by Aaron Hodges
No, the roar of the other dragons tore the air. This is the final battle. We shall not flee.
Enala smiled, warmed by their presence. Beneath her Enduran roared his own response, and then the world erupted in flames, and there was no going back for any of them.
Archon folded his wings and dropped towards them. Around them the jaws of the dragons opened and they unleashed their fire. The dark flames of the Phoenix threaded down to meet them, mingling with the red of the dragon fire and then exploding outwards. Heat washed across them, forcing Enala to draw on her own magic to protect herself from its burning touch.
Behind her she heard Eric shout and then sensed the surge of the Sword’s power. White flames leapt past her as Eric pointed the blade, racing up to join the conflagration overhead. Then a boom rocked her in her seat and she looked across to see lightning rushing from the hands of the Storm God.
She stared up, watching the blue and black, the red and white flickering across the sky, and knew she could not hold back. Raising the Soul Blade, she threw herself into the green of its magic, seeking out some way to attack the Phoenix up here in the sky, so far from the powers of the Earth.
But this was God magic she held, and with a thrill she remembered what that meant. While normal magic could manipulate the world around it, God magic could create, could pull power from the air itself.
Gritting her teeth, Enala released herself to the draw of the God magic, willing it to aid her. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the sky filling with stone.
Enala’s ears popped and a shudder went through her as energy poured from the Soul Blade. She looked around to see great boulders appearing in the air around them, and with a scream she turned back to Eric. “Catch them!”
Eric smiled and spared her a nod. White flashed from the Sword of Light and then the boulders were racing upwards, slicing through the inferno overhead without resistance. A scream came from beyond the flames, echoing across the sky, and Enala threw back her head and laughed.
Around them the wind shrieked, rushing past to gather in Jurrien’s hands. Enala glanced across at the Storm God, her eyes widening as she saw the forces swirling around Gabriel’s body. Wind roared in from every direction, tearing through the flames licking the sky. Lightning thundered, flickering amidst the winds as a tornado of electricity swept around Jurrien.
With a scream of rage, Jurrien threw out his hands, directing the hurricane upwards. Wind howled and then the tempest of wind and lightning was racing into the depths of the firestorm overhead, hurling it back at the Phoenix.
The black scream came again, more beast than human, and then the Phoenix was falling, twisting in the air to sweep past the host of dragons. For a second a rush of elation swept through Enala, but terror still clung to her soul and she knew they had not won yet.
Her fears were confirmed as the wings of the Phoenix swept out, halting its fall. Spinning, the black wings swung towards them and a wave of flame raced out to catch the nearest dragon.
The gold dragon’s neck arched backwards as it screamed, the dark flames eating through flesh and scale and wing. With a final roar, its wings crumpled and it began to fall.
Panic gripped Enala as she threw out her arm. A ray of green streamed from the Soul Blade, racing down to catch the injured dragon in its warmth. Within the span of seconds, she watched its flesh knit back together and golden scales reform like feathers from its skin. The dragon yelped, the reversal catching it by surprise. Then the wind caught in its restored wings and it surged back up towards them.
Lightning crackled and Enala looked across to see the clouds regathering around Jurrien.
The Phoenix drew to a halt in mid-air, its head twisting, almost in curiosity.
Have we not fought this battle before, Storm God? Archon’s words hissed through Enala’s mind.
“Yes,” Jurrien roared. “But this time we have the Light. Eric, now!”
Enala twisted around to look at Eric, expecting fire or raw energy to rush from the Sword. But her brother’s eyes were closed, the light of the Sword washing over his face.
“Eric, what are you doing!” she shrieked.
Then the Phoenix screamed, convulsing in the air as chunks of darkness tore from its wings. The sound stabbed at Enala’s ears and sent a tremor through Enduran. Closing her eyes, Enala strove to force the noise from her mind, to focus against its darkness.
