Dragon's Fire (Beating Back the Darkness Book 1)

by Tiger Hebert

  Meanwhile, the army on the other side of the bridge came to life and began swarming with activity at the sight of the tiny Tempour army. The warriors began to laugh, as they thought them foolish for leaving the safety of their high walls.

  “Da fools is givin’ up da walls! Ha! We gone kills da fools an eat deir hahts,” howled Ungbuu as he began jumping up and down.

  Bogbaan agreed, “We will crush them!”

  Ekrin was stunned to see the forces come outside the walls. This was precisely what they needed, but those fools must know that their best chance of survival was to remain in the city. No, the brotherhood was too smart to make such a huge tactical error. There was some other reason for their advance. As he tried to quickly think through what could have possibly drawn them out, his eyes spied a large crowd of people on the distant riverbank. The crowd was large, easily thousands of men and women and children and dwarves. He understood now; this was why they had to come out, to try to give these refugees a chance to reach the safety of the city. Understanding the situation, he did the only reasonable thing.

  The high priest of the black dragon screamed, “Charge!”

  Ungbuu and Bogbaan were startled by the priest’s command, but they jumped into action and began to echo his words as they pointed toward the stone-walled city. The spear-wielding Danji rushed forward like mad dogs at the first scent of blood. They recklessly charged the bridge, so wildly that they knocked some of their own off the sides of the stone bridge as they tried to cram together. Some bodies crashed to the river below as they fell from the bridge; others simply raced down the steep riverbank to the crossing. The wicked howls of the savage tribal warriors rose high into the wind torn air of the early morning. Once more, the battle had begun.

  The words, “Fire! Fire,” erupted from Kiriana’s lips as she unleashed a torrent of bolts.

  The rushing wave of Danji spearmen were devastated by the attack as the blackened bolts tore through their ranks. The brotherhood stood their ground as they fired off several rounds. Their shots were precise and lethal. The tribal warriors seemed unable to close the gap between the river and the ramp, so they began to heave their spears in desperation. The return fire forced Kiriana to split her troops. Some held their position atop the ramp while others scrambled away through evasive maneuvers. She led her number down onto the muddied banks of the river. They rushed for the cover of the elven arks that were beached nearby.

  While her split forces delivered a two-pronged attack against their attackers, the forces on the bridge above bravely stood their ground. King Tua’Liluon held the middle of the line as wooden spears broke against the steel wall of the elven guard. The battery of archers behind them fired a low-arching volley into the oncoming wave of charging spearmen. The arrows and bolts fell hard and true, effectively cutting off the initial wave of attackers from their reinforcements. This gave the king and his men the necessary time to crush the advancing army one by one. They struck at them with shield and glaive, putting down the first charge. The next surge of Danji wasted no time, and they raced forward with frightening speed. The king and his soldiers held fast behind their tall and angular shields, with their elegant blades held forth.

  Chaos swirled around them as the battle raged on the two fronts, both above and below. The Danji were relentless, and their number seemed inexhaustible, despite the effective strategy deployed by the forces of Tempour. Kiriana needed to make a move. Time was running out, and it would be now or never if they were to protect the people that raced up the western bank.

  She fired one last spray of bolts before giving her command, “Slayers, take the crossing!”

  With that, she dropped her twin repeaters to the ground beneath her feet and charged out from the cover of the wooden ships with her two blades drawn. Soldiers and their chorus of shouts followed at her heels. Cloaked men and women dashed and splashed forward as they raced into the shallow waters of the river crossing. Stinging steel sang as Kiriana cut down their foes. Their feet moved slowly, but there was no such hesitation among their blades. Throwing knives tumbled through the air until they struck their marks, and their blades shattered the rattling wooden spears. In both tool and talent, they outclassed the Danji, but they gave way in sheer numbers and ferocity. The clash of the forces in the knee-deep waters of the riverbed was violent and awful. Blood and water splashed indiscriminately as friend and foe alike fell to cruel strokes. The lazy Yaresh was polluted by the swirling crimson.

