by Dan Bilodeau
“I’m surprised, because I honestly didn’t believe his stories, and this of course didn’t please him.”
Doran chuckled. "If I had a pence for every lad who didn’t believe them, I could buy the Andal Empire. The important thing for you to know, Dalziel, is that above all else, Hadrian believed in you. That much was clear from his letters. He was your guardian angel of sorts, taking time to heal your mother and watching after your family, though you didn’t know it. There’s no question in my mind that he came to look on you as a son.”
“I miss him,” Dal said, his voice muffled. Tears began to fall hot against his face. “So do I,” the Druid leader said. “But even if not in body, he will be with us in this fight in spirit. Of this I can assure you. He was one of my most trusted counselors, and we each knew how the other thought about things. He firmly believed we needed to fight the Andals in one great battle and reclaim our country, we just needed a spark. And that spark is you.” He placed his hand on Dal’s shoulder. “The question is, do you think you can control it?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Because I have heard and read and studied the stories, my boy. Luan’s stone was a gift, but it was also a curse. He had to master both it and his emotions. Are you ready to do the same?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
“That’s the answer I was expecting. As long as you can ascend, I’m confident we will prevail. But let us speak no more of this and enjoy the small amount of quiet time we have left.” The two walked in silence, enjoying nature. Dal pointed to a copse of tall old spruce trees he found both beautiful and stately.
“Sometimes, I feel as old as the combined ages of those trees,” Doran said. “I have indeed lived a long life, but today will unquestionably be its most eventful. I suppose I should thank you for that.” A robin landed on a branch and chirped, jerking its head from side to side as if viewing both men inquisitively.
“That bird seemed not too sure about us,” Dal said as the bird flew away.
“Ah, but it’s a good sign. Robins are symbols of Dio’s link to mankind. They nest in the sunlight, which comes from Him. And they spread His good news and cheer to any who will listen.” The robin came back and landed on Doran’s wrist. “Their songs are wise for those who have the right ears to understand the message."
The bird took flight again, and they finished their walk as the sun was now fully exposed. “Time to get ready,” Dal said.
“May Dio be with us all.” Doran said and went to mix with the other Elders.
Dal rejoined his friends, who were all awake and eating. After Dal himself ate, he went outside to help his army with helmets, shields and weapons. The clank of the blacksmiths’ hammers could be heard over the rest of the noise, and smoke billowed in the air as armor and weapons were given last-minute repairs.
“Time to get suited up,” Pad said.
“I don’t think they make armor big enough for you,” Curran said with a snicker.
Pad lunged for Curran, but he ducked and ran away before his friend could catch him.
Deidre was dressed like a warrior princess right out of one of Hade’s stories. She was wearing a thick plate of armor over her upper torso, which still allowed her arms full freedom, and she’d tied a piece of cloth around her head to keep her hair out of her face. Along with her bow she carried two quivers overflowing with arrows, and the imposing figure she made shone brightly in the sun. Dal couldn’t decide if the armor was causing this or something else. She saw him staring at her and walked over and gave him a long, wet kiss.
“For luck and something to think about,” she said, smiling at him before going to join the Druids and army leaders.
Pad had located armor that would fit him. He had also found a hammer that was the size of Dal and was practicing swinging it. Curran had a sword sheathed at his side and was fitting some chain mail around his body.
Dal heard a booming voice: “Druids, gather at the Elders' Circle.”
Dal didn’t know where to go, so he followed another Druid, with Pad and Curran in tow.
The voice had been Doran’s, enhanced by magic so everyone could hear him. He gave a short but rousing speech, and finished by imploring, “It is time to march on the enemy!” The Druids shouted and rushed around to make last-minute preparations. The soldiers were getting the same order, and a few seconds later Dal heard a huge roar coming from their ranks. Soon the bulk of the Druids assembled in a makeshift group while the soldiers formed units of 20 or so men to mirror the size of the Andal platoons. Dal and his small band joined up with a group that included Liam and Simon.
The Druid army had been marching for an hour without seeing one Andal, when a scout rode back to the troops with his horse at full gallop. He pulled up in front of the general and began yelling and gesturing frantically.