She heard Jurrien shout his hatred and sensed the rushing throb as the Storm God unleashed another attack. Forcing open her eyes, she watched through tears as the reformed twister rushed down to engulf the Phoenix.
The beast screeched again, flames tearing from its body as it shook, wings beating hard to escape. But the winds had already caught it, trapping the creature within the power of the twister.
Thunder shook the sky as the first bolt of blue fire struck, tearing fresh chunks of darkness from the cruel body. The wind roared, catching in the Phoenix’s wings and whirling it around. Another crash and another screech followed as the lightning crackled, burning at the foul creature.
Enduran’s great head shook and his wing beats faltered, the awful sound tearing at his strength. Enala struggled to cover her ears, unable to release the Soul Blade for fear of losing its power. At any moment she might need it.
Glancing back again at Eric, she saw blood trickling from his ears. A sudden shudder swept through him and he started to convulse. His hand slipped from the dragon’s back, and he would have fallen if she had not reached out to steady him. Still the white flashed from the Sword of Light, and with a rush of realisation, Enala knew what he was doing.
Eric had delved into the arsenal within the Sword, and finally unleashed its greatest power. He was using the magic of the Light to fight Archon’s magic, to render him defenceless against their attacks. And watching the Phoenix writhing within the twister, the winds and lightning tearing it to pieces, she knew it was working.
But how long could he last?
Enala shuddered as she twisted on the dragon’s back to face her brother. Blood ran from his eyes and nose, streaming down his throat, and she knew he was giving everything he had to hold back Archon’s magic.
Gripping tight to the Soul Blade, Enala reached for its magic and sent it pouring into her brother.
A cough came from Eric and she breathed out in relief as the flow of blood slowed. Smiling, she held him close, offering her silent comfort. The darkness within the Soul Blade seemed less now, a small thing beside the love she felt for her brother and those below. She held that feeling tight, and gathered her strength.
Then Eric gave an awful groan and coughed. Blood splattered her shirt as his head lolled and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His hand remained clamped around the Sword of Light, an iron grip that would not release until death, but the rest of his body went limp.
Enala pulled him close as the howling wind ceased with a sudden tearing sound. The lightning flashed blue one final time and went out. The air cleared, the storm clouds sucked away in a rush of noiseless movement.
The dragons hovered in place, their wings beating hard as they turned to face where Archon had been. As the last of the clouds faded away, a single word hissed through their minds.
Die!
Enala raised the Soul Blade as the Phoenix reappeared, coalescing from a ball of darkness back to the flaming bird of before. But before she could reach for the Soul Blade’s power, darkness exploded from its flaming wings and rushed outwards in all directions.
The dragons roared, their wings beating hard in desperate retreat as they tried to escape the flames. But there was nowhere to go, no place to hide in the empty sky. Enala screamed, an icy hand clutching her heart as she stared at the unstoppable tide closing on them.
Around her the dragons roared again as the flames found them, a terrible, gut-wrenching noise, their agony made sound. Gripping Eric tight, Enala squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the end to come.
She did not have to wait long. Tongues o
f flames licked at her flesh, igniting waves of pain that rippled through her body. Agony filled her, robbing her of the breath to even scream. Her voice caught in her throat, her mind exploding, her sanity washed away on a river of pain.
The magic of the Soul Blade poured into her, into Eric and Enduran, but it could not hold back the burning agony, could not stop the torturous fire. It was not enough to save them.
Enala’s stomach rose into her chest as they began to fall, Enduran still beneath them, but his strength gone. Wind whipped at Enala’s hair, her clothes, its icy touch agony on her blackened flesh. She screamed then, finally finding her voice. But now she could not stop, could not cut it off.
Opening her eyes, Enala watched the earth race up to meet them.
And then everything went black.
Twenty Two
Inken ducked beneath a wild swing and plunged her blade into the chest of the man facing her. Stepping back, she felt the breath of an axe sweep past her face. Then Caelin was there, his short sword smashing into the head of the hulking giant who had just made the wall.
