by C. L. Murray
“You’d do well to hold your fire, gentlemen,” Valeine called out to them. “Here arrive those who stood against the first waves of this plague within our realm, when you would not come to our defense. Hand them your provisions, and they’ll go this very night into the mountains to claim carriers for themselves, though they are already more Eaglemasters than you.”
Verald and his allegiant band settled to the walls, letting the now-seasoned youths disembark. They walked with scarred heads held humbly toward the open peaks ahead, to find eagles of their own.
Standing aside, the guards then turned all skepticism upon Morlen, who sat atop the eagle that had harshly cast most of them away, while their beloved Lady seemed so uncharacteristically content in his presence.
“Rouse the king,” she bade them. “Though I doubt he enjoyed much sleep under the sounds of our distress.”
Verald slowly turned a stiff face to her. “He sits below, unmoving since you left.”
Her expression soured, as anticipated, and Morlen enjoyed the way she clenched his ribs. She soon became aware of it herself, and carefully eased her hand.
“Come,” said Verald with little enthusiasm, his attention shifting mainly to Morlen. “This idea of yours had better be worth hearing, or I suspect he’ll hold his silence till the very end.”
Morlen nodded in return, and followed the group’s descent toward the castle. He dismounted in the moonlit courtyard, seeing Valeine become caught in its silver glow as she stepped lightly down beside him, and proceeded with her through the open entrance, which was lined on either side by grim-faced guards.
Striding between the men who averted eyes in shame from the battle-stained Lady and her brother, they gathered in the great hall around a lone pale figure seated in its rear center. “He is not the king you seek,” whispered Valeine. “Not anymore.”
All present parted to allow Morlen a clear path, at the end of which slumped a sorry figure on the stout throne. King Valdis seemed to look past them toward the open archway, acknowledging no one, even as Morlen came to stand directly before him.
He was not old or feeble by any means, Morlen observed. In fact, if this man had a mind to harshly reject his entreaty and toss him out personally as nothing more than an intruder, such an action might prove no easy feat to repel.
“I come to you, as a ready and willing ally,” Morlen began. “The only one you have tonight. And tomorrow will decide whether we succeed or fail to stop what is coming, if you join me, and face him.”
Valdis’s weary, colorless hands wrung tensely against one another, grinding dust to the marble floor at his feet while his gaze remained dedicated along a course just beside Morlen. “He is coming,” he whispered, as though in a trance that no plea could lift.
“He has already come, Father!” Valeine hotly interjected. “He perches on the very seat you entrusted to me, looking to our remaining strongholds like each would give him only an hour’s sport. There is no time, no tomorrow, but what we use to act, and act quickly, to show that slime what we truly think of him!”
Morlen watched her long after she spoke her piece, and lacked any compulsion to withdraw his attention. The king gave no stir, though, only holding an unblinking gaze in place as Morlen focused on him again.
“We have a chance to save this kingdom, your kingdom,” he said. “Before it is swallowed whole by what has already taken your southernmost city, despite the men sacrificed there, despite those of your own flesh and blood who stood, when you wouldn’t. There is still time to stand with them, and you can show them that there is a fight worth making. Because, sometimes we need our fathers to remind us what can be done.”
Valdis’s eyes shifted their focus, and found Morlen. They were awake, alert, and light still burned far within, even through anguish and indecision. “What can… be done…” his gravelly voice repeated.
Morlen, heart hammering at this opportunity, stood tall and drew in a calm breath with which to deliver his plan.
“I will attack Korindelf,” he answered, glad to receive ringing silence instead of outward dissent. “I have strong allies in the East. The shriekers still hold many thousands there, numbers that dwindle each day under their guard. They keep the city ready for Felkoth’s return, because they feel his presence strongly, as he feels their hunger, their obedience, their distress.
“He will feel their distress tomorrow at first light, and its severe sting will be enough to draw him and his fire-breather away from your lands, leaving you free to drive out the invaders he brought tonight and meet him at Korindelf, with me.”
