He glanced down the line. The first gray strands of dawn had lightened the sky, and the pawing of the warhorses sounded loud in the fog that misted the trees. His armored men sat at attention, their gazes focused through the branches ahead.
To the south, the roar of battle tinged the air. Flickers of fire lit the darkness. The Dragons and Phoenixes had been released.
Lanier brought his animal alongside Sebastian's. “We wait, Your Grace, on your command.”
“And I wait upon the enemy,” Sebastian said. He narrowed his eyes as he squinted through the mist and the trees into the steep valley below them. “Ah, so.”
A gorge lay in front of Sebastian's men, high rock walls on either side of the Rifted River that would eventually cut the Plains. In the whirling, tumbling white-water, a dark army sloshed through the crevasses of the gorge. Ogres led the way, their massive hulks followed by the smaller, lighter Goblins. Behind the Goblins, the large Trolls pushed trebuchets through the water. The sizable weapons groaned and swayed along the rock-covered river-bottom.
Giants brought up the rear with huge maces swinging from their hands. Each one was at least twenty spans tall, and their hulking forms were covered in leathery skins.
“How do you suppose crossing the Channel went on a ship with those?” Lanier asked in a low aside.
“They don't have the same creature and Dimn system in Lismaria that we do here. I had rather hoped Erlane would never get them organized enough to follow through, but he did.” While the enemy had sailed the Channel, Sebastian had ordered his own navy to close the exits into the Northern and Camaran Seas. He hadn't taken much stock in the report that Erlane's navy had escaped into southern waters to steal around the island, not with half his navy keeping watch on the Channel's exit points. Once Sebastian's men chased the enemy from his shores back into the Channel, his ships would close in.
“Are you having second thoughts, Your Grace?”
Sebastian snorted. “Never. Give the signal.”
Lanier nodded to the soldier on his other side, who placed a shofar to his lips and blew into it. It thundered across the gorge to the far side, reverberating in the still air, echoing off rock cliff and tree-sloped hill.
The splashing creatures below shuffled to a stop, their bodies crouching, wary.
“Go!” Lanier roared as the entire right flank broke off, racing along the top ledges to where the gorge ended two fieldspans ahead. He turned his horse, his sword drawn. “We meet after the battle, Your Grace!” His horse stretched its stride until he overtook the leaders of the flank, disappearing through the trees. On the far side of the gorge, dark shapes appeared through the mist—the other half of Lanier's contingent.
“They're climbing the walls!”
The excited cry of his men urged Sebastian closer to the edge. “Excellent. Let them come.” Archers lined the cliff edges on both sides of the gorge. Commander Banler raced with a contingent of Dimn and their creatures to the north, seeking to cut off any escapees.
Far down the line, Sebastian heard Lanier's trumpet, signaling attack. The grunts, cries, and screams of confusion and pain increased in the gorge. His archers had released poison-tipped arrows at the creatures who tromped through the currents, and the sharp projectiles embedded the creatures' hides as they fought the stream currents. Sebastian's Dragondimn and apothecaries had painstakingly collected deadly substances for months from Poison-Quills. It was doing its job. Many in the river plunged around the rapids in a thundering roar of impending death, and the more they moved, the more swiftly they died.
Trebuchets lurched to a stop and tilted in the confusion, some arcing in a slow-motion dive into the waters. The gorge walls crawled with creatures now, Giants clinging to fingerholds, Ogres pounding massive holes into the cliffs and pulling themselves up. Goblins caught rides on shoulders unless they were plucked off and hurled into the foaming water. The Trolls perhaps fared the best; their skin was the thickest and the poison-tipped arrows had little effect on them. Still, as they lurched through the white-water below, their flailing comrades added confusion to the pea-brained creatures, and they stumbled to a halt, not sure if they should advance or climb the walls as the others were doing.
“Where are their Dimn?” an archer shouted.
“Their system is different,” Sebastian roared over the confusion. “Lismarians send their creatures separately and in great hordes without their Dimn to create chaos; the Lismarian Dimn will be south of us, engaged in battle on the Plains.”
Archers sent wave after wave of poison-tipped arrows into the creatures on the walls, and even though bodies fell and clogged the stream, more kept climbing, nearing the tops of the cliffs.