“Where are they?” Pad asked, just as his group crested a hill. From across a field the sun gleamed off several objects.
Curran shot Pad an angry look. “You had to open your big mouth.”
The vantage point allowed Dal to take in the scope of the Andal forces. While it was bad enough to be outnumbered three to one by men equipped with better armor and weaponry, there were distinct reflections bouncing off six conspicuous shiny metallic suits equally spaced across the width and breadth of the battle force.
TWENTY-THREE
The morning was warm but there was a stiff breeze blowing over the open field as the armies approached each other. Andal flags, carrying the image of the Emperor embroidered in red, snapped in the wind. Simon stood next to Deidre and the other archers. He might as well have been making breakfast for all the emotion he showed. Liam and Sean were up front with Doran.
The two sides advanced toward one another. Dal glanced at his friends. Pad had a grim look of determination, concentrating on what was in front of him. Curran noticed Dal’s gaze and offered a quick smile. Deidre kept her eyes straight ahead, intent.
General Brennen yelled for everyone to halt. The Andals, still several hundred yards away, did the same. Doran and Liam, who were on horseback, rode over to Dal’s position. They had an extra horse in tow.
Doran said, “Come, Dalziel, let us go treat with these mongrels.”
“I’m honored, but why me, sir?”
“Because it wouldn’t do to start a war without our Seraph present.”
Reeling from the honor, Dal mounted the horse, but not without a great deal of effort. He had rarely ridden horses in Quork, and his family had owned only work horses, which they long ago had traded for food and seed when times got hard.
Dal saw an armored entourage galloping from the Andal lines, a white flag billowing in the winds. The six riders converged in the middle of the field. There were two Andal cavalrymen and a man wearing blood-red armor. He had black hair and olive skin and appeared to be very fit.
“I am Lord Wulf,” he said simply. “Whom do I treat with?”
“I am Doran, the First Edler of the Brotherhood, and I speak for the Druids. Do you offer terms?”
Lord Wulf stared at the three men across from him and let out a repugnant snort. “Here are my terms. Disperse and return to your huts and we will not destroy you this day. You Druids will cease practicing magic. Also, I want the so-called Fire Angel I’ve heard so much about. He killed a magistrate, and that will not stand. Is this he?” He motioned to Dal.
Fire Angel. It had a nice ring to it, but Dal had no idea his reputation had gained so much acclaim and in such a brief time.
Doran stared at Wulf without blinking in the now strong wind. “Here are my terms, Lord Wulf. You and your men ride back from whence you came, taking every Andal foot off Ibernian soil and leaving our land for good. I also expect couriers to disperse letters to every town in Ibernia begging for forgiveness for the rape of our lands and for all the years of disgrace you have brought upon our great country. If you agree to do this, you will not perish on this day. If you don’t, each and every one of you will be left in this
field, a rotting corpse. ”
A vein protruded from Lord Wulf’s forehead and he turned a shade of red so dark it almost matched his armor. Then he laughed. “You rustics are quite humorous. I expected opposition, but I did not expect to find a joker among you. Are you sure your title is First Elder? It should be First Jester.”
“If you do not heed my words, you will soon find out if I jest or not.”
Wulf spit and shook his head. “Here are the facts. You are outnumbered and outmanned in every way. Your cavalry is made up of farmers, not soldiers. Do you expect to go toe to toe with the greatest empire the world has ever seen?” He brought his horse closer to Doran. “I warn you, once this battle begins, I will show no quarter.”
“That is well, for you shall receive none either,” Doran said. Wulf spit again, reined his horse around, and headed back to the Andal lines
When they reached General Brennan’s unit, Doran said, “Well, General, they’re not going to surrender.” A muffled chorus of laughter broke out among the men within earshot of Doran’s remark.
He then rode to the highest point on the hill behind him and addressed his legion, once again using magic to project his voice: “Men, on this day we remove the yoke of our oppressors. You may tell your children that you were part of the first step to Ibernian freedom. Now, for your wives, for your children and your lands, for your hopes and dreams, and for your Brothers, we fight!” This spurred the troops to the loudest roar yet. But before the men could turn around to face the enemy, the ground began to rumble.
