by Toni Cox
They fought their way through the battle, but it was already clear that it was slowly coming to an end. Although the numbers here had been about even, the dragons had made a big difference in the outcome. Maia noticed that although the dragons ripped the Vampyres and Werewolves to shreds with their teeth, they did not consume the flesh. She was grateful for it.
“What were you thinking? Where is Midnight?” Silas said when they were at a safe distance.
“Midnight has flown to help Jaik. His troop is under attack. Why is Jaik going into the mountains?”
“Tarron Heights is still under siege and they are about to fall. Your father sent Jaik to assist them. How do you know they were being attacked?”
“Midnight showed me. That is why I came here. He said Father was here.”
“Maia,” Silas said, shaking his head, “you know your father does not want you here. It is not safe for you.”
“It is not safe for anyone,” she countered.
They watched in silence for a while as their warriors finished on the battlefield. Some Vampyres had fled, but most were dead. The field was littered with the grotesque shapes of the dead. Her father was walking among them, dealing the deathblow to anything that still lived.
Finally, he made his way over to them.
“As you are already here, you might as well be useful,” Jagaer said, his voice tight. “The wounded are over there. See to them.”
“Yes, Father.”
Circling the killing ground, she made her way to the small group of people her father had indicated. She could feel that none of them had fatal injuries, but she hurried to get to them nonetheless. Rothea joined her there to assist and Maia was glad she was all right.
“Lady Maia, you are a sight for sore eyes,” one of the men greeted her and she smiled at him.
Most of the injuries were cuts, some deeper than others, which were easy to heal. She mainly used the peoples’ own energy to heal them and so made quick progress. The worst injury was a missing finger.
“I am sorry, My Lady, it is lost,” the man replied when she asked him where it was.
Had the finger been present, she might have been able to reattach it. Instead, she sealed the wound as best she could and then gave the man a small bag of a powder she had made for pain.
“Thank you, My Lady, may the Mother bless you.”
With the injured seen to, she re-joined her father, who was now in discussions with his Commanders. Maia and Rothea went to stand next to Evan. She was glad the Commander was all right and she noticed his dragon preening his wing not too far away. Trying not to be noticed by her father, she listened in on the conversation.
“…but a small group. There are probably more up ahead,” her father was saying.
“Aye, My Lord,” Commander Ridgewell agreed. “Midnight showed us exactly where the fighting is happening; that is why we came here with all haste. Braérn’s warriors are fighting to the east, the Gate is overrun, there are smaller battles to the south and another one close to the Dark Forest. Even your son was being attacked, but Midnight has flown to aid him.”
Lord Longshadow was silent for a moment, considering this new information and his options. Maia watched his emotions play across his face; she knew he had some difficult decisions to make. Her father was here with the Night Watch; about forty-odd people. Commander Arkenbay had fifty-one men and Maia had come with about sixty. They were not a large group; roughly one hundred and fifty warriors, plus fifty-one dragons. Their options were limited.
“We ride for Greystone,” her father was now saying; she had expected it. “If we ride fast, we can make it there in less than two hours. Commander Arkenbay, may I ask you to fly ahead and assist where you can until the rest of us get there?”
“Yes, My Lord, we will leave at once.”
“Thank you.” Her father nodded to Rowlean and the Commander turned to give his orders.
Evan briefly touched her on her shoulder before he left and Maia gave him an encouraging smile.
“Everyone else, mount up,” her father now shouted and the crowd that had gathered around him dispersed. “Maia,” he said once most of them were gone, “I want you to remain here until you are able to join up with Midnight. I do not want you on the ground. Rothea, these are my orders, see that they are followed.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Rothea said.
“Father…”
“No,” he said with force, but then put his hand gently on her shoulder, “this time you need to listen to me. This is too dangerous and your mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you. We will have need of you soon enough, until then I want you to remain safe.”
“Yes, Father.”
He kissed her lightly on her forehead and then turned to mount his horse, the white stallion prancing restlessly as her father put his foot in the stirrup. She watched the assembled men mill around him for a moment and then they were in formation, riding towards the Gate. They were left standing in a cloud of dust, with Rothea’s horse snorting nervously at being left behind.
“What do we do now, My Lady?” Rothea asked.
“We follow, of course.”
Rothea grinned at her.
“I am not the only one that doesn’t listen,” she said and then whistled.
They heard a whinny and then through the dust they saw Fire gallop towards them. He came to a halt before them, snorting and shaking his head. Maia touched his sweaty neck to calm him and then climbed into the saddle. He pranced beneath her as she waited for Rothea to mount.
“Let us go to war, my friend. Are you ready?”
“Aye, My Lady, I am ready.”
Jaik reined in Firestorm as soon as he got the mental nudge from Midnight. Quickly he had his men spread out in formation and face the direction Midnight had indicated. Within moments, the horde of mounted Vampyres came into view; their Werewolves running full tilt towards them.
“Hold your ground,” Jaik ordered.