  On the western bank of the river, Aden and the other three slayers urged their large company forward as they sprinted ahead toward the crossing.

  “They make a way for us. We must aid them!” cried Kyarl.

  Dominar and Nal’drin trailed close behind the four slayers that led the way. As they closed in on the shallows of the crossing, the slayers unleashed a hail of bolts upon the unaware Danji that charged ahead. Even the brisk and howling winds would not cause them to miss their marks. The sting of the black steel sideswiped the Danji, sending them crashing into the tepid waters. The flurry of darts was effective but quickly spent, so it was time for their blades. Kyarl led the charge as he joined the fight right alongside his brothers and sisters of the order. The four slayers were fearless and graceful with the dagger and sword, but they were not alone. Nal’drin and Dominar were on their heels, and they jumped into the fray without hesitation.

  “Taste dwarven craftsmanship, you filthy dog!” shouted Dominar as his big hammer came crashing down.

  Nal’drin was at his side, slashing his long blade downward in vertical arcs. Dominar continued to pound and pummel the weaker Danji with devastating blows of his hammer. They were actually holding the river crossing! But the Danji just kept coming. The elven phalanx above on the bridge was steadily fending off the waves of the Danji, but the task was growing harder as the ranged support behind them had to retreat to the city for ammunition. Slowly the tribal forces of the adversary were able to force them back closer toward the open gates of the city. Yes, it brought the Danji closer to the support fire of the walls, but it was a double-edged sword, as they risked them cutting off the ramp and, even worse, breaking through into the city. While the battle carried on, the first of the evacuees made their way to the ramp and up into the city, but there were still hundreds more to go, hundreds of women and children and elders. They had to hold the lines to get them behind the walls, or they would be slaughtered.

  The morning skies grew strangely dark as this unnatural cold front seemed to have settled on the jungle. Frosty gusts of wind raked at the flesh of both armies as blackened clouds raced through the skies high above. Trees and plants began to rock and sway under the power of hurricane force gales. Friend and foe alike struggled under the power of the wind, but the battle continued. Both of the Tempour fronts fought valiantly, but the unending waves of savage natives were taking a toll on the defenders. They were pressed hard on both levels, but they did not break. The resilient troops were losing ground both above and below, though. Even with the aid of some of the able-bodied dwarves and men, the Danji continued to surge ahead.

  The fights on both the stone bridge above and in the splashing waters below were strangely paralleled as the Danji relentlessly drove them back. King Tua’Liluon and his forces were well defensed in their plated armor, but they just did not have the strength to anchor against the push any longer. And for every one or two Danji they slew, twice as many followed. The surging tide of humanity had finally driven the elven guard back to the open gate of the city, effectively blocking off the ramp and the evacuees’ escape route. If they couldn’t push back against the enemy, then all would be lost!

  Down below, despite their great efforts, Kiriana and her soldiers had lost the river crossing as it swarmed with Danji. With her comrades-in-arms, she took out every spearman she could, slashing one after another, until the pain came. The intense pain coursed through her body, shaking her at her core. She staggered as she looked down at her left shoulder. She struggled to process what she
saw there. It was the long wooden shaft of a Danji spear, buried deep into the small area between her breast and shoulder. She tried to fight on, but a second explosion of searing pain erupted in her upper right thigh. The throw was so hard that the spear splintered upon the deep impact to the femur. She stumbled backward and fell, and then she was lost in the chaos.

  At the sight of their fallen leader, the forces of Tempour were in shock, and many were demoralized. The Danji raised the banner of the black dragon high as they swarmed forth. Dominar charged forward and spun as he swung his giant mace in wild circles, crushing several foes, but the charge of the enemies overwhelmed him and sent him crashing into the muddy waters at the river’s edge. Nal’drin, the young King of Nashia, leapt in front of his fallen friend as he lashed forward with his great sword. Kyarl and Seratu rushed forward to his side as they tried to slow the advancing enemies. Then a mighty burst of wind even greater than before rushed down the river from the north, staggering both armies and sending Nal’drin and Kyarl crashing into the water next to the old dwarf and the fallen members of their number.