As the man toppled backwards, Inken heard a growl from behind and spun. A Raptor stalked across the ramparts, a hungry longing in its sickly yellow eyes. She screamed a warning to Caelin as it leapt, throwing herself to the side as it swept past. Its claws tore through the fabric of her sleeve and a burning sting lanced from her arm as they found flesh.
Then she was up, already spinning to drive her blade into its side. She had lost her sabre what seemed like hours ago and she now wielded a short sword. Its razor sharp blade bit deep into the beast’s stomach and lodged between its ribs. She released the hilt as it swung to bite her and threw herself backwards.
Caelin raced in from its other side and drove his own short sword into the Raptor’s neck. The beast screeched, staggering on the slippery stones, turning from one to another. But the blades had made their presence felt, and as it tried to charge them the strength went from its limbs. It toppled to the ground and lay still.
Recovering his blade, Caelin stabbed it through the creature’s eye to ensure it was dead. Inken stepped up and retrieved her blade before anything else came at them.
They stood together for a moment in a pocket of calm, back to back as they surveyed the battle. Along the wall the enemy streamed up their ladders to throw themselves at the defenders. The roar of the beasts chilled her, the clack of their claws on the stone wall mixing with the clanging of steel.
But despite the odds, the defenders were holding their ground. They fought with grim faces, stretched with exhaustion, their clothes and armour torn and broken, but they stood. Comrades in arms, they refused to give an inch to the dark creatures and men fighting beneath Archon’s flag. Hundreds of them had fallen, but for every man that fell another defender would step up to take his place in the line.
Inken unleashed a wild laugh, adrenaline surging through her veins as another black-garbed man rushed at her. He fell within seconds, another victim to add to her countless tally. Pride filled her as she watched the defenders fight around her. Nearby she glimpsed May, moving through the men and beasts like a dancer, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Even the dark creatures of the wasteland gave her dance of death a wide berth, and behind her the defenders mustered.
All along the wall, the brave souls of the Three Nations held strong, fighting back to back in places, determined to make the enemy pay dearly for their lives. Defenders streamed up the staircases, reinforcements rushing from the third wall to join them. It seemed an unspoken command had gone out – that this was the final battle, that they would hold them at the second wall or fall in a glorious final stand.
Then a boom rang out from overhead, crashing over the wall like the tolling of a bell. Inken stole a glance up as the enemy closed again, and choked back a cry of despair.
The dragons were falling, tumbling from the sky as black fire licked at their golden scales. The flames were eating them alive, burning away the flesh and bone of all but one of the wondrous beasts. Inken stared as that last golden body plummeted towards the earth. A green glow covered the dragon, shaking off the last of the black flames, and she knew it was Enduran, and that Eric and Enala still clung to his back.
The falling dragon disappeared behind the spires of the citadel, followed the distant echo of a thud. A groan rippled through the defenders as their eyes went to the sky, watching for the Phoenix, waiting for the firestorm to fall.
Inken watched as Archon streaked through the sky, but for now he seemed to have forgotten the fortress. The Phoenix chased after the fallen dragon, a trail of flame licking out behind it, and vanished behind the walls of Fort Fall.
Tears stung Inken’s eyes and she bit back a groan.
“Eric!” she roared as the enemy came at them again.
Every fibre of Inken’s being screamed for her to go to him, but instead she threw herself at the enemy. She blinked through her tears, swinging her sword with a wild rage she could not control. She refused to give in, refused to accept defeat now, not after they had all sacrificed so much. The enemy flinched back before her fury and fell beneath her blade. Caelin joined her, his own blade a blur, a rage burning in his eyes that almost matched her own.
Yet their ferocity was not matched by their fellow defenders. The sight of the dragons falling had stolen something from them – their courage, their hope. She could sense it in the air, in the hesitation of the men around her. Despair hung across the wall like a cloud, stealing away their strength.