Their horses snorted in fear at the sight of the advancing Werewolves and they were hard pressed to keep them steady. Jaik knew they had reason to be afraid; he counted at least seventy Vampyres, if not more, and all of them were mounted. His group only numbered forty-one. He drew his sword.
“Hold!” he repeated his order.
He felt the tension roll off his men as the horde advanced but, as they came closer, Jaik realised that these were not Generals, but simple soldiers. At least that was something to be thankful for.
“Now!” he yelled when the enemy was almost upon them.
They came together with swords clashing and the hounds and horses screaming. Within moments, Jaik was covered in blood as he slashed and stabbed at the creatures around him. Firestorm kicked out furiously at the snapping Werewolves and more than once Jaik heard a satisfactory yelp as her hooves made contact; she was turning out to be a brave warhorse, just as he had known.
Soon, though, it was obvious that they were not only outnumbered, but also at a disadvantage; the Werewolves were as dangerous as the Vampyres. Slowly, but steadily, they were driven back and it was not long before he saw some of his men fall to the Vampyres’ weapons. He watched in horror as the Werewolves fell on the downed horses and started to eat them. Some of them were not dead yet and their screams as they were eaten alive grated against Jaik’s nerves.
He fought wildly on and yelled encouragement to his men, but the situation became more hopeless the longer they fought. His Guard was fighting hard and they were holding their ground. The Sentinels, however, not trained for this sort of battle, were falling one by one. Jaik estimated at least ten of them to be dead already. All seemed to be lost.
“Fall back!” he yelled, suddenly elated. “Retreat. Ride as fast as you can.”
His men did not hesitate and they fought their way out of the milling horde and broke free, galloping towards the mountains. Behind them, the Vampyres urged their Werewolves to greater speed, but Jaik knew they stood no chance.
A wicked grin sp
read across his face as he heard the first screams and the sound of Midnight’s fire washing over their pursuers. He chanced a quick glance behind and he briefly saw Midnight’s huge, black form emerge from an enormous fire cloud, before he dived back into it.
As they put some distance between them and the beset Vampyres, the screams began to fade. He knew none of them would escape Midnight’s wrath, yet he did not slow their pace until they eventually reached the tree line of Grildor-Bron Forest.
Jaik led his men through the mountains. There was a path that led to Tarron Heights that was well trodden and safe, but that would have taken them at least three to four days, even at a steady canter. Instead, he took the route the Messengers took. It was steep in places, with unsure footing at the best of times, but it was the shortest way to Tarron Heights.
He thought about what the man had said. He had left two days ago, and Tarron Heights had been about to fall. By the time they would reach the city, four days would have passed. He wondered if there would be anything left to save when they got there.
Tarron Heights was a mountain stronghold. It was built on the side of a cliff; tall, white turrets pointing into the sky; narrow, cobbled streets winding through the houses built into the mountain. He had always thought it a wondrous place; a white city clinging to the cliffs, surrounded by forest and the river rushing past it.
But the city was not just pretty. Its position on the mountain gave it the unique ability to defend itself from any attack below. He knew that Tarron Heights had been under siege for a few Quarters now but, until now, they had no trouble holding the Vampyres off. He did not think that the people of Tarron Heights had run out of food or water, so he assumed that somehow the Vampyres must have found a way in.
He guided his horse over the uneven footing as fast as was possible. All their horses were already sweating and breathing hard; he knew they would be half-dead by the time they reached the city.
“Hold on, Firestorm, I know you can do this,” he whispered to his young mare and she pricked her ears at his voice.
His men were equally tired; the fight had been hard on all of them. Had it not been for Midnight, they might not have made it. He shuddered at the thought and sent a silent thank you to his sister, for it was surely she who had sent Midnight to his aid. He wondered where she was now and if she was safe. They had been preparing for war for Moons now but, now that it was upon them, they seemed to be as unprepared as if they had had no forewarning at all. He wondered how they had gotten themselves into this situation. They had taken all the precautions; guarded the Gate, rode patrols, hunted stray Vampyres; so how could their country be so overrun by these creatures? They seemed to be everywhere and this time they seemed to be more organised. They were also well equipped; somehow having acquired uniforms that were undoubtedly elven made. Even their weapons seemed to be of better quality.
As they rode higher into the mountains, a thick mist started to form, clinging close to the ground. It slowed them, but they did not stop; they had to push on through. Soon their clothing was soaked through to their skin and they shivered as they rode higher and higher up the slopes. None of his remaining men complained, but he knew they were as miserable as he was.
Eventually they broke through the mist bank, only to be confronted by massive storm clouds brewing overhead. He heard distant thunder roll across the sky and their horses snorted nervously. To be caught on this trail during a storm could mean all their deaths; the rain could wash out what little footing there was and they would plummet down into the gorges.
He gritted his teeth and urged Firestorm to greater speed. The spirited horse responded, but he knew he could not push her like this for much longer. The others were not faring any better.
On and on they rode, even as the first raindrops started to fall. Jaik only saw the narrow trail before him; trusting Firestorm to find her own way on the slippery rocks. The breath-taking scenery of the forested ridges and gorges through which they rode was completely lost on him; his only aim was to reach Tarron Heights. His men followed stoically behind.