  Dominar crawled through the water on his hands and knees, searching for his submerged hammer as the next wave of Danji charged at them, and then something peculiar happened, something he had never seen or felt before. The ground and even the very air around them began to shake and tremble. The water in front of him began to glow with a bright whitish-blue color. It was his hammer! His hammer was glowing bright blue! He stared at the weapon as he hauled it up from out of the river, and the intricately carved lion’s head that adorned the side molding of his hammer burned with a brilliant fiery blue light as the Danji horde fearlessly descended upon them. The shaking grew more violent. Then like a bolt of lightning, a flaming blue comet blazed through the sky as it crashed down out of the north. It rocketed down upon them from above with incomprehensible speed, and it crashed into the shallows of the river crossing below the bridge. The concussive blast preceded the flash of brilliant blue light that sent the forces on both sides of the river reeling. Then the once relentless arctic wind ceased blowing, and there was a momentary stillness that settled over the battlefield. Steam rose high into the air as the water of the impact site literally burned with unquenchable flames of a cobalt blue.

  Then in the midst of those brilliant flames arose a large silhouette. It appeared to be something like a large man, an armored man. Then the figure stood tall and lifted a great sword up before him. The massive blade of the two-handed sword burned white hot as the most brilliant blue-and-white flames raged around it. Out of the fire, this warrior strode toward the Danji multitude. The reflection of his fiery blade shone on the already-luminous golden-and-silver trappings of his ornate regalia. The warfaring angel-like figure marched into battle, like a beacon of hope in the midst of great darkness. Intricately carved and molded gold trimmed the layered plate epaulets that stacked high on his massive pauldrons. In between the rising shoulder guards towered a masterfully crafted helmet of silver with more of the finest golden trim. The helmet, which was seemingly yet impossibly forged as a single piece, rose with kingly spires above the helmet, a crown of the most regal and divine nature. Everywhere the eye went, it found layers of silver plate stacked upon silver plate. The golden trim that decorated the finer elements of his greaves and gauntlets were just a blur now as the fearsome warrior charged headlong into the mass of the foul army, his frost-white cape trailing in his wake. Before the mighty warrior even met his army, a great fear and dread fell over the dragon’s high priest. He turned his jagrel away from the battle and tore off into the depths of the jungle on the back of his powerful beast, leaving his army behind.

  The armored warrior crashed into the remaining ranks of the black dragon’s army with devastating effect. An unseen wave of force seemed to go before him, sending most fleeing before they could ever be met by his terrible blade. The arcing blows of his sword cut down the few that remained, scattering the rest.

  The forces of Tempour, both above and below, seized the opportunity. King Tua’Liluon led the charge across the bridge upon the still-stumbling Danji, and they routed the staggered ranks. Spearman and woman alike were cut down or sent tumbling over the sides of the tall bridge to crash hard into the shallow river crossing some twenty-plus feet below. With shield and glaive and not too small a dose of hope and courage, they retook the bridge.

  Below, in the under-bridge morass, Dominar, Kyarl, and Seratu joined their armored champion in battle. Dominar’s still-glowing hammer crashed down upon one fearful soul after another, until their enemy had been completely driven before them. The Danji fled from the riverbed in droves as they scrambled frantically to climb up the river’s steep eastern bank. Cheers erupted from every direction west of the Yaresh. They came from those perched high upon walls, from those at the gate, those upon the bridge, and those in the shallows of the river crossing below. It was the shout of victory as the broken forces of the Danji quickly disappeared into the cover of the jungle. The day had been won.