Another signal from the faraway trumpet sounded, and a nearby Officer called, “Light your arrow tips!”
Archers reached for bundles of shafts in their quivers, unrolling them on the ground beside them. A Phoenix flew down the lines of soldiers on each side of the gorge, returning to the Phoenixdimn at the end of the line when he was done. All shafts were lit and flaming.
And released.
More cries of pain reverberated through the air. Burning shafts caught in backs, caught and held. Accelerant flicked upward over leathery skin. Few living creatures remained in the water anymore; many dead ones floated there, bumping into each other in the eddies along the edges of the gorge, their eyes staring sightlessly skyward. The gorge walls were still coated with living, climbing creatures.
“Here they come,” Sebastian whispered, drawing his sword. The leaders had reached the top of the gorge, crawling over the rim on both sides.
Battle began in earnest now. Crazed Giants, Trolls, Goblins, and Ogres bit savagely into the battle lines. Sebastian had hoped to make a greater dent on the enemy while they remained in the gorge; Sebastian's Dimn and their creatures were strong and organized, but despite the swath of destruction they'd carved into the Lismarian creatures' ranks, West Ashwynd's forces were still outnumbered. They stood small against the desperation of the enemy that erupted from the gorge.
Sebastian wheeled his horse and raced along the ridge, hacking at a band of Ogres who'd followed their fellow creatures up the walls, dispatching some Goblins back down into the gorge. He glanced over his shoulder. Thundering hoof beats shook the ground as at least a hundred of his own men followed him, engaging in battle.
A quick glance over the gorge showed Lanier and his men struggling in the water with the leftover Ogres and the few Giants who had escaped being pierced by the poison-tipped arrows.
The glance over the edge was Sebastian's undoing. A Giant cleared the edge of the gorge, his massive nostrils flaring. He lunged forward, landing in a roll that hit the legs of Sebastian's mount, and sent the King flying.
Sebastian landed with a grunt on a soft patch of grass. All around him, the battle raged, but inside his helmet, the hiss of his own breath sounded loud in his ears. The giant lumbered to his feet, kicking aside Sebastian's injured horse. The animal writhed and screamed.
Sebastian fumbled for his sword that lay a span to his right. A heavy weight slammed him onto the ground again, knocking the breath from his lungs.
He twisted his head, but the helmet blocked his peripheral vision. He yanked it off.
The Giant rested one foot on his back, leaning close to inspect his prey. His gaze paused for a long moment on Sebastian's royal crest that decorated the armor and then moved down to the royal seal on Sebastian's forefinger. The Giant's huge brown eyes widened. He reached over his massive shoulder, pulling a heavy mace from a harness on his back. The Giant lifted the mace and his foot at the same time, swinging the weapon in an arc toward Sebastian.
Sebastian rolled, and the spiked iron ball missed him by less than an orlach. The wind hissed against his cold flesh as it passed him. The mace brushed the ground, catching Sebastian's sword and flinging it into the midst of a fight between three Trolls and seven or eight men.
Sebastian tried to jerk away as the Giant's foot again caug
ht his leg. Unintelligible grunts accompanied the Giant's movements, and it reached a steadying hand to Sebastian, circling his entire rib cage, and pinning him to the ground.
Chills iced Sebastian's veins as the giant swung the mace over his shoulder for another try. With a desperate grunt, Sebastian shoved his glove between his teeth, clamped down, ripped it off, and then did the same with the other.
The mace arced over the Giant's head as Sebastian grabbed the creature's hand.
With a grunt and a scream, the Giant flinched backward, but Sebastian held on. The mace whirled free through the air, embedding in a nearby tree. Sebastian gripped the Giant's hand, allowing the Giant to hurl him this way and that, but he held on to the creature's fingers like a burr.
Cold, gray frost shifted outward across the back of the Giant's hand, running like a frozen river through the creases of skin, hardening the hairs that curled above, breaking them off. The Giant's movements slowed. As the gray frost slid up his chest to his neck, the arm movements stilled.
A few seconds more, and the Giant was a statue, a frozen gray parody of his former life.
Sebastian's heart pounded in his chest and pulsed behind his ear drums. After a moment, he released his grip on the Giant's hand and dropped to the ground.
