Liana flew up and into the sky, traveling directly over the army and soaring above the cliffs before performing a tight circle.
Dion raced back to join his men. The thunder of firing ballistae sounded immediately after.
52
Chloe stirred. Her eyelids fluttered. There was pain in her head, pounding at her skull with every heartbeat. Agony shivered throughout her body. She sensed movement, and a warm body beneath her. Strong forces pressed her down; she must be somehow climbing.
Despite the fact her eyes were open, there was still only darkness.
When she had summoned her power, the immense well of energy surged up faster than she could control it. But rather than try to make it subside, she had drawn it all and channeled it into the golden orb. Everyone was depending on her to make the artifact shine so bright it would blind the red dragons. She let the wild force run free, sucked out of her like blood gushing from an open vein.
She had done her best. But rather than the bloodren, now it was she who was blind.
She felt herself growing weak. At least when she let herself drift into unconsciousness, the pain ebbed. Part of her screamed at her to wake up. Her heartbeat was slowing; if she didn’t fight it she would die. Another part wanted to let it happen.
She had used her power, but there were no accompanying visions. When she tried to sense the future, there was nothing, nothing at all.
Now all she felt was resignation. There was no fighting destiny. She had tried to forge her own path, free from prophecy, free from the Oracle’s guiding hand. But she had no other choice. Lying on the sand, Zedo’s message from the Oracle had come back to her.
Your destiny is at Athos. You will enter the cave, and take up the Oracle’s mantle, but only when your entire world is cast into darkness.
She now had to have faith in the Oracle’s plan.
There was no bright light to stun the bloodren when they attacked. From the front of the army, Dion watched the ballistae skewer dozens of them in the sky, but still too few to make a difference. Volleys of arrows streaked toward the dragons, but most bounced off harmlessly. Officers shouted orders. Hoplites sank to one knee and locked their shields together, while the rank behind them did the same. Spears bristled from the wall of infantry that was the army’s main defense.
At a command from Eiric, the eldren changed their forms, becoming a solid line of ogres and giants.
Dion looked at his empty hands.
He was unarmed. At any rate his talents lay in other areas. He decided to follow Eiric’s lead. There were no orders to give; the battle plan was to simply hold on and destroy.
Fear coursed through his body. His heartbeat roared in his ears, drowning out the shrieks of the descending dragons. Drawing on his fear, using it, he imagined himself with a tall, powerful frame. Mist clouded his vision. He felt his body changing. His torso grew in size; his legs propelled him upward.
Now in the form of a giant, he stood with the eldren he shared his blood with and roared.
The dragons and the army collided.
This time it was like nothing Dion had experienced before. The bloodren flew down onto the army and began to tear into soldiers. Dion bunched his immense fist and smashed it into a dragon that flew straight at him. He felt something break in its head, but there was another right behind it and this one evaded his next blow. The dragon grasped at him with its hind claws. He felt pain in his shoulders as they sliced at his leathery skin. With a savage cry he grabbed both legs and pulled the creature to the ground. He wrapped his huge hands around its neck and squeezed while it snapped at his face. He grimaced, each bite coming closer, until finally he heard a sharp crack and the dragon went limp.
There was no order to the frenzy. In every direction Dion saw snapping and biting bloodren. Choosing a target wasn’t an issue. The problem was bringing them down. Jaws clamped on soldier’s torsos, tearing them in half despite their armor. Claws grabbed men indiscriminately by the shoulders and lifted them into the sky, plucking them out of the army while their companions screamed in horror. Some dragons crashed into the hoplites’ shield wall, impaling themselves on the spears, but others flew over, breaking the infantry line when the hoplites turned around to defend the weaker archers and ballista crews.
Dion killed one dragon after another. In the moments between attacks, he caught flashes of the eldren nearby. Ogres and giants were grabbing winged creatures by the necks and hauling them down to the ground. They pummeled them with bunched fists and joined forces to break their bodies. He saw a golden-eyed giant, Eiric, the biggest of them all, snarl while he grabbed his opponents by whatever he could take hold of.
