by Toni Cox
“Stay here, my sweet,” he whispered to Lilith and stroked her wet face. “I will come back for you.”
The mare shook her head, displeased with her orders, but she stayed and watched after him in the darkness as he headed towards the camp.
It was not long before the light of their torches came into view. At first there were only two or three, but then the forest thinned out somewhat and more torches came into view. He was startled by the extent of the camp. He spent some time circling it. always careful not to be discovered, and finally estimated the camp to be home to at least a hundred Vampyres. He was also surprised to discover that they had an almost equal number of Werewolves with them. These were not accommodated separately, as you would livestock, but each Werewolf seemed to share the same quarters as his or her Vampyre companion. It brought into focus the relationship between the two species, which he had never noticed before.
However, the camp was divided into two sections; the lower ranking Vampyres, as well as the elven prisoners occupied one side, and the other side was reserved for the Generals. The status of the Generals was clear by the way they were treated; the others tended to all their needs and they were spoken to with deference. Although Blaid could not understand their language, the respect in their tone was unmistakable.
By just observing, Blaid learned more about the Vampyres than he had ever before. He had had dealings with them often, especially in the Crystal Mountains, but here the Vampyres seemed to be totally at ease and acting as they would at home. It was clear that they felt completely safe here.
Unfortunately, he had to admit to himself that that was entirely true. There were simply too many of them for him to defeat alone. The prisoners were being held in a stockade, shackled to stakes driven into the ground. The stockade was made from sturdy wood and was constantly patrolled by six Vampyres with their hounds. He estimated there to be about fifty prisoners or more. They had not been given any blankets and were sitting shivering on the muddy ground. Blaid could feel their discomfort, but also their defiance; they had not yet given up.
He was about to take a closer look at the stockade, when he noticed one of the Werewolves look into his direction. Although the Vampyres seemed to be more relaxed here and less on guard as they would be otherwise, the Werewolves were always alert. Blaid pressed himself deeper into the thicket he was hiding in and completely suppressed his Eläm. If he could successfully hide from Midnight and Wolf, the Werewolves should not prove a problem. He waited and it was not long before the Werewolf lost interest.
Sneaking closer, Blaid began to notice other things about the camp. There were some items, which were unmistakably from Naylera, such as the black crates that seemed to hold equipment, but most of the items around camp were of elven make. Tents, weapons, lamps; had he not known better, it could have passed for an elven camp.
Anger rose within him at the degree of betrayal at the hands of his own people. Kanarel’s notions of modernising Elveron and then ruling it were the ravings of one man. How had he managed to sway so many people over to his side? It was madness to think that the Vampyres would honour any kind of promises they had made to receive this amount of assistance.
As evening became night, Blaid had not made any progress with freeing the prisoners. There were simply too many Vampyres to overcome. He had, by then, circled the camp three times and checked for any weak spots in their defences but had found none. If it had not been for the Werewolves, he might have been able to sneak in and open the stockades. He might even have had time to unlock the shackles. As it was, the Werewolves were all around and it took all his skill not to be detected by them. He would need a miracle to accomplish anything here and he was desperate to get back to Maia. He shuddered to think about what was happening at Greystone and hoped that the main Vampyre army had not come through just yet.
He was about to abandon his mission, hoping to free the prisoners at a later stage and instead rush off to help Maia, when there was a sudden commotion in the camp and all the Werewolves started howling. The hairs at the back of his neck stood erect as the strange feeling of fear he had felt earlier crept over him again.
Wearily, he tried to see into the dark forest around him, but was unable to see much in the almost complete darkness. The noise within the camp was getting louder. The Vampyres were now struggling to control their hounds and, within a few moments more, there was complete pandemonium within the camp.
Blaid struggled to control the fear that spread through him; which he assumed was the same reason the Werewolves were so frantic. But, at the same time, he realised that he could use this situation to his advantage. With the Vampyres and Werewolves so distracted, he finally had a chance to reach the stockade.
Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he made his way through the camp. A few Vampyres looked in his direction, but they were too busy trying to restore order to worry about him.
Quickly he dispatched one of the guards patrolling the gate to the stockade. The Vampyre had been wrestling with his Werewolf on the ground and it had only taken a moment for Blaid to slit both their throats. He searched through the Vampyres pockets and retrieved a set of keys. Fumbling in his haste it took him longer to unlock the gate than he would have liked, but then the heavy gate swung open and he was through.
The prisoners were now all on their feet and looking at him in astonishment. They were an assortment of warriors, some from Rathaés, some from Tarron Heights and even some from Dragonfort. The fear was intensifying within him and he saw the fear reflected in the warriors’ eyes. He knew that they felt it too and that they thought he was the cause of it. Quickly he made his way from one to the next to release them from their shackles.
“We cannot fight them. There are too many,” he told them as he freed them. “Run into the forest and get as far from here as you can. I will delay their pursuit for as long as I can.”
The warriors did not have to be asked twice. One by one, they ran out of the stockade and disappeared into the darkness of the trees. Blaid was the last to leave the stockade and was relieved to discover that the camp was still in total disarray. Werewolves howled, tails tucked beneath their bellies, and even the Vampyres now seemed to be able to feel the fear.
