by Mark B Frost
An hour later Abaddon had finished his briefings and called a small meeting of Cildar, Shasta, Galbion, and Myris as the troops were getting into formation.
“I trust you’ve all been apprised of the high points for the upcoming battle?” Abaddon asked. The commanders responded with nods. “Shasta, I want you to stay back and lead the troops on the outside. Galbion, I want you to oversee the ranged divisions. Cildar, Myris, the two of you are the strongest soldiers here. I want you on the inside with the initial wedge. If the dragon attacks, it’ll be up to you to draw its attention from the troops long enough.”
“Long enough for what?” Cildar asked.
“For me to get there. I won’t be at the fore of the army with you, I’ll be on the inside of the walls themselves. The wizard Kinguin gave me a rundown of various forms this structure might take, but it could still take me time to figure out the best approach for dismantling it. The dragon could wipe out most of our troops before I intervene. You two will serve as a buffer against that event. Lure it away from the soldiers and do what you can to corral it. Can you manage that?”
“I am the Lord of the Phoenix. I fear neither man nor beast.”
“Superb. You two are with me until we cross into the city, then you’re on your own.”
Final troop checks were run and the army began to march. When they were halfway Abaddon reached to his back and drew his massive broadsword, and with a flick of his wrists separated it into two blades. Cildar would have expressed his surprise, but there was no time.
“Stay with me!” the big man roared to his battalion. “Form a wedge and keep moving.”
He charged with a roar, separating himself from the army. Cildar and Myris moved to catch him, but they could not match his speed. The Vantriskan soldiers immediately recognized this battle was unlike recent ones, and threw themselves forward with renewed passion.
Their zeal did them no good against the Daemon. As soon as he reached the incoming wave of troops he stopped short, and with three swings beheaded three soldiers. He took a step back to allow the next man to approach, then sliced him cleanly in half through both armor and shield with a massive uppercut.
Abaddon grinned wickedly, confident now in the strength of his sword. He raised the twin blades to his shoulders and surged forward once more, lashing out with both and spilling the bowels of four men. The Vantriskans redoubled their offensive, and arrows from the towers began flying in the Daemon’s direction.
Cildar’s troops did not slow. If Abaddon’s plan was to have a chance, they had to reach the city gates before the Vantriskans could adjust their defenses. In spite of the order to form a wedge, Cildar scattered the heavy infantry to force Vantrisk’s defenders to respond in kind. The Cainites added chaos by throwing fire and lightning in various directions, keeping the noise level high so the nature of the attack was unclear, especially with the roar of the three thousand soldiers still charging in from the hills.
Once they were deep into enemy lines and halfway to the gate, Cildar sent orders out for the battalion to collapse on his position. The soldiers responded swiftly, mostly due to the efficiency of the Cainites, and he sent them surging forward. Abaddon had already reached the city walls, and the knights were careful not to trip on enemy corpses as they took advantage of the thinned defenses in the area.
As they moved through the strip of death Cildar tried to count the bodies on the ground, but soon gave up. With each swing of his sword Abaddon slew another enemy, and he moved with ferocious speed.
To his side, Cildar heard Myris shouting at him, “Remember when you said you fear no man?”
“Nor beast,” he added.
“Now might be a good time to reconsider.”
“I’ll say this, his confidence in being able to fight a dragon is looking less like insanity.”
By the time they reached the city gates Abaddon was gone. A section of the sturdy wooden door had been torn asunder, and Cildar caught a glimpse of torn purple cloth hanging from one of the shattered beams. “Take the door down!” he shouted to his soldiers.
The Cainites collectively let loose with a series of weakened lightning spells, attacking at the hinges and bolts. Cildar’s troops slammed into the door with their bodies, opening the path into the city. They stepped through into a large open area. Arrows began to rain down on them from the walls above, and the paladin spurred his forces further into the city while the Cainites returned cover fire. He took a moment to look to the walls. The large, eerie green runes he had seen before still burned brightly, and there was no sign of Abaddon.
He drew his Trine Lance and an off-hand short spear, then dashed to the nearest three enemy soldiers. One man gave a thrust to intercept his rush. Using his short spear, Cildar flipped the attacker’s sword into the thigh of the man on his left, then reversed the thrust and cast his spear into the injured man’s neck. He then grabbed the Trine Lance tightly with both hands and ran it through the man on his right, killing him and injuring a man behind. He left the Lance there for a moment, took two steps back, gathered energy into the palms of his hands, and released an Aura Blast into the man directly in front of him.