Dion whirled to see how the soldiers were faring, but the army was fragmenting, and his vision was filled with red wings and bloody jaws. He caught glimpses – just enough to see that any cohesion had vanished. Men were everywhere, running toward the dragons with swords and spears brandished, or stumbling in the opposite direction with missing limbs and blood dripping onto the sand.
Nearby he saw the young Phalesian captain, Dimitros, dodging the attacks of a dragon shuffling toward him on the beach. The creature’s neck craned while it lunged time and time again. Red liquid glistened on its teeth. The captain’s sword gave him no chance of fighting it off. Dion ran forward and threw himself on top of the dragon’s back, despite knowing it was strong enough to toss him off again. While it was distracted, Dimitros came forward and thrust his sword into its throat. The creature lashed out in its death throes and collapsed, dead before it hit the ground.
Dion climbed to his feet. He looked at the captain and his heart beat out of time.
Dimitros was lying on the sand, staring up at the sky, and his hands were clasped over his chest. His face was white, and his breathing was hoarse. Red blood seeped between his fingers, and his hands weren’t big enough to contain the gaping wound in his abdomen.
Dion stumbled over to him. He knelt at Dimitros’s side and tried to tear at the captain’s uniform to get some cloth to stanch his wounds. But his oversized hands were too clumsy. He let the shape fall away from him, imagining himself back in his normal form. He felt himself changing.
A moment later, a young man with flaxen hair once more, Dion ripped free his first strip of cloth, but then looked down at Dimitros. The captain’s eyes were glazed and unseeing.
Dion straightened. He scanned in all directions. He knew that the visions of horror would stay with him forever.
The fight was going badly.
The soldiers had broken down into clusters, with hoplites trying in vain to shield those behind them. Where the fighting was thickest, a ragged formation of thousands of soldiers still held together. But too many brave men of Xanthos, Phalesia, and Tanus were dying.
Dion knew then that he had failed. At any moment the soldiers would break, and he couldn’t blame them when they forgot about discipline and began to flee. He wondered how the eldren were faring, but there were so many individual struggles taking place that he couldn’t even see to the ocean. The sand around him was churned up, sprinkled with crimson blood. Dion’s bold plan had proved to be a foolish gamble. He had thrown away their lives. Even the option of retreat wasn’t possible; they were all on open ground.
He started to run toward the main body of the army. He knew that if the formation broke completely, everyone on the beach would soon be dead. He needed to help in whatever way he could. But then he stopped in his tracks.
Red wings opened up in front of him.
The dragon landed and reared back before it settled. It was one of the biggest Dion had seen. He stood panting on the sand, keeping his eyes on it the entire time. Everything slowed down. The chaos around him vanished from his awareness.
The dragon roared, and when it opened its jaws it revealed teeth stained red.
It came at him faster than he’d thought possible.
A flutter of wings brought it within striking distance, and the creature lunged. Its jaws opened wide as it sn
apped at his face. Dion narrowly avoided the strike. He tripped on the sand and fell flat on his back.
The dragon darted forward once more. It loomed over him. Its chest was above his; two forelimbs were on either side of him. A claw pressed down into his shoulder. He screamed in pain. The stench of its breath assaulted him; it smelled like the grave. Two huge black eyes glared down at him. It flashed its stained teeth again while a rumble came from its throat.
He inwardly begged for the change to come over him. But nothing happened. He heard a great shout; men’s voices were raised in unison. He knew they were cries of panic as the army broke. Soldiers were fleeing. They would now be hunted down and killed.
Dion felt despair overwhelm any other emotion. Chloe might be dead, and it was his fault. He should have made her stay in Sindara, even if she hated him for it. After today, the nations of Galea would be no more than a memory.
The dragon pressed him onto the ground and snarled, eyes focused on him. It tilted its triangular head and straightened its neck, bringing its wide-open jaws down toward his head.
