Truth: Makilien Trilogy - Book 1

by Molly Evangeline

  Hoping to help, Makilien ran to the group. The first of the enemies she had to face was a Shaike. She groaned. She’d killed a couple of Shaikes since the one she’d fought on the wall, but they had been distracted and easy to kill in the midst of the commotion. This one, however, was focused solely on her.

  Makilien raised her sword to block as the Shaike swung its blade down with astounding force. The impact of it tingled all the way up her arms and into her back. Makilien tried to swing at the Shaike’s waist, but it easily batted her sword away and swung down hard again. This time, the force of it knocked Makilien to the ground. Thinking fast, she watched the creature put its sword high above its head to deliver a final deadly blow. Right as it brought it down, she rolled away. The blade cut deep into the ground barely an inch from her arm. She rolled back toward the Shaike and onto its sword, her chain-mail protecting her arm from its sharp blade. This sudden move surprised the Shaike, and his sword slipped from his hand.

  Makilien jumped up and lunged toward the Shaike, her body weight plunging her sword through the creature’s leather armor. The collision sent them both to the ground. Makilien stumbled up and pulled her sword free of the Shaike’s body.

  A sound like the rushing of a river came from behind, and the back of Makilien’s neck heated. She turned to see the dragons attacking the trolls with flames from above. The trolls bellowed, sounding like enraged cows. Three of the trolls lit up, stumbling blindly before collapsing in flaming heaps. Their fire now spent, the dragons attacked with their teeth and claws, but the thick-hided trolls were not easy to wound. Numerous arrows already protruded from their bodies. It was as if they’d been attacked by giant porcupines.

  At last, the trolls showed agitation to the arrows, and one at the battering ram dropped its end. Flailing its arms around its head, the troll charged toward the archers in a rage. With the ram unbalanced, the remaining trolls dropped their sections and followed the other. Everyone scattered. The four trolls were so enraged even Zirtan’s men were in danger of being crushed. Makilien watched from a safe distance as two of the trolls smashed several Shaikes beneath their feet.

  The four battering ram trolls soon disappeared into the midst of the fight, but two more remained at the gate using their clubs to hammer away. Weakened, the gate shuttered and the hinges creaked. If the trolls continued, they would make it through, but Indiya, Emaril, and Carmine wouldn’t let that happen. They took turns each swooping down and once their internal fires had rebuilt, they flamed the trolls.

  With the gate safe for now, Makilien turned back to the thick of battle. After fighting for so long, her hands were raw. Despite all the practicing she’d done, new blisters had formed on her palms, which had now broken open and stung terribly. But she was learning that blocking out pain was necessary in order to survive.

  Makilien had no idea how long they had been fighting when a startling crack like thunder rose above the sound of battle, followed by the roaring crumble of rock. Her eyes rose to the top of the wall to see a huge chunk was missing. Spinning around, she searched through the commotion for what had caused such damage.

  A catapult loomed large in the center of a mass of Shaikes carrying torches.

  Knowing a catapult could do worse damage than a troll, Makilien hurried toward it. She wasn’t sure what she would do when she reached it, but she could try to do something. The catapult was heavily guarded by Shaikes, but Makilien wasn’t the only one with thoughts to destroy the war machine.

  During the confusion of the fight, Makilien ducked down and snuck past several Shaikes unnoticed. It brought her right up next to the catapult where she found the rope used to crank the arm down. It was nearly as thick as a man’s arm. Hoping it would render the machine useless, Makilien raised her sword and hacked at the rope. It took four tries, but finally all the strands severed with a loud snap.

  Makilien’s victory was short-lived. Before she could get away, the strong grip of a Shaike latched onto her dress and dragged into their midst. She struggled furiously to get away, but the beast would not relinquish its hold. Because she did not have the room to swing her sword with enough force to be effective, Makilien realized this might be the end of her.

  A rough hand clamped around her throat, cutting off her air. She clawed desperately at the Shaike’s wrist with one hand and thrust her sword blindly with the other, into the dark mass of bodies crowding in. Her head pounded as she gasped for breath.

