fight the transformed armies to reach him, so shall it be. Marklus, call the Zikes. The armies of Mizine must be close.”
“Wait.” Marklus held up a hand as he closed his eyes and strained his ears. “Listen.”
“What do you hear?” Alaireia urged, her hands straying to her sword hilt.
“The armies are amassing, a barrier between us and him, but I hear the scurrying of the Zikes, the beating wings of the Xctas and marching…it must be the armies of Mizine.” He opened his eyes and looked at Crinte. “How did they get here so quickly?”
But it was Legone who responded. The light in his eyes was dull and bleak as he glanced at Marklus. “It’s the power of the Horn of Shilmi. Crinte blew it back in the tunnels and it called all warriors, opening rifts in time and space to bring them here.”
“I had to…” Crinte replied, trailing off at the enormity of what he had done.
“All armies?” Starman questioned. “What exactly does that mean?”
Alaireia stepped out from behind the ledge, her eyes seeing beyond the mist. Drawing her sword she pointed. “Look. They have come.”
Following the line of the blade of her sword, Crinte watched through the mist, his eyes gold as the armies of Sarhorr lined up in the distance, a glittering mass of mail, white bone, silver helmets, and black spears. They stretched away as far as his eye could see and onward, blocking the way up into the mountains. A vision captured Crinte’s sight, this time displaying the past instead of the future. He was taken back to the very second he’d blown the Horn of Shilmi. From an aerial view he saw people groups across Mizine leap to follow, but he also saw the Sorns marching out of the depths of the Slutan Tunnels and other people groups of Asspraineya began to run towards the Great Water Hole. The massive army of Gaslinks working to cross the Dejewla Sea into Mizine turned as if answering the summons of their master. He could see them pouring from every corner of the World, the warriors coming to fight. They rippled through the air as if the distance were nothing, and as he stepped out of the Slutan Tunnels into the Great Water Hole they did as well. Crinte drew his sword impatiently, his fingers quickening about it as he prepared in eager anticipation. It was his time at last. But it would not be a quick battle. His eyes were burning as he faced his warriors. “Come, let’s show them what we’re made of.”
“As soon as there is an opportunity I will go.” Legone’s voice was quiet as he followed Crinte. “He expects me. He will not kill me until he hears what I have to say.”
“Legone,” Crinte’s voice rang with authority. “We will come with you. This is our quest. Let’s finish it together.” He moved out of the cove through the gray mists, walking towards a gray hilltop.
The smoking canyon lay on their left while the dark tower rose in shadows to their right. Behind them stretched the country of Slutan while ahead, some coming fresh out of the transformative waters, an army lay between them and the heights of the Great Water Hole.
“There are Xeros down there,” Crinte warned. “Be wary of them.”
At the crest of the hill the warriors paused and looked down at the armies below them. Crinte turned to them but as their eyes met each other’s, they realized there was nothing left to say. Bubbling within them was the death defying determination, the realization they were about to leave everything they had at the battlefield. Comrades, clear in their quest, one by one they nodded in acknowledgement of all they had done for each other and readied their weapons.
BATTLE FOR THE WORLD
At the top of the hill the Five Warriors stood. Marklus bent his elbow, reaching to pull a blue tipped arrow from his quiver. He could hear its voice even as he pulled his bowstring taut and lifted it, staring down in the valley, waiting. Legone the Swift stood to the right of Marklus, an arrow already in his bow. His face was grim but calm and resolute as he raised his bow, the muscles of his powerful arms straining. Crinte gazed down into the valley, watching every move as he raised his sword above his head, a symbol of victory that would be theirs in the end. On his left Alaireia had planted herself, feet apart, her sword gripped in both hands. She watched the glowing line as it steadily moved with her breath, in and out. Beside her Starman’s eyes fell on his dangerously beautiful blade. He had a feeling deep in his gut, it was his last battle with it. As if sensing their arrival a sudden breeze blew over them, and hints of the perfume from Spherical Land drifted past their noses as the invincibility spell lifted. But not one of them flinched.
In the valley, where the mists had cleared, the five could clearly see thousands of Gaslinks, Garcrats, and Xeros running towards them. Spears were raised high, dark flags fluttered in the occasional breeze, and the heavy thumping of thousands of footfalls in the canyon clambered through the wasted echoes. Sounds blended with the shrieks of the transformed, and a moment later the Slutan Army opened their mouths and roared a battle cry. Grwahoo! Grwahoo! Grwahoo! An abysmal thumping began, as if someone underground were playing the drums, thrumming against them in the deep. The creatures continued to run, eager for a taste of war, their only purpose left after their transformation. Grwahoo! Grwahoo! Grwahoo!
Marklus was the first to break rank, lowering his bow to shout out, “The Zikes are here!” Indeed a river of green grass streamed over the barren rock of the canyon, surrounding them. In a flash the Zikes transformed into their actual form, four feet tall with green electrified cones on their heads. They bowed wordlessly as they looked at Marklus with their large, terrifying eyes. The scent of fresh cut grass hung in the air as one stepped forward, holding a pinprick of poison.