Then Dion heard a bellow, a man’s battle cry that made even the dragon pause. The creature’s head turned slightly. A moment later it reared, shrieking in surprise.
A warrior in bright, shining armor had leaped onto the dragon’s back. He rode the dragon’s motion while it bucked more fiercely than any horse. The warrior’s arm went up; he was holding a steel dagger. He bellowed again and sank his weapon into the dragon’s skull.
The man wielding the dagger judged his strike perfectly, missing the hardest bone. His strength was formidable. He shoved his blade through the thick scales and buried it to the hilt.
The dragon’s eyes went wide, and it gave one final scream. Dion rolled to the side just as the creature crashed to the sand.
For a time Dion lay on his back, gasping, wondering what had just happened. The dragon’s body was nearby. He couldn’t believe what the warrior had done.
A tall figure came forward to stand over him.
The sun was shining behind the warrior, so that for a moment Dion couldn’t see him clearly. Then the man leaned down, offering a hand.
In that moment Dion realized who he was.
Dion took in the imposing height, the broad shoulders, and the shirt of chain mail. The man’s face was weathered; he wasn’t young. He had fierce eyes, long dark hair streaked with gray, and a braided beard.
Dion looked up at him. He didn’t see how it was possible.
‘Take my hand, King of Xanthos,’ Palemon said.
53
‘Chloe? Can you hear me? Can you see me?’
Chloe wondered where she was. The sound of Liana’s voice made it all come back to her in a rush. She remembered the way her power had been sucked out of her as it poured into the golden orb. She even had vague recollections of being lifted and carried away. She had touched the part of her that could sense the future, but only found an empty void.
Feeling hard rock under her, Chloe sat up and opened her eyes. She shook her head. ‘I’m still blind.’ She reached out and took Liana’s hand. ‘But I feel better. You did the right thing to bring me to Athos.’
‘How do you know where we are?’ Liana’s voice rose in pitch. ‘How did you see my hand?’
Chloe wondered how to explain. She was blind, but she knew where Liana was sitting and what the eldran was going to say next. She knew that she and Liana were on a rocky slope, near the path of blue stone that led to the Oracle’s cave. There were multicolored fires around her, flickering on the stone without any tinder. The nearest fire was a menacing shade of red.
Chloe stood, and Liana rose to her feet beside her. The pain in Chloe’s head, and the shivering agony sweeping through her body – it was all gone. She was near the Source. It was clear to her now. She had inherited the Oracle’s powers, but the Oracle always stayed close to the Source. Now that she was at Athos, she could see the future laid out in front of her. It gave her the ability to see, despite the milky eyes she fixed on her friend.
‘Liana,’ Chloe said. ‘I can see the future. I know what I have to do. And there is something I need you to do.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You have to go to Sindara. To the Wellspring. We can end this, once and for all.’
Dion walked with Palemon in a daze. He looked around, unable to believe his eyes.
The dragons had risen up again, fleeing in the face of a new threat. A hail of arrows followed them before they flew out of range. Tracking the arrows with his eyes, Dion saw ten . . . twenty Ilean biremes side by side, driven up on the shore. Yellow flags flew proudly from the mast of every ship. Archers stood massed on the beach. Swarthy soldiers with triangular shields and spears were everywhere; those in front had charged immediately into the fray. Dion’s men were no longer alone.
Dion realized his brave soldiers hadn’t fled. He could see them now; there were still thousands of men in crimson, brown, and blue. Bodies littered the area, but there were also scores of dead dragons scattered around. People were dragging fallen comrades up to higher ground. Already the hoplites were reforming their wall with the archers behind them.
The cries that he had been hearing were cheers.
Even as he watched, Ilean soldiers emptied onto the beach. The newcomers joined with the existing army, giving heart to men who had been about to break. Dion saw gray-robed sorcerers with staffs in their hands, and warriors from Malakai in chain mail, holding axes and two-handed swords.
Dion turned to face his old enemy. Palemon watched him warily. Dion’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked.
