Over the carnage came soaring the eagle, unnoticed above the plumes of dark smoke rising from the castle fires. It saw everything, and it saw where Attoras’ destruction would come from. Rather spontaneously it dived as though it was going to bother itself with human affairs. Folding its wings in close it plummeted toward the highest battlement of the keep where the goblins had already taken a crucial foothold, from there wielding one of their devices to rain down destruction on the lower parts of the castle. The goblins, with fire and hate in their eyes, did not even notice the bird flitting through among them.
The eagle landed and was eagle no more. Metrus stood up and gave his cloak a good shake to rid it of the feathers of his transition. Not sparing a moment he unshouldered his bow. With no arrows to speak off he drew back the string, and in the glove of his hand a gem was set, on the palm. By his volition the gem shone brightly, giving the entire length of the bowstring an emerald glow of strange beauty. The goblins had noticed him by now but stood helplessly in the line of fire. Releasing the string a plethora of crackling arrows barraged from the bow, fanning like the green spit of fireworks, ghostly seeking out enemies.
Too fast to follow the ethereal arrows struck the goblins surrounding the wheel, the magical shafts burning deeply into gnarled flesh as half a dozen were struck down. The remainder stormed and swarmed at this new threat like only goblins could. From the inside of his thick tunic, Metrus’ hand brought forth a small sapling of hard oak. The Druid made an inaudible whisper and the sapling grew lengthwise, showing no patience reminiscent of nature, fashioning itself into a spear with sharp triangular wooden edges on both points. With the goblins imminent Metrus lashed out, twirling the staff furiously to ward off the pack bearing down on him.
By his fifth deadly stroke, half of the fickle creatures scurried away in horror at seeing their kin dispatched so easily, bounding from the battlements to land on places where they thought they'd be safe, recuperating in numbers as they often do. Metrus would not pursue them, even though he knew they remained a threat and saw many more of them come over the roofs of the town houses to leap onto the lower walls. The castle guard was having a hard time keeping the goblins at bay and an even harder time trying to get the gates open for the many men still isolated in town.
What a dire plot this has been, Metrus realized, knowing full well those who orchestrated it were denizens of the castle. With his tracker eyes he saw an imposing warrior emerge from within the castle, wearing no armour, but armed with a broadsword in each hand; there were very few men in the world accomplished at wielding such simultaneously and the Druid knew he was looking at an old friend. The time had come and the means to save Attoras was in place. Metrus watched as Bhask position himself on the battlement overlooking the main gate, and he addressed the stones laid down by the Masons and the old enchantment laid on them.
His voice sounded from the deep, as though stirring from the walls themselves, no point of origin to be discovered and echoing through an entire city. Metrus felt the resonating stones under his boots even where he stood.
‘Answer to arms men of Attoras, the throne is in peril, and the Queen needs brave swords to guard the last of the line!’ boomed his voice. The soldiers and town guard surged toward the castle, following Bhask's voice like a beacon, but became stuck at the gate where no one on the inside could open it. Metrus would see to it.
Many creeping plants still grew in the shadow side of the Attoras battlement and from afar he commanded them, ‘Evolos Nefaras’, and the vines grew in haste, coming right over the top most battlements and slithering their way toward the abandoned Menace Wheel. The vines quickly enveloped the dead hard wood and made it one of their own, a living thing. No one man could operate the device on his own, but the catapult mechanism ordered its limbs by itself, turning its base towards the gates.
The contraption flung the fire pot, and struck the gate right where the wooden doors met. It was enough to smash the wooden beams that barred it, and the men locked outside of it kicked it wide open and they charged in desperately to defend the castle. A moment later Metrus transformed and took flight as the eagle. There was still much to be done.
Dream of Embers Book 1 Page 20