Day eventually turned into night and still they rode on. The rain fell heavier the higher into the mountains they went and the thunder was rolling ever closer, echoing loudly through the valleys.
Sometime around midnight they stopped beside a river to water the horses and to consume some travel bread. His own legs were shaking when he dismounted and he saw that his men fared no better. The horses’ heads were drooping and their dripping coats made them a sorry sight. He hated to have to push them so hard.
“Mount up,” he ordered, after what he thought had been too long already.
His men followed his order without complaint and the horses stepped out on the uneven footing of the narrow, rocky trail without faltering; there was still some strength left in them yet. They would need it; Tarron Heights would only come into sight by the evening of the following day.
It was easy to follow the spoor the warriors had left as they rode into war and the black mare ate up the ground as if she was flying. He knew he was now not far behind and he hoped to catch them soon. He leant closer to her neck and whispered in her ear. Her ear twitched and he felt her muscles bunch up as she gathered for more speed. She was truly a remarkable animal.
To his right, he noticed storm clouds building over the mountains and he could not shake the ominous feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He scanned ahead, but there was no sight yet of the people he was following. The mare’s thundering hooves became overly loud in his ears as his worry mounted.
Finally, he came upon a sight that confirmed all his fears. Before him lay a battleground, strewn with Vampyres and Werewolves, all dead. He jumped off his horse and investigated the scene from the ground. Pools of blood had turned the ground to mud and his black mare snorted disgustedly at the smell as he led her behind him.
He took no comfort in the fact that there were no Elves, for he knew that had there been casualties; they would have already been removed.
He spent a short time reading the signs of the struggle and found the place where Maia had fought on foot. Anger built within him at the thought. Why was she not with Midnight? Then he found the place where she had healed her people; at least this told him that she was all right. What he discovered next, though, worried him the most. The main group of warriors had moved off and Maia and another had been left behind. He assumed it was Rothea, her red-haired bodyguard that was with her. The two had not stayed though, but had followed the warriors after a short while. Blaid assumed that Maia had been told to stay away, but he knew she would not.
He remounted and followed the tracks left by Maia and her companion. Their tactics impressed him; close enough to the main group to catch up with them within moments, but far away enough that no one would notice. Nevertheless, they were moving at speed towards Greystone and even the black mare was hard-pressed to close the distance between them.
He knew the Gate was not much further; maybe another twenty miles or so; but because of the rolling hills, it was difficult to see more than five hundred strides ahead. He was slowly catching up, but Maia remained out of sight. Therefore, when he came upon the point where Maia and Rothea stopped following the warriors, he almost missed it. Assuming that the main aim was to re-join the warriors once they reached Greystone, he was simply following the broad path left by the warriors. When the two single tracks veered off to the right, it was very subtle at first and, had he not by chance looked that way, he might have never noticed.
He reined his mare in and studied the ground. From the tracks, he could tell that it was definitely Maia and Rothea but, at this stage, he could not tell what had made them change direction. They were moving slower now, stopping every now and then as if they were trying not to be seen. He kept to a steady trot; fast enough to catch up with them, yet wary as to what was going on. If Maia was being this careful, he did not want to put her in danger by barging in on what could, potentially, be a dangerous situation.
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br /> After about an hour or so, he reached the first trees that marked the beginning of Grildor-Bron Forest. He wove his way between the trees and it was clear here that Maia and Rothea had been hiding from whomever they were following. Steadily, their tracks went deeper into the forest, until at one point Maia’s tracks suddenly crossed those of a group of riders. Scanning the ground, he guessed their number to be around twelve.
Following Maia and Rothea, he now hurried to catch up with them. There was a smell that lingered here that he was all too familiar with; Elves who had been with Vampyres. Whoever these riders were, they were no friends of the Longshadows.
By the time he finally caught sight of Maia, it had started to rain. The wind rushed through the canopy overhead and even through the thick foliage, he was soon soaked through his clothes. His mare shook her fine head in irritation at the wetness, but then caught scent of the stallion ahead of her. She pricked her ears and danced beneath him. He was worried that she was going to call out, so he talked to her, trying to calm her. His voice distracted her and she remained quiet, but then Fire caught her scent and Maia turned in her saddle to look back.
His heart almost stopped when he saw her. It was the same every time. She was the most beautiful, perfect being he had ever met and, no matter the circumstances (such as her current, sodden state) would ever be able to change that. She was like a bright light amid the dark, wet forest that shone just for him.
For a moment, there was complete stillness and he watched her silently form his name with her lips. Then his mare screamed at the two horses, now only about thirty paces ahead, and Rothea charged, sword drawn and held high. Maia yelled and urged Fire after her.
Quickly Blaid turned his mare to the side and Rothea raced harmlessly past him, before she managed to rein in her horse. The trees were tall and thick here and there was little space to manoeuvre. By the time Rothea had turned her steed and was ready to charge again, Maia was beside him, reaching for him. Their horses pranced around each other; snorting and stomping; but he only had eyes for her.