“It would be our honor to lead the charge.” Its voice was flat and grim.
Marklus raised his bow, standing firm as their leader. “Well then, lead on,” he ordered.
In a blur of green the Zikes surged down the hill towards the chanting Slutan Army, half of them transforming back into blades of grass while others kept their true form. Waves of them rolled down the hill and there was a flash of green as the sharp points of the Zikes came into contact with the sharp mail of the Gaslinks, who led the charge. Reeling in surprise, the Gaslinks raised their battle axes and continued forward, roaring. Grwahoo! Grwahoo! Grwahoo! A troop of Gaslinks dropped to their bony knees and raised their crossbows, aiming at the Zikes as they drew near. There was a beat before a command was shouted and the archers let loose their arrows. A stream of black hid the eerie light as the arrows arched above the Gaslinks. Sharpened arrowheads hurled downwards, aiming for the pointed heads Zikes’ heads. All it took was the blink of an eye, one moment the Zikes were rushing towards the Gaslinks, in full form, the next they had vanished, transformed, and arrows hurled deep into the ground. The Zikes appeared once more in the midst of the Gaslinks, striking relentlessly with their poison, moving in rivers of glee through the Slutan Army as, at last, they had permission to do what they did best.
“The first wave,” Marklus said. “They will take
out the archers for us.”
“Aye,” Crinte agreed.
A sound made Alaireia whirl around, eyes narrowed. Behind her she saw a trail of light. It flicked back through the Great Water Hole, following a path that led south. Her breath caught as a division of the Mizine army appeared out of the mist, marching towards her. It was a small group of Crons, barely one hundred, but dressed in blue and carrying a flag with the crest of Mizine on it. They carried swords and spears with round shields of carved bronze on their arms. Their feet marched directly on the trail of light as they moved closer. Their dark eyes were set and determined, and when at last they stopped in front of Alaireia, one raised his hand to his helmet in salute. “We followed the light,” he announced. “It led us here.”
Alaireia walked towards them and raised her sword. Her face grew still and deadly as she felt the bloodlust rage up within her. “Are you ready to take back what they stole from us?” she demanded as she raised her sword.
“Aye!” the division of ex-prisoners shouted.
“Are you ready to fight with me?” she called.
“Aye!” the division of ex-prisoners replied.
She whipped around without hesitation, Starman by her side, and began to run. Her pace quickened as she gathered speed, racing downhill towards the armies of Sarhorr. Her army raised their voices as they followed her, seeking redemption as they ran.
As they entered the fray, Legone felt his eyes drawn into the air where black arrows still fought against the light. He could hear the beating of wings and the long, lonely cries of the creatures of the air. They soared above them, stretched wings, deadly talons and sharp breaks. “The Xctas have come,” he whispered.
Crinte and Marklus looked up with him as the giant birds flew low overhead, disappearing and reappearing in the air as they flew towards the swarming valley. One swooped low and snatched up Legone in its sharp talons.
“Remember,” Crinte shouted as the Xctas bore Legone into the battlefield, “we need to reach the ledges!”
An arrow shot out from Legone’s bow, dancing as it spun its way into the battlefield and he was gone. Airborne.
The sounds of battle intensified but the frenzy had only just begun as Crinte and Marklus stood alone in the gray mist of the hilltop. “It seems like a dream,” Marklus remarked. “When I lay in the dark pit of prison, I never imagined I would escape, much less make it here to stand with you on this day. I have seen more of the world than I have ever known. I have met the wild things of the air and land. I have seen the havoc power can wreak. I am proud to stand with you on this day and see the dark days of the Western World come to an end.”
“This, Marklus, is the final journey. But look!” Crinte turned around.
Marching towards them was the Mizine army from the Eka Fighting Camp, Ackhor and Tincire at the helm, covered head to toe in shining armor. They carried blue flags with the symbol of Mizine upon them and each warrior was armed to the teeth with bows, arrows, swords, daggers, axes, spears, and more. They streamed over the Great Water Hole, thousands of Crons and Tiders, a sure force to be reckoned with. Crinte moved to greet them respectfully, almost in disbelief that they had actually come. He reached out his arm to clasp hands with Ackhor and Tincire.
Ackhor crossed his arms, glancing down into the valley at the war already in progress. “I see you have succeeded,” he said, his deep voice offering a tone of admiration.
Crinte tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I see all the armies of Mizine stand united behind you.”
Ackhor chuckled roughly. “We had some assistance, from a Simon the Brave and Marklus,” he reached out to clasp arms with Marklus, “your Zikes. And then that silvery call back there, we found ourselves standing here,” he finished curiously.
Crinte stepped back from the center of the hill, giving Ackhor full view. “Ackhor, your command?”
