III
Tristan held on for his life as Wyrddlin flew straight for the red dragon winging their way. He could feel the intake of air through his thighs and the blast of heat as fire swept forth and into the red’s path. Clint had raised a shield to block the flames, his sword held ready for when the two crossed paths.
He had yet to draw his own weapons, waiting for an opportunity to present when they’d be needed. For now; he just held on and tried not to fall from the newly made saddle. Wyrddlin was banking to try and flank the red, but their opponent had anticipated that, and with a flap of his wings—scraped by overhead.
Wyrddlin dipped his head and dove. His stomach lurched and he was suddenly glad he had forgone breakfast; he might have just lost it. Flashes of green and blue light arced by, barely missing the red’s tail and dispersing into the clouds above. Rain had begun to come down hard and he had to drop his visor to keep it from striking his face. A strong wind struck them, but Wyrddlin had anticipated that, and with the spreading of his wings, rose forth and began coming around to face the red again.
Quickly, he gripped Purity and yanked it free. A harpy had bumbled into their path and he slashed expertly across its trajectory; cutting it from the sky. With a screech, it fell towards the earth, as he sheathed his sword and leaned right, as Wyrddlin finished his pass.
The red was nowhere to be seen. His eyes scanned the skyline and the battle raging around him, but he was unable to spy their opponent. Wyrddlin roared with his shared frustration. Then movement caught his eye and he saw a flash of red part the clouds and dive right for them. If they had been aiming for the dragon between his thighs, they would have plowed into one another, but the red lifted at the last second and came straight for him.
Purity was once again in hand and he swung at the legs reaching his way. As the metal struck the red forelegs it burst into flames, cutting into the claws of the beast cleanly, and nearly severing a foot. With a howl of anguish the red shifted his wings and flew higher, barely missing his intended target. Once the beast was past, his sword extinguished itself, black blood dripping down his blade. Dragonslayer had been a component of the sword Nimue had created and he was grateful for that; it had saved his life.
Wyrddlin swung around and hovered for a moment, watching as the red dragon raced across the sky. “Nice move,” the dragon complimented him. “Just make sure that sword of yours hits the right target.”
He had to laugh. “I’ll do my best.”
The dragon grunted, then dove to the right as the red began streaking north.
A bad idea began to surface and he frowned as he thought it through, but every part of his being told him it was the right thing to do. His fingers started working at the straps binding his legs before he could talk himself out of it.
“Gain altitude,” he instructed the silver dragon, not believing the words he was uttering, but unable to help himself.
Wyrddlin began to rise and he could see from the way the dragon looked at him that he was confused as to his intentions. “Probably best if you redo those straps, this might get rough.”
“Just keep gaining altitude and get me over him,” he commanded, undoing the last strap and gripping the saddle tightly.
“Are you crazy? Maybe I should have brought the elf; even she isn’t this nuts,” Wyrddlin stated, an eye going wide, and Tristan had to smile once more.
He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves, then grinned at the dragon. “Do your best to catch me, okay?” he asked. Before he could second guess himself, he dove off the dragon with his swords held out before him, headed straight for the red beast winging it’s way east; an armored missile of metal and flesh streaking across the sky.
IV
Griffins flew by, their riders firing arrows at the harpies invading the skies. Erik had several come his way, which in turn were dispatched by burst of magical fire from below; he was grateful someone was looking out for him. Alamar’s horsemen had ridden into the enemy’s right side and the human army to the south had charged the field and met the opposing army’s left. The vanguard was holding for the moment, the gnolls and kobolds having retreated as the more seasoned orc and goblin armies ploughed into their lines.
He watched as his knights rode forth to meet the enemy under Pendoran’s command. General Jade had ordered ranks of men forward to give the forefront lines a quick reprieve. The battle was becoming more intense as the more seasoned warriors began to do battle and his eyes had hovering spots from the flashes of magic being employed by both sides. Troglodytes were flinging spells at his men and the Fae were answering in kind. He saw a shimmer across the area where battle was joined and then screams of terror rose from the opposing army.