  Suddenly, the Shaike’s hand opened, air rushed back into her lungs, and she fell to the ground. As she struggled to get up, a hand—a Human hand—took her by the arm and pulled her out of the fray. Once she’d regained her strength and balance, she looked up into the face of Halandor. The joy of seeing him alive was beyond words, and she would have hugged him if they had not immediately had to turn their attention back to the surrounding enemy.

  Desperately, they fought on. Makilien did everything she could to stay near Halandor. Sometimes enemies separated them, but Makilien fought hard to keep him in sight.

  Fighting through the midst of the battlefield, Makilien noticed they’d come to the edge opposite the wall. The battle was not quite so fierce here, and she was thankful for a little less pressure.

  Above the din, a horn sounded. Though distant, its long, clear note rang out from the west. Makilien turned to look, seeing nothing at first, but then, silhouetted against the slate-colored sky, riders appeared. Thousands of riders. Lord Glorlad and Lord Andron had arrived! Tears of relief rushed into Makilien’s eyes. Thank You, Elohim! This was just the hope she and their desperate army needed to fight on.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Aftermath

  With a rallying cry, Althilion and Beldon’s soldiers joined their allies in battle, felling all enemies in their path. Their arrival energized Eldor’s despairing troops, but it also infuriated and emboldened Zirtan’s evil horde. The bloodthirsty goblins and Shaikes charged with new viciousness, hacking and biting their way through the ranks as the ferocity of the battle reached its height.

  As the light of early morning came at last, Makilien gazed out over the battlefield from a small rise, but was not comforted by the sight. Even with two additional armies, the black-clothed warriors of Zirtan greatly outnumbered their force. How can there still be so many? Doom settled cold inside Makilien. Would it really end in defeat after how hard and long they had fought? Please, Elohim, You must have a plan to give us victory.

  Althilion and Beldon’s forces dwindled. Sensing defeat, Makilien fought relentlessly. If she was going to die, she would die fighting, right to the end.

  Cutting through a group of goblins, Makilien came upon one of Zirtan’s men. Something about his tall and dark form was familiar. She took a closer look and gasped, her eyes widening. Zendon! Standing a mere couple of yards away was the man Zirtan had placed over his entire army . . . the man responsible for Meniah’s death. The pain of loss stabbed through Makilien’s heart.

  The evil man stood sideways to her. He raised a longbow and drew it back. She followed his line of sight. Her heart hit her ribs hard when she found his target.

  “Halandor!” The words left her lips in a desperate whisper.

  Embroiled in a battle with a Shaike, he had no idea of the danger he was in.

  Desperation pulsed through Makilien. Zendon had already taken Meniah’s life. Would she just stand by and watch him take Halandor’s?

  “No!” she cried and sprinted forward, raising her sword high. The moment she was close enough, she swung down hard, connecting with Zendon’s arm. His arrow shot harmlessly into the ground as he released the bow. Roaring in pain, he clutched his arm near the elbow. He spun around, and his dark eyes locked on Makilien. His intense, icy stare froze her blood.

  Makilien swallowed hard and backed away, but wasn’t fast enough. Zendon raised his good arm. Like an iron mace, his studded metal gauntlet slammed into the side of her face. Bright flashes of light exploded in Makilien’s head and somewhere in the midst of
intense pain, she hit the ground. Her head pounded and her left cheekbone burned as if a fiery knife had cut into it. For a couple of seconds the battle roared in her ears, but then it began to fade away, becoming hazy and far off. Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment, but everything blurred into darkness. Am I dying? It was her last thought before her mind numbed.

  All perception of time disappeared as she floated on the very edge of consciousness. Occasional sounds drifted in—a yell, a clang of metal—but they sounded miles away. Only darkness swirled in Makilien’s mind. She tried to move but couldn’t feel anything, sinking into darkness . . .

  Makilien!

  Once again, throbbing pain flooded her senses. She groaned and tried to push herself up, but her arms shook.