All eyes in the hall held to Morlen firmly, knowing any flinch could topple the fragile promise of hope in his proposal, so fragile that none could immediately take it to heart.
“You speak as if this were the Battle of Korindelf,” said Prince Verald. “Only now the scales are tipped much more considerably in the enemy’s favor. And how are we to gain the upper hand over the Tyrant Prince and his dragon when we arrive to spring this trap, since they had no trouble shattering hundreds of Eaglemasters in a matter of minutes?”
The king grumbled achingly, dragging stiff arms up the throne’s broad sides to support himself, and stared at Morlen with far greater intensity while the rest observed them closely.
“Would you have me watch again?” Valdis asked, his voice smoother now, though just as grave. “Would you have us fly headlong to our destruction while you stand below?”
Morlen shook his head, speaking to deliver comfort and courage. “Fly to me,” he said. “Have him think you mean to charge. Then, just when he prepares to meet you, drop low enough to disembark, and the eagles will pull them upward as you join me on the field.”
Again, the palpable quiet held many stifled objections all around, though the king, it appeared, still had an ear to lend. “You mean to separate us from our carriers, as a diversion?” he asked. “Merely buy ourselves time on the ground while our flock perishes above, until he returns to finish us?”
“I mean to separate him from his,” Morlen answered. “He controls the sky; thus, he thinks he controls you. So remove yourselves from his arena, and force him into yours. His seat within the creature’s grasp is still vulnerable, and, with enough eagles swarming him, he’s sure to seek refuge below, where he’ll find us instead.”
Glancing at all who listened, Morlen could finally see more daring in their faces now, even in the prince, whose initial resistance seemed diminished. There was almost a yearning now, to believe, trust, that this course was worth pursuing, that he was worth joining.
“An Eaglemaster is deadlier on the ground than in the sky,” said Morlen, glimpsing Valeine, whose eyes were very much on him and no one else. “Leave him no choice but to discover this for himself.”
Valdis kept very still for a long while, as though the slightest shuffle might answer the call of the one before him, whom he continued to study.
“Eaglefriend,” the prince and those beside him whispered around the king, a murmur that traveled throughout the entire crowd until finally reaching Morlen himself, who nodded to make official introduction.
“Morlen,” he said plainly to Valdis, keeping an unbroken watch on him, though it was only briefly returned before the king drifted low again.
“I… am sorry,” he replied, casting a dejected wave over all.
“Father…” Valeine urgently stepped forward, hoping to stop what she knew was coming.
Making no effort now to elevate his slouched form, Valdis looked past them once more. “I”—he began, sounding choked—“free all forces here to join this campaign, if they so choose. But…” He broke off, almost hesitantly. “I will not. I must remain here. This is my final word to all Eaglemasters, and to you, young Morlen. Go tomorrow, to Korindelf. And may you strike a true blow, before the end.”
Then, sinking again beneath a tremendous weight that had seemed momentarily to lift, the king signified for them to take their leave.
Her cheeks having lost the
ir flush, Valeine stood beside Morlen with droplets glistening in the corners of her eyes, which bored deep into the king’s face while the crowd slowly filed out of the hall. Finally, she too left, and her brother with her.
With the sense there was nothing more to be said, believing that perhaps his call to act still resonated within the king’s mind, Morlen turned to follow those who had listened and made his way out into the courtyard, where Verald and Valeine were ready to meet him.
“The Eaglemasters are with you,” said the prince, with a nod of newfound respect. “Whether my father heard your words or not, we have. Tomorrow, when the Tyrant Prince departs our lost city, we’ll know that you have given your signal. And you will see us following behind him at Korindelf, to stand, and fight, at your side.” With that, he extended his arm, and, wasting no time, Morlen gladly took it.
“Captains,” Verald said in the voice none dared question, “assemble your companies, and order your men promptly rejoined with their carriers, or risk never being called Eaglemasters again!”