The Andal cavalry hadn’t wasted any time to begin charging. The first force was made up of 200 horsemen. Dal recognized some of them as Weepers because they were dressed in black from head to toe and carried elongated lances and bows.
“Archers!” Simon yelled. The Ibernian archers rushed forward. “Nock!” They nocked arrows. “Hold!” The men drew back their bows and waited. The Andal horses closed. “Hold!” Closer. “Loose!” A wave of arrows flew upward, soaring in the morning sun. The beams of light flickered amongst the arrows as they reached the sky. For a moment, time stopped. Then the arrows fell among the riders. Men screamed as they were hit. One man was clearly dead but somehow stayed on his galloping mount.
Simon repeated his orders. “Loose!” Again, men yelled and died. But other Andals were right behind the first wave.
Doran stepped forward. “Druids, unleash!” Strong, solid weaves came from them. Earth, men, and horses exploded. A hundred Andals died in their tracks, but there were still more soldiers from this first onslaught who kept coming.
“Fire at will!” Simon yelled. Arrows and weaves continued to find riders, but they were almost upon the Ibernians. Dal took a deep breath and focused on a small band of Andal horsemen charging Simon. Emptying all emotions, he wove earth at the enemy. The ground beneath the oncoming Andals exploded, creating a large crater. Several horses and their riders followed each other into what would be their permanent grave.
Dal wanted to become the Fire Seraph, but as he grasped the stone, it hummed at a low level and its color was wan. What was wrong? The stone couldn't possibly fail him now. He was trying everything he could think of to gain Oneness when a dozen riders broke through the lines and targeted Doran. Dal was about to help when the Elder leader raised his hands and wove earth. After a brief rumble, spears molded of rock-hard dirt rose in front of him and the soldiers and their mounts were impaled by them.
The initial wave of Andals was almost all destroyed as a second surge, double the size of the first, attacked the Druid army, which was mostly on foot. Again, Dal tried as hard as he could to become the Fire Seraph, but nothing happened. An Andal charged Dal as he was concentrating with his eyes closed, and Pad stepped toward the rider and swung his hammer, hitting him squarely in the chest. Dal heard a crunch and opened his eyes to see the soldier flying off his horse. The man tried to cry out but could make a wheezing sound as he fell to the ground and never moved.
“Thanks, Pad,” Dal said, huffing. “I owe you one.” Pad nodded and turned to another Andal who had just broken through on foot. He handled the man with one swing of his hammer, so Dal went back to trying to summon the stone’s power. He couldn’t spend much time doing this, though, since the Andals were now pouring like ants into the ranks of the Ibernian soldiers. Each second he remained a Druid with limited powers, Ibernians died. And if he had to remain in his more human form, and had to fight Andals one at a time, Ibernia would most certainly be lost.
Deidre and Simon had already depleted their supply of arrows and were now using replacements provided from a weapons case. Deidre had refilled her quivers when an Andal came at her, and she had just enough time to shoot him in the eye before he reached her with his pike.
The Druids had held up quite well thus far in the battle. But as Dal acknowledged this he spotted a Druid who had begun weaving fire take a pike flush in the gut. Curran was closest to this man, and raised his hands and wove air. The soldier was levitated off his saddle and thrown to the ground in front of his horse, which trampled him to death.
To Dal’s satisfaction, this larger second wave of Andal soldiers had dwindled appreciably. The Ibernians, with the help of the Druids, had essentially defeated a force of 600 trained Andal soldiers and Weepers equal in size to their entire army.
But his joy was short-lived. Three full brigades of Andals were now approaching, which meant another 600 men. The Druids were already weak, the Ibernian Army, while fighting valiantly, was down to 200 men who could still wield a weapon, and if this latest offensive didn’t eliminate the remaining Ibernian soldiers and Druids, there were still 400 soldiers and the men in the suits. Wait! Why hadn’t the pompous Lord Wulf deployed his newfangled “suits?” Was he waiting until the very end so he could use them to mutilate the Ibernian bodies and parade the carcasses in front of the general population? The only other reason would be that there was a problem with their operation. Dal could only pray that was the case.