All around, the battle continued, but Sebastian's men were gaining the upper hand. More creatures sailed over the edge of the gorge, and the skills of the swordsmen were slowly overcoming the brute strength of the disorganized creatures.
Two horses broke away from the flat land beyond, pounding up the hill toward Sebastian. It was Lanier and his bugler.
“Your Grace,” he called. “The tide has turned, and the Griffondimn await your orders.”
Sebastian straightened. “A mount, if you have it, Lanier, and give the word for the Griffons to attack.”
Lanier motioned to his bugler, who dismounted and set his instrument to his lips. A high, wild note sounded. Minutes later, a dark shadow crossed the brilliant morning sun. Sebastian shaded his eyes as he looked up.
Thousands of Griffons carrying their Dimn flew high above. The first wave of Griffons gave their eerie high-pitched war cry, diving into the gorge, their talons clutching still-climbing creatures and dropping them onto sharp rocks below.
Another wave of Griffons overcame the first, aiming for the struggling creatures along the top of the gorge.
“It is as you said, Your Grace,” Lanier's voice came to Sebastian's ears. “A rout.”
“Indeed.” Sebastian mounted the bugler's horse, motioning for the man's sword to replace the one Sebastian had lost in his struggle with the Giant. “Lanier, command your men. I go to destroy Erlane's top Commander.”
* * *
Sebastian sat at the mouth of the Forgotten Plains with the foothills of the Rues behind him. The valley was a mass of chaos. In the middle, across the river ford, soldiers fought in hand-to-hand combat.
Near the perimeter to the north and the south, creatures from Lismaria and West Ashwynd swarmed the banks of the river, teeth and weapons clashing; Dragons and Phoenixes flew overhead. Several Cerberuses made a mad dash from Sebastian's side into the thick of Erlane's, bringing on a counter-attack from a company of Nicholas Erlane's Trolls.
Beyond the ford, near the back of Nicholas Erlane's forces, Greyham stood on a platform his men had built as he oversaw the action below him. His bannermen stood beside him, raising and lowering his battle commands as he gave them.
Sebastian glanced at Lanier, who sat patiently on his horse beside the King. “There,” Sebastian pointed with the tip of his sword. “There is my goal.”
“Your Grace, he is well-defended. Let me go instead.”
Sebastian considered it. He could allow Lanier to carry the bulk of the effort, to win the battle for him while Sebastian returned to The Crossings in comfort. But the past four months had shown him the tenuous grasp he had on his kingdom. Not for nothing did he fear the guards that watched at his bedchamber doors or the whispers in the corridors of the castle. Sebastian's inept rule won't keep us out of Nicholas Erlane's hands. And quieter still, the hushed unrest among the creatures, the hatred of the Dimn's violent training methods that he had spearheaded. The buzzing voices of his Councilors rubbed his nerves raw, their words saying the same thing for months. Your Grace, psuche is becoming more and more rare. Surely, there is another way to handle our creatures.
Sebastian pulled his mind back to the present. If there were honor in battle, then he would cloak himself in it, and Greyham and any like him could be fed to the Direwolves. If there were glory to be won, he would win it, and solidify forever his position on the throne of West Ashwynd. “Nay, Lanier. This is my country, and hence, it is my battle. I cannot take the Lismarian throne until Greyham dies.” He gripped his sword tighter and swung it in an arc. “Call the creatures, Lanier. I need a path to their Commander.” He spurred his horse as Lanier's mount galloped down the hill.
On Lanier's signal, a wedge of soldiers on horseback formed at the Rifted River's ford, splitting the raging fight. A loud bugle blast sounded, and the horses splashed into the river. From all sides, Dimn brought their creatures to flank the wedge. Friend and enemy alike were cast to the side in the onslaught.
Behind them all, Sebastian spurred his horse to a full gallop. Lanier pulled his mount into place behind him, and together, they plowed along the open channel straight to the scaffolding that held Greyham and his bannermen.