Focusing his attention on that spot, he watched as the corpses lying on the battlefield began to twitch, then rise to their feet. Weapons in hand, they turned on the enemy horde and started hacking into it. The Elves, unused to this type of magic, paused in their fighting as the undead moved forth.
Serix’s work no doubt.
His eyes drifted to where the chimera had been hovering most of the battle and had a surge of panic when he realized that she was gone! Bella had escaped when his attention was diverted and though he scanned the sky on either side, he could not find a single trace of where she had flown off too. Uneasiness set in and he ordered a sprite to fly back to the palace and give warning; Pestilence may be within the castle grounds and needed to be taken care of—immediately.
V
Despite her words the night before, Reyna hadn’t fully forgiven the mage for what he’d done by dragging her and her brother along on this fool quest of his. But it had shifted enough that she could at least look at the man. Now, she used that anger, that hate, to fuel her swings as she strode purposefully towards the enemy that she used to command.
The gnolls and kobolds had been cannon fodder; a means to tire the front lines before the real threat approached. She stepped over the corpse of a kobold and swung her sword at the boulder orc coming her way. He took an arrow to the forehead and fell at her feet; her instincts letting her dodge before taking her down with him.
A mace swung at her and she blocked it with her shield, dispatching the goblin attacker with a quick swipe of her sword. She turned her body in an arc and sliced into the neck of a bugbear, while deflecting a strike from another. Slowly, she made her way forward, hacking into the enemy; her rage increasingly hungry for more.
Her eyes shifted left and she saw a reptilian face looking at her. Before she could react, a flash of green arced her way and her breath caught. Blue light struck the magical fire before it reached her and another streaked by and nailed the troglodyte in the face. A leprechaun cackled as he leapt forward and sent another burst of energy into an oncoming orc.
“Bloody hell, what the fuck world am I fighting in?” she asked no one in particular as she watched the creature disappear from sight. Shaking her head, she regained her stance and moved forward once more. She was not used to magic being employed this frequently during battle and had to duck as a nymph’s corpse was thrown her way from a very large ogre on her right. The monstrous beast was holding a long massive hammer and was using it to swipe at large groups of men at a time.
“That son of a bitch needs to be taken care of,” she heard from over her shoulder and was surprised to see Pendoran standing by her side, fighting off another bugbear as it lunged for them. “Want to flip a coin to see who goes first?” he asked as he dispatched his opponent and started moving towards the nearby ogre.
She smirked; he had spunk. “Don’t elves use double-headed coins?”
Pendoran winked at her, then decapitated another goblin as he brought his shield up and deflected a flail aimed at his head.
She dispatched his attacker and found that they were now within range of the giant hammer arcing their way. She ducked, then dove forward, running straight for the ogre’s legs.
“I’m right here! How’d you miss me?” Pendoran taunted, moving to the right and drawing
the ogre’s attention away from her as she dodged another mace, deflected an arrow strike with her shield, and came within range of the massive creature’s right leg.
She sliced cleanly into the exposed flesh, as the beast was merely wearing rags, and a howl erupted from above her. She grinned with delight as she cut through the tendons holding the beast up and felt the hovering monster begin to stumble forward.
Her grin faded as something unforeseen happened; making her cringe inside. She was forced to watch as a winged goblin dove towards Pendoran, momentarily distracting him, as the raised hammer came down and slammed into his chest. Blood erupted from the elven knight’s mouth as his armor caved in, and he fell backwards into the men behind him. A nymph dispatched the hovering goblin as it reached for Pendoran’s body and the ogre impacted the ground at the exact same moment. A cry went up from the knights as they surged forward to protect their fallen commander, swords arcing down and finishing the ogre off before he even had time to lift his head. The knight’s arms were gripped on either side and he was pulled from combat. But she had seen the look in his eyes and knew that he was already gone.