A rider was coming at Pad’s back, with his pike raised. Dal was about to send a weave, when a figure shoved Pad out of the way and let out a war cry. The horse rode over the person, and the Andal spun his animal around to finish his attack on Pad. But a second later he and his horse burst into flame. Dal lowered his hands, red weaves vanishing with his spell.
Dal ran over to him, to see who lay still on the ground. It was Simon. His eyes were staring up at the cloudless sky. He looked at peace. Deidre was close by, crying for the friend she had lost.
What was left of the Ibernian army was now in disarray as the three Andal brigades were just beginning to engage them. Without a concentrated effort by all the Druids who were left, it would be a slaughter.
“Men! Form up!” General Brennan yelled, but it was of no use. Even if the Ibernians were a disciplined military, they would never be capable of repelling a cavalry assault of this magnitude. That anyone was left to fight after the first waves of Andals and Weepers was remarkable in its own right.
Dal watched in horror as the Andal troops plowed into the Ibernians. Druids fired off weaves, killing many enemy troops. But several Druids fell to Andal archers and Weepers with long lances.
Again and again, Dal tried to summon his stone. But the stone refused to do anything but thrum. He thought he saw its color brighten for a moment, but then it went right back to the dull red it displayed whenever it was dormant. The best he could do was fire off weaves, the same as any other Druid, but this was never going to defeat the Andals. And this became even more apparent as he watched the Druids become even weaker and their forces depleted further.
Near the point of total exhaustion, Liam was firing off spells while lines of sweat poured down his face. Dozens of Andals fell before him, but a few managed to sidestep his weaves and charge him. A volley of arrows took down these soldiers. Deidre had organized the Ibernian archers and focused their fire around the pockets of Druids who could still create weaves.
An Andal rushed Deidre from the side an
d knocked the bow out of her hands. Dal watched in horror as he raised his pike to bring it down on her head. Dal felt a pulsing coming from the stone. He let out a guttural cry and ascended.
The blade was beginning to come forward as Dal lifted his hand and the world around him went into slow motion. He could see the soldier’s furrowed brow and the strain on Deidre’s forehead as she awaited the inevitable. A split second before the blade made contact with her skull, a fireball pulverized the man. Deidre shielded her face from the heat as Dal turned toward the battlefield.
He felt arrows zoom by him as the Weepers targeted him. A few hit their mark but glanced harmlessly off his armor. Dal shot downward until he was directly over the enemy lines.
He stretched out his hands. “Dio, for Soren, rain fire down upon these bastards, every one of them.”
Showered with fireballs, 100 Andals burst into flame. Dal could smell the smoldering flesh. Men screamed and died. This, Lord Wulf, is a gift from the Fire Angel you wanted so badly to meet.
Dal was prepared to issue another salvo when a strong gust of wind took him. He was blown high in the air, the men on the battlefield becoming small like ants. He righted himself and flew to the ground. He grabbed his midsection after he landed, feeling as if he’d just been hit in the gut. That had to be magic. But the Andals don’t…it came to Dal. They’re using magic created by the suit, just like in the cave when the rock shelf was brought down on the Druids. Which unfortunately meant that at least one of the suits was working properly.
Dal caught his breath and ascended higher. He soon spotted one of the suits gleaming in the sunlight, weaving air. Dal watched the weaves form, and several Ibernian soldiers were scattered about like leaves in the wind. Dal dived toward the suit.
The man inside looked up, but too late. He swiveled to meet the Fire Angel, but it landed on the other side of him. Sheets of flames not only engulfed the man in the suit but lapped over into the dozens of Andals nearby and greedily swallowed them. The man in the suit let out an anguished cry as the suit began melting to his body, then the flames turned him to ash as his bones disintegrated inside his precious suit. Lot of good that thing did him. Now I need to find and destroy the others.
