“Can’t let you have all the glory, now can I?”
“Suppose not!” Asa wiped the front of his face with his blood-stained glove, wincing at the shooting pain in his leg with every jolt of the horse’s hooves. “But right about now, I don’t mind sharing!”
The Elondrian bowmen were focusing their fire on the right flank of the hounds, keeping them from completely enclosing the mounted riders before they had the opportunity to pull out. Asa nodded in admiration of the commander’s quick thinking.
Riding adjacent to the hor’hound force, Asa was surprised at how close they had actually been to getting out. It looked as though the creature’s numbers had significantly decreased since they had first ridden into their ranks. His horsemen had managed to keep the hounds off balance long enough for the main force of the Elondrian and Cylmaran fighters to begin overpowering the creature’s momentum.
For the first time since the conflict began, Asa thought he could see an end in sight, and one that brought with it the victory they all so desperately sought.
Chapter 74 | Ayrion
THE HIGH GUARD was down to a single unit.
Ayrion watched his men being systematically picked off one by one. His arms felt as heavy as tree trunks and his chest burned with every breath he drew. The rage within him grew with every new death. His men believed that he was something other than human, in a way, touching the divine. He could do things no person should have been able to do. He had lived through encounters that would have killed a dozen men. Yet, for all his abilities, he was powerless to stop the slaughter of his men today. He was barely able to keep his own life from being snuffed out by these unnatural creatures of darkness.
Aryion flung his raven hair from his face as he moved to block two more hounds attempting to break through the outer lines. His swords never slowed. The first of the two beasts went for his legs, hoping to incapacitate him long enough for the other to finish him off, but now that the size of the pack had been cut down in number, Ayrion’s magic was there to intercede.
With an abrupt sense of warning, he jumped into the air and pushed off the first creature. The momentum carried him up and over the second. Before his feet hit the ground, Ayrion had slid both blades through the hor’hound’s neck, severing the spinal column on their way through.
Bounding over the fallen creature, he sliced clean through the back two legs of the first hound. It howled in pain, fury written on its face as Barthol brought down his sword across its neck to finish it off.
With a slight limp, Ayrion worked himself back between Barthol and Rhydan as they continued to hold the creatures’ advance. The High Guard had been slowly forced to give ground. Little by little, they had worked their way back up the incline until they had finally reached the top of the rise. This made it all the more difficult to control their enemy, since the hounds were no longer held within a confined space.
Ayrion spared a quick glance over his shoulder, trying to count the last few surviving members of his High Guard as they blocked, slashed, and stabbed with what little resolve they had left. They fought with every last drop. So few left. His men, these warriors who had put their trust in him to see them through, had been all but destroyed. Had he failed them? Had he led them to their deaths? Was there even a purpose for this senseless slaughter? He knew there had to be. His men were not going to have given their lives for nothing. He would make sure of that.
Down to just a handful of guards, they fought—side by side—not as warriors, but as brothers. There were four creatures still standing, but their decreased numbers had only increased their determination.
“On your right, sire!” Barthol shouted in warning as the big captain pulled his sword from fallen hound to block the next. The captain’s arms and chest were soaked in blood from the savage abuse inflicted by the creature’s claws.
The king, getting the warning just in time, threw up his guard as the hor’hound slammed into his side. He was thrown from his feet. Ayrion could hear the king’s plated armor clanging across the ground behind him as Rhydan rolled to a stop. Ayrion turned and threw one of his swords at the hound as it rushed the king. The dragon blade buried itself to the cross-guard in the creature’s side, giving Rhydan enough time to make it back to his feet to finish him off.
The hound Ayrion had been fighting lunged for his neck while his back was turned, but sensing the attack, Ayrion dropped to the ground and rolled underneath it. Another whine rung out as Barthol and two of the remaining guards hacked the third to death.
The final hor’hound, realizing it was the last, pulled back from its attack and slowly retreated toward the edge of the rise. Ayrion moved with the others to encircle it. A cornered animal was dangerous. The creature’s lips were raised, baring its massive fangs. It snapped at the first guard as the man tried working his way to the side. The guard dove to the right, barely escaping the creature’s jaws.
“Be careful!” Barthol shouted.
Ayrion moved around to the front. “Barthol, distract him so I can get close enough to reach its neck.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?”
Ayrion shrugged. “Sing it a tune.” One of the guards started to laugh but went immediately quiet with a single look from his captain.
“I’ll sing you a tune in a moment,” Barthol grumbled under his breath. He slowly moved around to the creature’s side. And without warning, the big captain suddenly bounded into the air and began dancing around and squawking like he’d just stepped ankle deep in a mound of fire ants. His friend’s sudden outburst took even Ayrion by surprise. It took everything he had to keep from laughing himself.
The hor’hound, just as startled as the rest of them, turned its attention to the crazy man on his right, dancing and yelping like a stuck pig.
Ayrion didn’t hesitate. He lunged at the hound and cut a single strike under the creature’s neck. The hor’hound stood on its back feet, giving Rhydan the opportunity he needed to plunge his longsword straight through the front of its chest. The hor’hound grunted in shock and slumped to the ground.