  “Makilien!” the voice was clearer and close now. A pair of hands took her by the shoulders and eased her into a sitting position.

  “Makilien,” the voice said quietly this time.

  She blinked in confusion, squinting at the light. Finally, a face came into focus. Even covered with blood and dirt, she recognized him immediately.

  “Sirion,” she breathed.

  A smile flashed across his face, but concern in his brown eyes replaced it.

  “You’re hurt,” he murmured. He reached up, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek. Makilien winced even at his slight touch, and when he pulled his fingertips away they were wet with her blood.

  “I’m all right . . .”

  Her voice died away as she rested back against his arm, becoming aware once again of her surroundings and the battle they had waged through the night. But her expression changed as she listened, though it wasn’t a sound that grabbed her attention, it was . . . silence! Her eyes swept the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, but fighting had ceased. She turned back to Sirion.

  “What happened?”

  Sirion smiled again, his white teeth a bright contrast to his stained face. “It’s over. We’ve won.”

  Tears welled up in Makilien’s eyes, and her mouth opened a little in astonishment. They’d won? Even vastly outnumbered by unimaginable evil, they’d been victorious.

  Makilien threw her arms around Sirion. Smiling, he returned the embrace and helped her to stand.

  “Look,” he said, pointing east.

  Makilien’s eyes followed his hand. A black mass of warriors fled across the plains. Riders pursued them on the ground, and the three dragons and a couple of griffons followed from the air.

  While they watched, the whole area brightened with dazzling light. Makilien looked up as the sun broke through a bank of clouds. Rays of sunlight bathed the battlefield, and she closed her eyes for a moment, lifting her face to the warmth of it. She truly had not believed she would see the sun again.

  Once Makilien opened her eyes, they settled on the battlefield. The city walls were scorched black and scarred deeply from catapult attacks. No grass remained around the perimeter, only charred stalks and blackened heaps of bodies. Almost no green grass showed throughout the battlefield. Thousands of bodies and blood stained a massive, area of land in front of the city. Riderless horses stumbled around with no direction or stood scared and wounded. Hundreds of foot soldiers wandered throughout the battle zone. So much blood stained their clothing it was hard to tell who was wounded and who was not. They shared a sense of joy in their victory, but also solemnness at the display of death all around them.

  Makilien looked uncertainly up into Sirion’s face. “What of the others? Do you know who . . . who survived?”

  Sirion shook his head. “I’m not sure. I saw Lord Darand, but I don’t know about anyone else.”

  Makilien’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t bear the thought of having won the battle yet losing even one of the people she had come to love.

  “Come, we’ll search for them,” Sirion said.

  Before she followed, Makilien searched around her feet for her sword. She found it laying a couple of feet away, but when she picked up the hilt, she found the blade had broken off halfway down. It saddened her in a way, but she smiled thinking of the day Laena had given it to her and how much it had seen her through. Hoping it could be fixed, she brushed off the pieces and returned them to their scabbard.

  They had to move slowly to keep from stepping on bodies. Makilien tried not to look, but she couldn’t help seeing the dead and the terrible wounds that had slain them. Some of the soldiers were still alive and lay moaning. She wished she could do something for them, but nothing could be done until the people in the city brought stretchers out. She was sure someone had already gone to them, spreading the news of victory and sending them out to help.

  The coppery scent of blood filled the air and made Makilien’s stomach churn. She rested her hand over it, trying to ignore the nausea and prevent herself from being sick. Finally, when Makilien looked up again, two familiar faces brought a wide smile to her face. Halandor and Torick. They were bloodied and exhausted, but alive. Makilien hurried ahead of Sirion and immediately embraced Halandor. She was so thankful he was alive after nearly seeing him killed.

  Makilien turned next to Torick but stopped short of hugging him. The side of his face was caked with blood from a wound somewhere on his head, and he pressed a hand to his right side where his jerkin was torn and stained with fresh blood.

  “Are you all right?”

  Torick smiled wearily. “I’m fine. Nothing more than a scratch and a cracked rib or two.”