He had given his life to give her a shot at taking the ogre out and she momentarily mourned his loss. He was a good fighter, a great leader, and the Elves had taken a hard blow losing him so early.
Grinding her teeth, she turned and saw another boulder orc moving her way. Raising her sword, she stepped forward to meet him.
Chapter 16
Mother & Daughter
I
Kore was cleaving his way through a line of goblins, his kin at his side, the Horsemen of Alamar strafing the lines and trying to flank the enemy. He had yet to see an orc in the advancing forces. Maybe they were being held back out of fear of what might happen when the two forces met in the field. The sight of free orcs fighting on the side of the Elves must have given the enemy commanders pause; they probably feared losing more of their army, in which orcs made a large portion of.
Druids moved amongst them, warily avoiding the berserker fighting-style of the orcs, working to battle the troglodyte spellcasters. He was constantly having to dodge magical bursts of energy being flung his way while dealing with the goblins trying to hack at his thighs. He reached down and grabbed one by the neck and flung it to the right, Grackthor’s greataxe arcing down at just the right moment and cleaving the creature in two.
A halberd was flashing by and he turned, working his tusks, brow drawing together. A jackyl had been dismounted and had chosen to focus its attention on him. Leather armored, a helm barely covering its head, the nostrils on the long snout flared as it swung the halberd back and made to swing again.
He drew himself back, crouching, then leapt into the air; axe held high. Goblins surged forward in an effort to block his path but his countrymen hacked into them, leaving Kore free to bring his greataxe down and burying it in the neck of the enemy. He landed with a loud crunch, his sabatons digging into the earth, his great forearms flexing as he yanked his axe free and kicked the newly-made corpse with a swift motion.
A flail nailed him in the side and he reached down, grasped the chain, and pulled the stunned goblin closer, then punched the creature in the face. The flail was dropped and an orc brought a greatsword down; impaling the squealing goblin. His red eyes met those of his kin, then he turned to see what was next.
The enemy had withdrawn in a half circle in front of them and his eyes widened, trying to figure out what was happening. Then horns appeared and a large figure strode into view. He was wearing brown chainmail, had a long black cloak, and was holding a large lance with his left hand. The minotaur’s eyes burned with hunger and he noticed how quickly the goblin horde was backing up to gain distance on the creature.
Coming to a stop, the Horseman glared across at the renegade orcs, threw back his shoulders, raised his snout, and roared challenging at them; one hand beating his chest.
Xutag let out a bellow from the left and before Kore could stop him, was charging across the open area towards the awaiting minotaur. The Horseman’s lance whipped around and Xutag blocked with his right forearm, then brought his sword down. Famine’s wrist shot up, caught Xutag’s sword arm, and pulled him close. The minotaur’s snout bent close to the furious orc and the Horseman took one long breath in. As Kore watched, the body of his countrymen began to shrivel in upon itself, the armor becoming loose, his limbs hanging loosely, the life leaving the orc warrior’s body. Famine’s eyes hungrily watched the rest of them take in the death of their comrade, then thrust his arm forward, flinging the dead orc at their feet; waiting to see who would be next.
“Grackthor fight,” his companion stated on his right and he turned to look at the worried orc. It was obvious the Horseman had given the orc warriors’ pause and throughout the immediate area, the battle had ceased in anticipation of what happened next. Grackthor was fingering his two hand axes as he looked to Kore for approval.
He shook his head. “Mage make spell, protect Kore. Kore fight,” he told his brother-in-arms. Merlin had met with the orc earlier that morning, having seen that this battle was going to take place. The orc never really believed in fate, but what did it hurt to let the magician do what he needed if it made him feel better. He had no idea what it was about, what Merlin had done, but he had trusted the man this far, owed him his life; there was no reason not to now.
Grackthor reached out and clapped Kore on the shoulder. “Daɪ̯, wel ˈbɹʌð.ə.”