Blaid did not waste time wondering what was going on. The prisoners were free and he wanted to get away from this cursed place as fast as possible. He ducked low beneath a branch and stepped out of the light of the camp. Almost immediately, the fear intensified and it brought him to a dead halt. He stared into the darkness, unable to move, and then he noticed the eyes staring right at him. The eyes were grey, but glowed even in the almost completed blackness of the night. They seemed to look right through him and for the first time in his life, he knew what true fear felt like.
Then the creature moved. His fear shifted and he was able to think more clearly. He noticed long, black strands. Something waving through the air. Spikes sticking up at odd angles. The swish of a tail. The hiss through sharp teeth. Then, one last time he felt the eyes on him, before the creature was finally out of sight.
Blinking in the darkness and with the fear receding, he realised that he had been face to face with a Riven.
Midnight flew at speed and they covered the distances between armies quickly, but Maia was getting frustrated. There was fighting everywhere; to the north, the east, the south and the west. Even with Midnight, she could not get to all the places in time.
When she reached the waylaid army of Braérn, she discovered that half the men had already been slain and the enemy surrounded the rest. The fight looked to be at its end and the warriors defeated. She swooped in with Midnight and incinerated every Vampyre and Werewolf pair on the perimeter. Even with her newfound ability with Air, Midnight was not able to use the full force of his dragon fire, but it was enough. Soon the air was rank with the smell of burning flesh and hair. It sickened her.
The men on the ground rallied at the sight of her and fighting on the ground resumed with full force. Neverthele
ss, it was another half hour before the enemy had been defeated and she was able to land and give the Commander his new orders. She knew that it would take them at least four hours to get to Greystone.
It was the same everywhere she went. Although the men rallied when they saw her fighting for them, they were all worn out from the hours of fighting they had already endured. Their troops were depleted and none was close enough to Greystone to be there anytime soon.
She took little comfort in the fact that, in the process of seeking out the Commanders, every Vampyre and Werewolf on the ground was killed. She made sure none was left standing before she gave the Commanders the order to march for the Gate.
Night descended on Grildor, but Maia hardly noticed. It had been so dark because of the storm all afternoon, that it really made no difference. Midnight could see perfectly well, even in the dark, and they flew all across the Yllitar Plains, assisting where needed and relating Lord Longshadow’s orders.
As evening progressed, though, the weather turned for the worse again. Rain came down hard and pelted her skin, stinging. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and eventually even Midnight conceded that it might be too dangerous to be flying in this weather. Once, lightning struck so close to them, that Maia could feel the electrical charge vibrate through her body.
They made their way back towards Greystone and were relieved to find her father’s forces already encamped around the Gate. Midnight landed on the muddy ground, his talons leaving deep furrows in the soft earth. Maia hated to leave him out in the open in weather like this. There was no safe place for him to roost, but he refused to leave her to seek shelter in the forest. She hugged his neck, warm even in this weather, and then followed a Server to her father’s tent.
The command tent had been set up about half a mile from the Gate. They had set it on one of the highest rises of the rolling hills surrounding Greystone and, from there they had a direct view of the stones. The rest of his men, as well as those that had already managed to make their way here, were encamped in a wide circle surrounding the Gate. Maia noticed the Battle Dragons resting on the western perimeter, looking miserable in the rain.
The drenched guard by the entrance to the tent admitted her with a bow. Inside, it was blissfully dry, but the howling wind was barely muffled by the tent’s walls. A small fire had been lit in a grate and it seemed that her father’s men had scavenged some furniture from the destroyed camp around them. Her father was sitting on a stool in front of the fire and Silas was studying a map by a lantern. A Server was busy making tea.
“Father,” she said as she stepped in.
He rose from his stool immediately and went to her, embracing her in a hug.
“I am glad you are all right. The weather is frightful. This must be the worst summer storm we have had in a century. How did you fare? Were you able to reach many?”
“Yes,” she replied and stepped closer to the fire to dry her sodden clothes, “we spoke to every Commander we could find. They are all on their way here. Some, however, are further away than we had hoped and might still take a few hours to get here.”
“You have done well, Maia,” her father said. “Rest for now and warm yourself. We have been monitoring the Gate; there has been no movement in or out.”
Lightning struck close to the tent and the crack that followed it made them all duck in fright.
“I think they are also waiting out the storm,” Silas said and joined them by the fire. “They seem to have an unusual aversion to rain.”
“Thank you,” Jagaer said as the Server brought him his tea.
Maia took hers gladly and sipped it carefully, the hot liquid warming her from the inside.
“What is the situation on the plains?” her father finally enquired. “Are there still many of them about?”
“All of the ones we encountered were involved in battles with the troops. All have been slain, Vampyres and Werewolves alike. We did not come across any others.”
“At last, some good news,” Jagaer said, retaking his seat by the fire. “We should all get some rest now while we can. Maia, there are some blankets in the corner. Get some sleep.”