Sebastian got close enough to see the expression on Greyham's face before the man realized Sebastian's goal. Alarm lit his eyes, and he gave an order. The bannermen quickly changed the flag. With a roar, Dragons turned in the skies, aiming for Sebastian, their hot breaths mowing down ranks of West Ashwynd's soldiers. Sebastian's Dragons returned the fire, and the heavens plumed beneath a mass of flame and sulfur. Phoenixes whirled by, plunging with lightning quickness to pluck out the eye of any soldier unlucky enough to look up.
Sebastian could hear the song of the Pixies; it was a roaring torrent of words and magic. Near the top of the wedge, the head of Pixiedimn Division Three, Julian, fought with sword in hand next to his Pixie, who sang the lad's sword-arm into skillful plunges. He hadn't seen that approach before. Usually, the Pixies congregated together while their Dimn stayed separate from the fighting, giving commands. Safety for the humans above all things, he and his Commanders had always trained. However, Julian and his Pixie alone cut down more enemies than the other thirty or forty soldiers of the wedge did together. He'd discuss the strategy with Lanier at their next meeting.
A shrill shriek sounded above him, and sharp talons grasped his epaulet, piercing his skin beneath it and nearly unseating him from his horse.
Lanier's shout preceded the talons' removal. A Phoenix fluttered to one side and hit the earth with a thump, bursting into flames upon impact. It was a momentary intrusion upon Sebastian's direct onslaught, but it would have a lasting effect. Pain sliced his shoulder, and a moment later, Sebastian ripped off his helmet, tumbling it to the ground. He twisted his head to look. Blood soaked the tunic beneath his armor, oozing outward in the seams between the metal.
Lanier brought his horse alongside. “Your Grace, allow me—”
“It is not deep.” Sebastian spurred his horse even harder, drawing swiftly near the scaffolding where Greyham stood. It took a moment for Sebastian to realize that Greyham had disappeared from the top planking.
He spotted him ahead on ground level, his sword drawn, his feet spread, his arm through his shield. The ground cleared between Sebastian and the Commander. All around, soldiers, Dimn, and creatures continued their struggle, but Sebastian and Greyham occupied their own bubble in the midst of it all.
“You think to pretend an honorable fight?” Greyham shouted as Sebastian dismounted, throwing his horse's reins to Lanier, who caught them deftly.
“I think to win back my crown,” Sebastian replied.
“I'll send you home in a box,” Greyham laughed. “A King taking on a
seasoned Commander. This should be good.”
“Enjoy it, then,” Sebastian growled as he advanced, sword at the ready. He'd sheathed his arm in the shield handles, but he'd left his gloves off. His curse was a mixed bag of pleasure and pain. He was never free from the torture, but it had saved his life twice now. Still, he hoped to rid himself of it; no one should have to endure so much torment.
Sebastian stopped five spans from the Commander.
Greyham raised a brow. “Are you ready to die, Your Grace?” he asked. “You had your chance to retreat with your life intact. I'm almost sorry to dispatch you now.”
“Bold words.” Sebastian smiled.
Greyham's sword flicked faster than Sebastian had anticipated, and he nearly lost his arm. He jumped back as the tip of Greyham's weapon tested his plate, anger flushing through him at Greyham's deep chuckle.
He counter-attacked with a broad sweep to the Commander's legs, catching the greaves and tearing one off. Blood soaked Greyham's shin, and with a roar, the Commander pressed his attack.
The weapon was heavy, and Sebastian felt every thrust as the metal clashed with the Commander's time and again. The sounds of battle around them faded as he concentrated all his efforts on the man in front of him.
Every swing of his sword brought home the importance of his victory, every clash of their shields reminded him of what he had to lose.
Lismaria, he breathed as he swung the blade down and Greyham rolled to the side, scrambling to his feet. West Ashwynd, he told himself as he narrowly dodged a shave from Greyham's sword. Not for Liam. The familiar fury that filled him when he thought of his brother fueled his flagging arms. Not for Cedric or Kinna or Nicholas Erlane or any other usurper of MY throne!
The Pixies' songs crashed loudly around him, the roar of the Dragons vibrated his eardrums. Trolls rumbled, Cerberuses growled, Direwolves howled everywhere. This was his kingdom. He'd won it, and he would take back what someone else had stolen.
With a mighty swing, his sword caught Greyham just below his breastplate, burrowing into the mail that hung beneath it.
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