A satisfied clamor rang out through the capital while many took flight to spread the message, and the crowd quickly dispersed with great purpose as dawn was near. Soon, only Morlen and Valeine remained in place, and neither appeared intent on being moved, until Verald swept proudly overhead. “Come on,” he urged his sister. “The keeper of the Crystal Spear ought to be ready to lead this army, if we’re to fly to battle!”
Sending up a curt glance of acknowledgment and dismissal, she still found her feet quite fixed to the ground, her hand suddenly on a deliberate course toward Morlen’s arm when Roftome landed with a powerful flap of his great wings.
“The city men agree to fight?” he eagerly asked Morlen, who distractedly looked from Valeine through the open castle entrance, pulling himself up to Roftome’s back.
“All but one,” he replied, and sensed his regret at this to be tenfold in her, along with a mutual wish to delay their parting. Facing her again, he felt strangely relaxed in having no words, and in her willingness to prolong their silence.
Then, he finally ushered Roftome upward, skimming along the airborne ranks of many Eaglemasters, all of whom recognized him now. Rising farther above, he began to catch lyrics being sung among them, with each verse boldly passed from one man to another while the army busily prepared, and he listened.
“To their mountains long ago he came
He was Veldeam the Wise
The eagles knew him by his name
His voice, and his keen eyes
But Veldeam’s noble heart was sore
For he’d lost his dearest friend
In parted paths so long before
And he searched until the end
In the East, he answered the shriekers’ call
And his friend he never found
For the Dark Blade struck to bring his fall
And the eagles’ cries did sound
But in their mountains he still walks
He is Veldeam the Wise
The eagles know him by his name
His voice, and his keen eyes.”
Giving in to a gentle wave of hope that came with a bolstering wind, Morlen left the Eaglemasters’ capital as Roftome aimed toward Korindelf, which was now caressed by a slowly rising sun.
And, still quiet within the bustling great hall, King Valdis felt the sting of each face that hardened sorrowfully at the sight of him, limp and unmoved as they made ready to fly out.
Where was the hero with the Crystal Blade? He had played the glorious arrival so many times in his mind that it was almost solid. But why would he not come now, when it seemed the most opportune time, while his own forces rallied so eagerly? And what incentive did he have to join with this Eaglefriend—this Morlen?
After seeing what his forces would be up against, how could he go without being assured of victory, by the savior he’d so long awaited? Even if Morlen was as strong as they seemed to think—what then, if he did answer his call to fly with them? Would he give them a reason to believe that they could turn the tide? He could not even turn his own face from the archway through which no one entered, but many departed. If the one for whom he watched would only step forward now, and relieve him of his burden, he would gladly rise up with him.
But, it finally began to set in: No one was coming. No one but Felkoth, who would cover every inch of the realm in death and ash. His remaining options were clear. He could sit and let his enemy deliver him such a fate, or strike out and help the Eaglemasters determine their own.
They would be leaving shortly, with or without him, as soon as Eaglefriend made his move. If he led, they would still follow, but if he remained here, they would not look back. Time for deliberation was over; he had to decide now.
Would he stay? Or, would he go?
Chapter Fifteen
The Second Battle of Korindelf
“ARE YOU SURE this scheme of yours will work?” Roftome muttered when they passed over the outskirts of Korindelf. “Meeting them on the ground seems most unwise.”
Morlen’s brows rose fondly while he looked toward the far-off Isle, its center a sprawling, blackened mass surrounded by lush forest. He still sensed his old companions safe within, even with such distance remaining in between. “I’m sure only that I’ll be there, ready,” he answered.
Now he was able to make out enemy droves massing in the fields outside the city walls. He clutched the Goldshard’s jagged outline against his chest, and they held course for the hostile response that awaited them, nearing the city as dawn began to creep up the blurred horizon.