She had been so wound up from the fighting, so cold from the rain, that she had not realised just how tired she was. Here, safe and warm in the tent, she felt the weariness in her body and was suddenly too tired to even finish her tea. Gladly she took the blankets, spread them out by the fire and settled herself on them after taking off her boots. She was asleep almost instantly.
The path was treacherous and the pace was gruelling, but Jaik kept pushing. When they watered the horses, he added just a few drops of Silva to their water to keep them going, but he knew they were as exhausted as he was.
They had been riding all day. Ever since they had left Shadow Hall and then met the man from Tarron Heights. They had ridden right through the night and the storm and only rested for short moments to water the horses. Morning was dawning, but with the heavy cloud cover it was still as black as night. They had lit torches during the night, but they were running out of fuel and Jaik hoped some light would break through the clouds soon. His eyes were tired from scanning the ground ahead for a safe path. He was sure Firestorm felt the same, but the young mare carried him willingly.
He chanced a glance behind him and it felt as if a vice gripped his heart as he beheld the sorry sight his men and their mounts made. All were sodden and dirty, the mud caked to their horses’ legs and the men’s boots. They all looked weary, with dark rings beneath their eyes and frowns on their foreheads. He knew they would never complain, they had a job to do, but he felt for them and was sorry to have to push them so hard. At this time, he was unsure if they would make it at all. It seemed an impossible task.
“Just a few more hours,” he encouraged them.
“Aye.”
“Just a few more.”
The answers sounded as weary as the men looked. None of them even looked up, but concentrated on the path ahead. Jaik focussed his attention back to the way ahead. He had ridden this path before, but never in these conditions. It was a difficult route to take at the best of times, but this weather made it a murderous undertaking. Water was gushing down the steep cliffs to either side, flooding the narrow path. The wind had blown branches from their trees and often they had to dismount to clear the way before they could carry on. Mudslides obscured the path in many places and rock falls would block their way. During the night, the storm at its worst, they had to make their way on foot, leading their horses, just to make any progress at all. It had been especially difficult for Glark; the dwarf’s short legs making it difficult for him to navigate the deep mud.
Now the storm had lessened, the rain abated to a drizzle and the wind was not trying to rip them from their saddles as it had during the night. Even though the clouds still prevented the sun from shining through, the light gradually strengthened and they were finally able to increase their pace. He felt Firestorm perk up at the better weather and easier going and he suddenly felt that it was possible after all.
The sun rose higher behind the curtain of clouds and slowly the day warmed up. Jaik was reminded that it was summer after all and this storm had been just a freak of nature. He increased their pace and although they had been going for almost thirty hours, their horses responded willingly. He was unsure of the effect of the Silva on the horses. Usually the drink was only used for men; but he was glad for the extra stamina it provided them. Three and a half days ago, Tarron Heights was on the brink of being overrun by Vampyres. The chances that Tarron Heights was still under elven control were slim, but it was his job to save as many as he could.
A ray of sunlight broke through a thin gap in the clouds and, for a moment, the rain-drenched trees around them glistened like stars on a dark night. It was like a ray of hope that brightened his heart. He thought of his sister and his father, riding to war. He thought of his home and his people. They had so much to fight for, so much to live for. This was their planet and he was not goi
ng to let another race take it away from them.
When they eventually broke from the trees and into the narrow valley that let up to Tarron Heights, it was with renewed hope that he urged his men forward. The city was built on the cliffs on the other side of the valley and soon its white turrets came into view, surrounded by the deep green of the forest around it.
However, today it was not the city’s beauty that made him rein in his horse, but the dark columns of smoke that rose from every corner of the city. Even from this distance, he could see where the outer wall had been breached and where the Vampyres had gained access.
“Herrod,” Jaik said to the Commander of the Night Watch, “take six of your men and scout the perimeter. There might yet be Vampyres hidden in the forest.”
“Aye, My Lord.”
“Archer, Munnar, you’re with me. Fili, you take the rest and scout along the city wall. Make sure the perimeter is secure, then meet us at the breach.”
The group split up. Herrod and his men rode out into the forest. Filithrin and the rest of the Guard and Night Watch rode for the city walls. Archer, Munnar and Jaik made straight for the breach in the wall.
They were out in the open now and, if anyone cared to look, they would surely be seen. The sky was still hidden behind thick clouds, but it was light enough to see clearly. Jaik kept checking the wall for archers as they approached, but the city seemed to be strangely quiet. Too quiet. All his senses told him that something was not right. They approached with care, but eventually reached the breach in the wall unmolested.
It seemed the Vampyres had used some incendiary method to breach the thick stone wall. The white stone was charred black, cracked, and crumbled. The gaping hole was large enough to admit four riders side by side.
Jaik signalled for his men to dismount. They left their horses in the shade of the wall and carefully stepped through the breach. The streets beyond were wet and strewn with debris, but were otherwise completely deserted. Quickly they checked the surrounding houses and secured the area. By the time Filithrin and the others joined them, they had searched a large perimeter and found nothing, not even dead bodies.