“Victory!” The High King pulled his blood-soaked blade out of the creature and raised it over his head in excitement, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He clapped an arm on Ayrion’s shoulder with a look of pride. That single touch sent a warm rush though Ayrion’s body, rejuvenating his spirit in an instant.
Ayrion turned to congratulate his captain when a sudden pulse from another premonition hit him like a horse’s hoof to the chest. “No!” he screamed, but it was too late. Already facing Barthol’s direction, he did the only thing he could. He raised his foot in the air and kicked his friend over the back side of the rise and out of view just before a hail of arrows descended into the five surviving members, including the High King.
Ayrion could feel the burning in his back as he turned to see the last of his men face down in the mud. The king was on one knee with two crossbow bolts sticking through the back of his plated armor. No! This can’t be happening! Even with his magic, there was nothing he could have done to stop such an attack.
Another sharp sensation pierced his body, bringing him frighteningly near unconsciousness. Ayrion’s mind went into a state of delirium. Lowering his head, his eyes scanned the front of his chest. Those look like bolt tips. His mind was groggy, like from an evening of too much drinking after a battle. His remaining blade slipped from his fingers and landed in the mud beside him. Ayrion lifted his hand and touched the razor tips of the shafts. What are those doing there?
Like waking from a realistic nightmare, everything suddenly flooded back into focus. Ayrion’s legs gave out and he dropped to all fours. Frantically, he tried crawling to where Rhydan had fallen. The king was still casting a bewildered gaze around him as he tried to understand what was happening.
Valtor, Dakaran, and the white-cloaked members of the Black Watch walked around to the front of where the king knelt, gasping for breath.
“Dakaran . . . Son?” The king held ou
t a hand for help.
“Do it, Dakaran!” Valtor thrust his blade into the prince’s hands. “This is what you wanted, so finish the job.”
“Son, please.” All eyes watched as the prince took a step toward his father, the sword hanging limp in his hand. The look of shock and betrayal in Rhydan’s eyes was daunting.
Ayrion collapsed a few paces away from the king and coughed blood. It pooled around his face. He was too weak to move.
Dakaran shook his head and took a step back. “No, I . . . I can’t do it.”
“You coward,” Valtor hissed. “It’s a little late to turn back now!” The Arch Chancellor grabbed the sword from Dakaran’s hands. He took two steps forward and thrust the blade through the unprotected flank of the king’s armor. Rhydan’s eyes went wide as he spat blood and collapsed. His crown fell from his head and buried itself in the mud in front of him.
“No!” Ayrion somehow managed to drag himself over as the king turned his head in his direction. Ayrion reached out and placed a quivering hand on Rhydan’s arm. Blood was seeping through his lips.
Rhydan coughed. Blood ran from his mouth and into his gray beard. “I always thought of you as a son.” His words were garbled and his eyes, wavering.
“And you, a father,” Ayrion said, choking back the pain. A half-smile creased Rhydan’s lips just before the last of his air expelled and his eyes glazed over.
“You stole his love from me!” Dakaran hissed. “And now you can die with it!” Enraged, the prince grabbed a crossbow from one of the nearest guards and snapped the trigger. Ayrion felt the heat of the bolt as it drove through his unprotected back.
The last image Ayrion witnessed was his king, lying motionless in the mud while the rain rolled down his face, mixing with the blood still seeping from his mouth. Then everything went numb and darkness took over.
Chapter 75 | Dakaran
THE STORM HAD PASSED and the dawn of a new day crept its way over the few remaining clouds.
There was an unwelcome chill in the air that clung to Prince Dakaran like a wet shirt, and left behind a sense of irritation as he watched his father’s body being carried ceremonially down from the rise and placed on the back of a prepared wagon. The cart was draped on either side by the flag of Elondria. Valtor had made sure that the king’s body had been appropriately redressed to hide their obvious transgressions from public view.
Dakaran placed the royal crown back on his father’s head before turning to address those gathered around. “They were the bravest of us,” he eulogized, not having to fake the tears streaking his cheeks as he looked at his father’s lifeless body. The king’s arms had been folded reverently in front, his fingers atop the pommel of his sword. “The High King, the Guardian Protector, and the High Guard fought with the courage of true Elondrian warriors,” he said, trying to appear as stately as possible as he performed for the crowd of armed men. “They gave their lives for their country. They shall be remembered as heroes, not only of Elondria but all of Aldor.” A few of the lancers nearby voiced their agreements. “We ride for Aramoor in the morning.”
“Your Highness.” Commander Tolin stepped forward. “What shall we do about the Cylmarans? We’re holding Overlord Saryn and Ambassador Belkor for questioning. They are both demanding to speak with you.” There was a funny sort of crinkle to the commander’s brow which brought Dakaran a sense of unease. “They’re claiming something about a bargain?”
Dakaran tried not to react.
“Bargain?” His voice feigned ignorance, but his eyes swelled with anger as he cast a sideways glance at Valtor, whose face remained as blank as an unwritten letter. “Here’s my bargain, Commander. Tell them Cylmar is no more. Tell them, their families will live as outcasts and their children and grandchildren shall curse their names, and then remove their heads.” He turned to walk away.