“Bring down the intruder!” A powerful scream broke out within the underlying host, which recklessly fired hundreds of arrows that failed to cause even a stir of Roftome’s wings.
“Summon your master here, now,” Morlen bellowed down to them. “Then flee back into the South! And today, his hold over you will be broken.” Surrounding winds shook as they barked in collective opposition, and more opportunistic shots stretched higher. But Morlen would not be deterred. “This city, these people, are yours no longer, whether you choose to stay, or leave,” he called. “But leave, now, and call your master to face what he has brought upon himself, and you will not have to face it with him.”
Spiteful arrows whipped past his shoulders to deliver an unequivocal answer from the endless packs, and Morlen’s features hardened as he leaned forward while Roftome gracefully wove through the snare. “Then, if blood is what you want,” he said, unthreatened, “come and take mine.”
Swooping downward to whet their enemies’ already brimming appetite, Morlen and Roftome passed over rows of thrashing gray heads, soaring toward the Isle. The pouncing brood tirelessly hunted behind them.
“Well,” said Roftome, keeping low in plain sight, “if on the ground is where you insist on meeting them, let us hope you don’t do it alone.”
Vividly remembering his frantic escape from Korindelf a year before, Morlen looked ahead to the mystic realm that had sheltered him then and was comfortable knowing he would take no refuge there, this time. “Let’s just make sure they pursue us all the way,” he replied, and Roftome maintained his moderate speed as the scent in their wake swam to the drooling creatures.
“Pursue you, you mean,” retorted Roftome. “I’ll be safely watching from above, long before they close this gap.”
Laying an encouraging hand on his companion’s smooth-feathered back once more, Morlen said, “They won’t be the ones to close it.”
Miles away from the city, Morlen glanced over his shoulder, emboldened to see that they still gave chase in full force, even as the Isle’s murky borders towered a short distance ahead.
“Drop me just at the edge,” he said, as the time for their parting came near at hand.
And Roftome, still wary to deliver him to his chosen destination, inquired finally, “This is truly what you—”
“Yes,” Morlen answered, leaving no room for doubt as Roftome hovered close to the ground. Dismoun
ting lightly on grass that protruded through thin snow, Morlen looked up at him reassuringly. “Be ready when Bloodsong arrives. Surround it with the other eagles, and force it to release its master to us.”
Roftome’s lethal gaze held him gently from above. “My watch will be on you, first and foremost,” he said stubbornly. “So give me no cause to break from the others.” Then, Roftome rose high over the glistening fields that were flooded by a sea of teeth and claws. And Morlen stood alone, unshaken as it came.
With the Isle’s familiar warmth at his back, he released all thoughts of danger and slowly came to feel its inhabitants again, one by one lighting up within his mind, which reached back toward them in greeting. Widespread embers far behind soon burned more brightly at the edge of his vision, joining beside others until tens became dozens, and dozens quickly brought numbers even greater as he drew them now like a beacon.
The ground trembled as the shriekers drew nearer, only minutes from closing in, but he kept his focus on the radiant clusters at his heels. They were coming. He could feel them more strongly now. Hundreds upon hundreds, speeding gladly to meet him, to run together, as they’d once done.
He watched the writhing gray throngs narrow the divide with claws extended and dripping fangs bared. The innumerable lights were racing closer behind him, and the gray tide ahead came screaming ever louder while he held his ground.
Brilliant rays filled his periphery, burning against the nearing shadow as the shriekers only a hundred yards off prepared to devour him, letting not even the foreboding Isle slow them from their prey. He knew they were with him now, ready to go forward into those that stamped so hungrily toward him.
He drew the Crystal Blade with a twinkling slice, and suddenly a thousand unfettered roars shattered every menacing howl as the great lions leapt hundreds at a time from the Isle’s mists to join him. They charged with tremendous force through the storming wave, whose front ranks crumbled beneath stout manes and crushing paws. And Morlen plunged ahead with them into the savage masses that splintered back across the fields they’d so furiously traversed.