  Makilien guessed it was more serious than that, but she was relieved it was not fatal.

  “Have you seen anyone else?” Sirion asked.

  Halandor nodded. “Loron and Lord Elnauhir are near the gate, and I saw Prince Darian there as well.”

  Makilien sighed with relief. Most of her friends were accounted for.

  “What about my uncle?” Sirion wished to know.

  “I have not seen him, but he may be with the riders trailing what’s left of Zirtan’s army.”

  Makilien looked to the east. By now, Zirtan’s army and their pursuers were nowhere in sight. She looked around the battlefield again.

  “I have to find Antiro. I got separated from him early on.”

  “I’ll help you,” Sirion offered. “I have to find Falene too.”

  They turned to search the field for their horses, calling out their names as they went, hoping for a whinny in answer. A short time into the search, they came upon Elandir and Elmorhirian. Neither appeared seriously injured though Elmorhirian had a broken arrow shaft protruding from a bloodied hole in his pant leg. His arm was around Elandir’s shoulders for support as he walked. Even so, both grinned when they saw Makilien and Sirion coming toward them and greeted them with much enthusiasm.

  “Sirion, I must say I am extremely pleased to see you survived without our assistance,” Elmorhirian teased.

  Sirion smiled wryly. “Yes, I think I did rather well considering you are the one with an arrow in your leg.”

  “Ah.” Elmorhirian shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  Elandir smirked and said, “Say that when it comes time for Vonawyn to remove it. She ought to love that.”

  Giving him a hard look, Elmorhirian punched him in the side.

  “Ouch! Hey, watch the ribs! They already suffered an unfortunate meeting with a troll’s club. Or do you want me to leave you laying here to wait for someone to come along with a stretcher while your wound starts getting infected?”

  Elmorhirian did not look very contrite but said nothing. Makilien just smiled at their antics, too weary to laugh.

  “Well, we’ll see you later,” Elandir said. “I’m going to get him to the palace and then come back here to lend a hand.”

  As the two Elves made their way to the gate, Makilien and Sirion continued searching for their horses. In a few minutes they found Falene. Makilien smiled as she watched the reunion between Sirion and his beautiful mare. It made her ever more anxious to find Antiro. She worried when their search lengthened, but finally one of her calls was
met with a nicker. Turning, she spotted Antiro carefully stepping his way to her. She rushed over to him.

  “Antiro!” she cried.

  Makilien looked him over. His legs were full of scratches and oozing cuts, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries. A jagged dent in the armor over his hindquarters told her it had saved him from a serious, perhaps life-threatening, wound.

  “Oh, Antiro,” Makilien murmured, overwhelmingly relieved. “Let’s get you to the stable.”

  Makilien and Sirion led their horses into the city, meeting many people along the way. Men who had not had the skill to fight hurried to the gate with stretchers. Some soldiers helped their wounded comrades along on foot to save the stretchers for the more seriously injured.

  At the stable, a couple of the stablemen had already come in from the battlefield. Though still in their battle gear, they worked quickly to take care of the horses. Makilien and Sirion helped remove the armor and tack from Antiro and Falene and left them in the stablemen’s capable hands.

  Outside, Makilien glanced toward the palace. She was exhausted and her wounds throbbed. All she wanted was to get out of her armor, clean up, and then sleep.

  “Go on,” Sirion encouraged her. “Get some rest.”

  But Makilien looked up at him and shook her head. “Everyone is tired and in need of rest. I’m not sure what I can do, but I won’t rest until they do.”

  Sirion smiled, a look of respect in his eyes that gave Makilien satisfaction.

  The two of them returned to the battlefield, navigating streets crowded with men coming and going with stretchers from the empty warehouses, which were converted into makeshift hospitals. At the gate they paused, and Makilien looked around her. She didn’t think she was strong enough to help lift the wounded soldiers or carry the stretchers. What else can I do? Then she remembered all the horses wandering around. They needed to be looked after too.

  “I can take the horses into the city,” she said out loud.