‘This . . .’ Palemon spread his arms. ‘All of this . . . is my responsibility. I could do nothing less than fight here with you.’ He nodded. ‘And yes, I will die here if need be.’
Dion knew that saving his life didn’t make up for the things Palemon had done. But something occurred to him, and he met Palemon’s eyes. ‘Follow me.’
Looking perplexed, Palemon walked by Dion’s side as they headed toward the shore. The beach was almost unrecognizable. The sand was churned up everywhere and soaked with blood. Only the wooden stand fallen onto its side near the lump of gold told Dion where Chloe had cast her spell.
Dion searched until he found what he was looking for and bent to pick it up. He straightened. Palemon had been watching from a distance, but he now strode forward when he saw it.
‘I believe this is yours,’ Dion said, handing the immense sword to Palemon.
Palemon took it in both hands. His eyes traveled up and down the blade. ‘This weapon has been handed down from king to king for thirteen generations. It is the only symbol of my kingship.’ He met Dion’s eyes. ‘Thank you.’
‘Do not expect me to forgive you for what you’ve done.’
‘No,’ Palemon said. ‘I expect no forgiveness.’
Dion’s eyes widened when he saw a familiar figure coordinating the action on the shore. Big and barrel-chested, Kargan, ruler of the Ilean Empire, wore leather armor with a steel breastplate on his chest. A helmet with a plume of bleached horsehair covered his head, but his broad face was easily recognizable, as was his barking voice.
Leaving Palemon, Dion hurried over. Kargan saw him coming.
‘Kargan,’ Dion said. He shook his head, momentarily lost for words. ‘But . . . why?’
‘Your eldran friend showed me the way,’ Kargan said. ‘He gave his life to show me, in fact.’
‘My eldran friend?’
‘His name was Zachary,’ Kargan said.
Dion swallowed. He now understood why Zachary had disappeared. They all owed him their lives.
He cleared his throat. ‘You are late to the battle,’ he said. ‘But thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me until this is over,’ Kargan said. He turned his head to look up at the sky. Following his gaze, Dion saw that the dragons had fled the battlefield, but were once more regrouping in the distance.
There were still far too many
of them.
Kargan’s voice lowered. ‘I don’t believe this battle can be won.’
Swelled by the Ileans’ numbers, the army was larger than it had ever been. Phalesian hoplites in blue cloaks stood side by side with Ileans in yellow. Soldiers in brown and crimson mingled with gray-robed sorcerers and warriors in chain mail. The day grew hotter. Sweat dripped from foreheads and made hands slippery. The men baked in their shining breastplates and chain mail shirts.
Formed up in a wide rectangle, the long rows of infantry, archers, and ballistae faced the sea. Dion stood with the army spread out behind him. Kargan was a short distance away, along with his huge companion Javid. The eldren were a long line of silver-haired men and women at the front. Palemon and his warriors and sorcerers protected the right flank.
The ballistae were prepared and loaded. Archers nocked fresh arrows. Hoplites waited, ready to link shields and create a protective wall.
Everyone watched the great mass of red dragons.
The bloodren hovered in the sky, high above the dark-blue water. Wings swept up and down. Occasionally they opened their jaws and screeched. Their sharp claws flexed, grabbing at the air. A multitude of black eyes glared down at the army on the beach.
The dragons were bloodied, and had lost many, but Kargan had said that the battle couldn’t be won, and he was probably right. Even so, Dion grew worried that the dragons might cut their losses and leave. There would never come another time when all the world’s fighting forces would be gathered in one place like this. If it didn’t end today, it wouldn’t end at all.
Dion scanned the sea of people until he saw Eiric, taller than the humans behind him.
Eiric, he communicated.
Eiric’s head swiveled. His eyes met Dion’s.
Sound the horn again, Dion said.
Are you sure?
If they leave, then it is over. They win. We have to see this through.
Eiric’s jaw was tightly clenched. But we almost lost before the Ileans surprised them. Surely you can see—
Iron Will Page 32