  The celebration on the riverbank and the crossing below the bridge ended quickly, though. The feelings of joy were suddenly replaced by those of concern, fear, and sadness as a crowd gathered around the muddied banks of the river. There, on the ground, lay a soaked and blood-drenched soldier, fighting for her last breath. The waterlogged body and matted red hair of Kiriana lay on the muddy ground as she cried out in pain. Jeren and Seratu kneeled by her side as the rest of her brothers and sisters gathered around the dying woman. Her friends tried to comfort her as best they could, but they couldn’t even withstand the overwhelming tide of their own emotions.

  Then amidst the tearful good-byes came a gentle but deep voice, “Make way. Give me room.”

  As the crowd stirred, those closest to the voice quickly stumbled out of the way, giving the armored hero a wide berth. His massive frame moved quickly as it carried the weight of his armor effortlessly. Now they could see the image that was proudly displayed in the very center of his breastplate. It was the large head of a lion embossed upon the armor in rich gold. It was just like the lion upon the dwarven crests and seals, like the one on Dominar’s hammer.

  The warrior made his way toward the dying girl, where he quickly removed his helmet, revealing his dark complexion. Azure orbs of an untold depth existed in the place reserved for the eyes of mere mortals. His eyes were, in shape and function, every bit human, but their brilliance and depth—oh, their depth—told a different story. They stood in stark contrast to the smoke-colored skin and the thick dark hair of his face. The face was not handsome but rugged and full of power, yet somehow meekness tamed it all. And those eyes, they were full of so much—so much wisdom and so much compassion, compassion that brought tears into the champion’s marvelous eyes. Dropping that magnificent great sword to the ground, he quickly removed his gauntlets and tossed them aside. As Kiriana choked for her last breaths, he gently placed his bare hands upon each of her open wounds.

  The young woman tried to speak, but she struggled for each breath before her words broke forth, “Frel…sarine!”

  A large smile overtook his tearful countenance, and his long dark hair fell back as he looked up to the heavens and spoke, “Father, have mercy upon your daughter!”

  She began choking, and then she took in a big breath with a gasp; her airways were opened! Her heart was pounding, and she fought to catch her breath, but at last she was breathing again! As he lifted his blood-soaked hands, the flesh where the wounds once were was completely restored. The pain dissipated. Her life had been saved. The surrounding crowd that had witnessed the miracle stood dumbfounded and nearly silent.

  The trembling girl asked, “What is your name?”

  “Aneri’On,” answered the mighty warrior.

  With a soft and shaking voice, she asked, “It is you? The one who is to come?”

  “I am,” came his powerful, yet gentle voice.

  Her eyes grew wide in amazement. A wild and confusing blend of emotions surged throug
h the onlookers, but none of their responses matched young Kiriana’s. While those that knew what this meant fell to their knees, prostrate before the heralded one, her response was quite different, surprising even their new hero. The once-cold and distant young woman stared back into the still-moist eyes of her savior’s face, and then she leapt forward, embracing the steel-clad warrior as she began sobbing. She cried tears, tears of joy.

  26 Hope Is Restored

  The once-secretive and quiet jungle city of Tempour was now abuzz with excitement and activity. The battle for Tempour had been won. It would not have been so if not for the arrival of Aneri’On. The diverse mixture of cultures that now dwelled within the city walls did not at all know how to process this information, or even how to respond to it. Some understood the portents and what they meant. Others like Nal’drin’s people, the men and women from the plains of Nashia, did not understand what had just happened. They were not at all familiar with the prophecies or the great texts or the Gorn Tor Elbath. Nal’drin himself only knew of these things because of his brief time with Dominar in the great halls of Dar Mar’Kren. The same must be said of the elves as well. Few, if any, beyond Isiirial and her uncle, King Tua’Liluon, had been taught anything about the hope and the promise of the Frelsarine. That did not stand a chance of dampening the excitement and cheer in the victors’ camp, though.