Ackhor shook his bearded head as he watched the abomination below him. “Only that you fight alongside me. It’s time for payback.”
“They need our backup down there.” Tincire looked down the hill. “I will take the center division down.”
“Crinte, you and Marklus take the left flank. I will take the right,” Ackhor ordered. “Armies of Mizine,” he called. “We have come to destroy the transformed creatures who seek to take over our land, once and for all. You have prepared, you have marched far, but now is the time to take your weapons in hand and show our enemy what you are made of. The battle is ours, you will need your strength and cunning but I have faith in you. I know you will fight this war and live to see the sunrise. Now lift your arms, people of Mizine, to war!”
In a thunder of voices and footfalls the massive army of Mizine descended upon the transformed army. As they clashed into each other shields rang, swords cried out, and warriors roared in glory and pain and death. The battle turned into a blur as the Slutan Armies and Mizine Armies further combined, neither gaining ground as they tore each other apart in the valley. Meanwhile, Sarhorr the Ruler watched from his perch, his mouth curling in a sneer as he waited for the one he knew would come.
Legone whirled on the back of one of the Xctas as they soared above the battle. The Xctas banked and turned, swooping back low to take out a group of Gaslinks, building some sort of contraption on a ledge close to the canyon. The air flowed over him, pulling back his long braid of hair and Legone breathed deeply as he lifted his bow and aimed. His arrow, an extension of himself, spun through the air like a knife, burrowing in the neck of one of the Gaslinks below. It fell, gagging and grasping at its neck, bent fingers reaching to drag it out even as the life drained away. A second later sharp talons ripped through ten Gaslinks, tearing at their armor and dragging them shrieking into the air. Giant wings beat below Legone as the Xctas thrust itself into the air, relentlessly tossing the writhing Gaslinks into the canyon. Legone slid another arrow into his bow, longing for the powerful wings to be his, but that gift he had given up in exchange for their help in battle. To some it would not seem a fair exchange, yet the Xctas were skeptical and wary of the individual who could turn himself into one of them. Even as they let him enter their midst, they were not thrilled at his seemingly unnatural abilities and bade the heart of the mountain give it back. The odd sky rose before him at the Xctas gained height before it swooped back down into the fray. Although his eyesight was not keen like Crinte’s, he saw the bizarre sky as if the entire universe had drawn closer to watch the beginning of the end. The face of a star moved in space, white, lidless eyes of a giantess anxiously flickered at him as she watched. He blinked in confusion, shaking his head at what he’d imagined he’d seen. Before he could get a second look to confirm his suspicions, the Xctas turned and dove back into the midst of the battle, feathers burst from its wings as it fearlessly ripped through the transformed creatures. Legone pulled his feet up, away from the grasping reach of the creatures, and with arrow after arrow, shot them down. Shadows from the air wheeled about him as one by one the Xctas dipped and soared. But as soon as they drove a troop of Gaslinks back, twice the amount would take their places.
Marklus had only walked midway down the hill, and now he stood, commanding the archers of Mizine. He was not sure how it had happened, they just flocked to him, eager to taste blood. They raised their bows as the army marched down the hill like an avalanche, incapable of stopping. Marklus raised his hand and bellowed, “Ready? Aim.” Arrows pointed towards the sky, it was the long range shoot, designed to thrust arrows high into the air and bury them in the hearts of the enemy, hundreds of feet away. “Fire!” His voice echoed through as other archers took up the cry. “Fire!” Blue tipped arrows covered the sky in an arching aura of cyan, almost turning the sky back to its original color. They dropped in slow motion like the first drizzle of raindrops before the tumult rush of a frenzied storm. Chainmail links of metal shattered beneath the force of the arrows, splintering apart as creatures fell, glittering eyes staring in relief at the magenta sky. “Again!” Marklus shouted, this time raising hi
s bow as well.
Even as the arrows rained down, out of the corner of his eye could see the black tower, floating ominously in his vision. It nagged at him, watching him, the eyes of the Great Water Hole. Even if Sarhorr the Ruler was not there now, it was a host for him and his transformations. Marklus shivered as he found his eyes drown to the tower, watching the pointed spikes of its turrets drift in and out of view. His bow came down and he found himself walking towards it. The gray mist cleared before him, like a path, opening and closing behind him. If he had looked back, the archers would have been hidden from view, but he persisted. The mist hid his footfalls on the lifeless ground he crept over, until he could see the tower in full view. It glinted in the light like a polished stone, its angles drawing him deeper like a jewel of darkness, undulating colors changing beneath its surface. A slanted, iron bridge led the way up into the tower, its coloring dusty beneath the shining tower. Realization dawned on Marklus and he stumbled backwards, his footing unsure. “Destroy it!” he found himself shouting. “Destroy it! Rip it down!”
The Five Warriors (The Four Worlds Series Book 1) Page 33