They all knew the truth. With the last of their Magickers gone, it would not be long before Archon came now. And when he did, there was no one left to protect them from his wrath. They would be helpless before his magic.
In contrast, the enemy had drawn strength from the sight, and attacked now with renewed fury.
Bit by bit, the defenders gave ground before the enemy. Inken struggled against the pull, surging forward again and again, drawing the boldest of the defenders with her. But one by one they fell around her, and others no longer stepped up to replace them.
The enemy numbers swelled, the weight of their bodies forcing her back. Her sword flashed like a living thing, an extension of her own body that lanced out to slay the black tide before her. But now she hardly had space to move, and one step at a time she retreated with Caelin towards the stairs.
She glanced at her friend and caught the desperation in his eyes. A blade lanced for his throat and she threw up her sword to deflect it. Caelin shook himself and took another step back, nodding his thanks.
Then they were at the stairs and there was no choice left but to turn and flee. Her sword heavy in her hand, Inken grabbed Caelin’s hand and spun, leaping for the first step. The bigger man came after her, and together they raced after their retreating comrades.
Ahead of them defenders streamed across the field between the walls, churning the ground to mud beneath their boots. Inken gasped as beasts jumped down from the ramparts overhead, landing without trouble despite the height. Raptors raced after the defenders, leaping high to land on the backs of fleeing men. Their weight drove them to the ground as the razor sharp teeth flashed out to tear chunks from their helpless victims.
Inken’s heart lurched with fear as they reached the ground and joined the fray.
“It’s a rout!” Caelin’s voice carried over the screams of the dying.
All around them their people were being slaughtered as they ran, falling to the claws of the beasts and arrows from the enemy atop the wall they had just lost. And every second more of the enemy reached the ramparts above, adding their weight to the slaughter. A crash came from nearby as a battering ram slammed into the gates.
Inken could hardly find the will to run. Her eyes scanned the scene, staring at the slaughter as though she were apart from it, as if this were happening to someone else. Another crack came from the gates as the wooden beam holding them shattered. Then a fresh wave of enemies poured into the fight, rushing through the gateway
to join the slaughter.
She looked at the third wall and the scant defenders atop its ramparts – those few who had obeyed their orders and remained at their posts. The gates stood open, just a hundred yards away.
So close, but so far.
Even so, they had to try. Steeling herself, Inken charged into the fray, dragging Caelin with her. Her sword licked out, catching the enemy fighters as they stood and hacked at the fallen defenders. Guilt clawed at her soul as they ran past their injured comrades, their desperate screams chasing after them. But there was no time to save them – it was everyone for themselves now.
Staring ahead, Inken fixed her eyes on the open gates and prayed they could reach them in time. But even as the thought came the wooden doors began to close, swinging in towards them. A cry of despair came from the men around her as others picked up speed, desperate to reach the relative safety of the third wall.
The strength fled Inken’s legs as she staggered to a stop. The gap between the gates quickly closed, shrinking to a thin sliver through which a few stragglers managed to slip. She stared at the wall, her gaze catching on the eyes of the men above. Caelin drew to a stop beside her, his shoulders slumped, despair carving deep shadows beneath his eyes.
Side by side, they turned to face the oncoming enemy, swords raised in defiance. The other defenders gathered around them, forming a thin wall in the middle of the field. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched the black tide sweep towards them. Claws shone and fangs flashed in the mouths of the massive felines as the enemy charged.
Then a boom came from the wall behind them and Inken spun. The gates were opening again and those nearest the gates were throwing themselves to the side. From beyond came the rhythmic thump of hooves on the hard ground.
Inken’s breath caught in her throat as the first of the horsemen appeared. They rushed through the gateway like a river from a narrow gorge, the red horses of the Plorsean cavalry. At their head rode King Fraser and Elton, a wicked joy on their faces as they charged at the enemy. Lances pointed, they raced past the survivors of the second wall and plunged into the unsuspecting enemy. Caught in the open, beast and man alike fell to their steel-tipped lances.