“Your Highness, what about our dead? They should be laid to rest with dignity, not left for the birds.”
Dakaran turned, taking in the concerned faces of the lancers surrounding him. “You are correct, Commander.” He smiled, but his voice held a definite edge. “That is why I have arranged for the local citizenry of Belbridge to do just that. They could stand to benefit from the extra coin we will provide for their services and it will allow us to make for Aramoor with all haste in order to bury my father.”
Tolin’s face did little to hide his bewilderment. “But, Your Higness, should we not look for survivors in hopes of—”
“Commander! Are you saying the burial of the High King is not of immediate importance?” Dakaran was furious. How dare he question me! He could tell this man was going to be a problem. One of his first actions when properly crowned would be to get rid of him. The king had been killed on his watch after all.
Tolin glanced around hesitantly. “No, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Good. Then as the new leader of Elondria, I am giving you an order to leave them to the good people of Belbridge while we make for Aramoor.” He held Tolin’s gaze and waited patiently for the commander to acquiesce to his authority.
Tolin finally bowed his head. “Very well, Your Highness, if that is your wish.”
“It is,” Dakaran said as he headed for his tent. “I want to leave as soon as possible.”
“Masterfully done, Your Highness.” Valtor followed Dakaran into his personal lodging. The Arch Chancellor’s praise slid around Dakaran like a python ready to squeeze. “You need to show authority right from the start, make them realize you will not be a weak king and that you will demand their respect. Remember, Elondria needs strength.”
Valtor moved behind his desk and began packing some books inside an open case. “On that note, I would also strongly advise the prince to execute Overlord Saryn’s entire family as well. The last thing you want is for his progeny to become an eventual thorn in your side. It would set a strong precedent in case there are others who would dare rise up against your throne.”
Dakaran took a deep breath and considered his counselor’s words. He didn’t much like the thought of executing the overlord’s entire family, but Valtor had a point. He didn’t want the man’s kids growing up and coming after him for vengeance. But apart from that easily-remedied problem, he had a much larger one to face. “Your scheming might have garnered us the throne, but in doing so, you’ve left us vulnerable to our enemies. We’ve lost over half our army, not to mention the entire High Guard. How are we going to defend ourselves against the other kingdoms if they suddenly decide to take advantage of the situation?”
“Do you think me a fool, Your Highness?”
Dakaran wondered if the question was supposed to be rhetorical. He wisely kept his mouth shut.
“I have no intention of leaving Elondria without defense. There was more than one reason why we needed this war. It’s not enough to simply remove the king. We need to remove his support. There needed to be a purging of the ranks. The Elondrian lancers are loyal not just to the crown but to your father, especially those of the old guard like Commander Tolin. You saw the way he stood up to you today. You will need to remove him and others loyal to him as soon as possible.”
“But how are we going to replace the men we’ve lost? It’s not like they grow on trees.”
“Grow on trees?” Dakaran’s advisor chuckled. “What an interesting concept.” Valtor shuffled through some papers on his desk. “We can start by replacing the fallen with men from the White Tower. The Black Watch will be loyal, not to the kingdom or Aramoor, but to you.” The chancellor smiled. “Well, as long as you pay them, that is.”
Crossing the room, Dakaran poured himself a glass of wine, trying to hide the slight tremor of his hand as he brought it to his mouth. Events seemed to be moving too quickly for him to keep up. He didn’t like feeling completely reliant on Valtor. He still wasn’t sure of the motives behind his advisor’s actions. “What do we do about Ayrion and his men? We can’t very well let Tolin see them laying up there with arrows sticking from thei
r backs.”
“It has already been taken care of.” Valtor stepped over to the table to gather his books and paraphernalia. “My men stand guard on the rise as we speak, and the bodies are being hidden in the surrounding foliage on the back side of the rise. No one will be the wiser. But if they ask, we tell them the hor’hounds didn’t leave much in the way of remains, and what they did, we buried respectfully.”
Valtor looked up from his packing. “And what decision have you come to concerning Saryn’s family?”
“I believe you are right,” Dakaran said, not quite as confident about the decision as he would have liked to have been.
“Very good. I’ll have the executioner notified at once.”
Dakaran winced at the thought. But the emotion was short-lived as another took its place. He lowered himself into his chair with a heavy sigh before taking a large gulp of wine. He couldn’t believe they had managed to pull it off. King Dakaran. A smile crept across his lips. He liked the sound of that.
Chapter 76 | Tameel
IT HAD BEEN two days since the Elondrian army had left for their march back to Aramoor, leaving the town of Belbridge the worse for wear. The cold Èshan winds, hinting of winter’s coming presence, had managed to hold back the stench of decay from the bodies spotting the desolate landscape. The valley looked like a patch of diseased skin waiting for its pustules to burst and seep.
“Tameel, how soon till the townsfolk begin the burial process, you reckon?” Zynora pulled her aged hand from the pockets of yet another fallen lancer and scanned the contents. “Hmm, five coppers. These were some very underpaid soldiers,” she commented to herself before moving on to the next waiting set of pockets. Her knobby fingers were arrayed in a garish display of rings.
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 52