He nodded, then stepped into the makeshift arena, adjusting his armor with his fingers and hefting his greataxe on his shoulder.
“Famine want fight, Kore give fight.”
II
Pendoran had been killed in combat and Tar Reiz was working his way forward to rally the men. The lines were starting to show wear and he issued orders for fresh men to be sent to the front and give those in combat a chance to catch their breath. Neither side was making progress, one side skilled in battle, the other using their numbers to balance it out. It was a push and pull, one step forward, one back. The corpses were beginning to pile up and he would soon have to decide if they needed to find a way to retreat back behind the wall and give his men time to recover.
A lot of lives would be lost if he did so, and he wasn’t sure he could live with that. Still, if he waited too long he might not have an army left to evacuate.
The Humans seemed to be pulling their own and the fighting had come almost to a halt on the northern end of the field. He hadn’t had a chance to find out what was going on yet, but he was sure that whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He ordered a sprite to go find out what was happening and turned his focus back to the men fighting below.
Death had finally decided to join the battle and was flying directly for the vanguard of his army. His heart shifted into high gear and he called for Kallen to return him to the ground below. The gargoyle landed in the middle of one of his formations, the scythe swinging in an arc and every living soul in range simply fell over dead. Unfortunately for the enemy, that included their fighters as well and a perfect oval had formed where no one would dare stand or go through.
The Horseman started to make his way forward, eyes intent on the drawbridge and the army in-between, and Erik knew that the time had come to join the battle.
Leaping from the back of his griffin, he motioned for a nearby archer to approach, then turned to Kallen. “Take him in my place, try to get some arrows into that thing?” he requested of the magnificent beast, eyes looking at the approaching Horseman in the distance.
“I’ll do what I can, good luck Elf King,” Kallen returned, then took to the air once the other elf was saddled and ready.
He watched for a moment, then turned to the stunned and frozen men around him. He felt two similar landings to his rear and watched as Serix and Merlin dismounted and came to his side. He nodded at them, then smiled grimly.
“Death awaits us,” he muttered, cracking his neck and making a last adjustment to one of his greaves.
III
Tristan drove both swords into the hindquarters of the red dragon, piercing flesh, Purity flaring to life, and his hands gripping as hard as he could to hang on. He had nailed the dragon by the right rear leg and the howl of anguish emitting out of the beast was bittersweet. The dragon tried to throw him, buck him off, but he held on and slowly started to pull the swords backwards, cutting further in.
Clint was swearing at him from his saddle, but the words were lost on the wind. He just smirked back and gave the swords a twist.
The dragon bucked in response and he almost lost his grip. Hanging onto Justice as tightly as possible, he slid Purity free, used his legs to walk along the dragon’s rear, and swung his sword down on the red’s right wing; severing it completely. Then, with a quick salute to Clint with his sword, he pulled Justice free, and leapt backwards into the storm.
It had taken moments, but the damage was done. The red dragon was falling from the sky, barreling out of control, it’s rider hanging on as he was thrown about. If Tristan was lucky, he’d be thrown free and die on impact; kind of like what he was about to do.
His armor may be lighter, but it was still heavy enough, as he picked up speed and barreled towards the army below. His eyes scanned for the silver dragon and felt a tinge of fear when he was nowhere in sight. This plan had hinged on being caught, where the hell was he?
Ground rushing towards him, he cursed himself for his idiocy and sent a prayer of love to his wife in the fortress below. He closed his eyes and prepared to meet his end; hopefully a quick one.
Talons gripped his waist and he was pulled upwards a mere thirty yards from the battle below. The momentum wasn’t enough to pull up right away and he opened his eyes and watched as he skimmed the top of the enemy army. Orcs tried to hack at him with their pikes, barely out of reach. Slowly, they began to level up. He saw brown fur and white feathers and a dark pair of boots gripped in the stirrups.
Phoenix Rising (the New Age Saga Book 3) Page 25