The efficient blast was a staple of the Dragoon Corps. It could be used frequently without causing exhaustion, and even weakened by the twisted currents it was enough to kill a man without the proper shielding. The energy radiating from his palms weakened several warriors behind his target, two of which fell the ground coughing up blood. Cildar retrieved his Lance and short spear from the corpses and launched himself deeper into the fray.
He ducked his head to the left to avoid a poorly swung sword, then gouged out the enemy’s eye with the short spear. He turned and used the Trine Lance to run a broad sweeping cut up another soldier’s midsection and, in the same fluid motion, changed direction and slit the throat of a man attempting to flank him. Seeing one of his nearby infantrymen pinned to the ground and about to be finished off, he launched the short spear over his shoulder, taking the attacker through his uplifted arm and pinning it to his own skull. He then quickly pulled out a throwing knife and sent it spinning into the base of his nearest opponent’s neck. He armed his left hand with a long dagger and raised his Trine Lance to meet the next group of enemies.
Cildar cut down several more foes, and soon the Vantriskans recognized him for the threat he was. A large, strong civilian—probably a blacksmith by trade—speared himself on Cildar’s Lance and grabbed hold tightly. The Dragoon jumped in under the man and sliced his throat open with a quick backlash from the long dagger. The Lance fell to the ground entangled with the corpse, and he was driven back from it by a rush of shouting civilians. Another rain of arrows whizzed past, and he found himself bleeding from a deep wound running above his right ear. Suddenly he felt a dark presence nearby.
“Come, Onion Knight. Let us show these amateurs how to paint with the blood of men,” the voice hissed. Cildar smiled beneath his mask. Myris Phare had come to his aid.
He gave no response but a nod. He reached under his cape with his right hand and drew forth his Morabet. Armed with that and his long dagger, he was still a match for anyone. With a roar he resumed his assault.
For a time he lost his grip of what was happening. He fought on instinct, and it served him well. Occasionally he could sense Myris casting spells behind him, causing small pockets of the civilian defenders to retreat. The Knighthood’s soldiers were fighting at a high level, and as far as Cildar could tell all of the corpses on the ground were Vantriskan. It would not take long before the enemies began to lose hope and crumble. This was usually the time when it all went wrong.
Even as he thought this, the door to one of the city’s mansions crashed open and the red dragon of Vantrisk stepped forward. The entire battle stopped. The civilians dashed quickly to their homes, fearing their weapon more than the invading forces. Myris slid nearby, and Cildar noticed various slices throughout his garments and blood covering his dark clothes. To whom the blood had once belonged was indete
rminable.
The Dragoon’s adrenaline would not allow him to stop. Taking a glance at Myris and seeing the fiery eyes focused on him, he barked, “Let’s go!” and the two rushed the dragon fearlessly.
Had he still possessed his Trine Lance, Cildar was confident he could have done some damage. Unfortunately, his Morabet seemed to have no effect. He ran in fast, moving in on the creature from its left, and sliced down hard on its shoulder. The damage was negligible. He saw Myris jump straight at the beast’s face and it lunged out with fangs bared. How Myris avoided those teeth was something Cildar could not later tell, as the dark warrior seemed to suddenly spin in midair and dodge underneath the dragon’s head. The Cainite struck a powerful blow, but his blade did not pierce the scaly neck. The dragon cleverly brought its head down on Myris, smashing him to the ground with colossal force. Then it turned smoothly to the paladin, reached out, and sank a single claw deep into his left shoulder.
Cildar screamed in agony, feeling a fiery sensation spread through him. The dragon picked him up bodily and flung him back into his own troops. He stood up, disheartened and wracked with pain, as he watched the beast lift a foreleg to crush Myris’ skull where he lay stunned. Cildar waited in agony to see the man die, unable to muster a response.
Then a massive chunk of stone flew through the air and hurtled into the beast as if it had been launched from a bow. The stone exploded into rubble from the impact, smashing into the dragon under its raised foot and knocking it at least ten feet back.
Cildar looked to the western wall. Abaddon Daemon crouched from throwing the boulder, which he had hewn from the wall itself. He straightened and waited patiently for the creature to recover, with the broad Dual Blade in his left hand and a kama in his right. Once he had the dragon’s attention he made a mocking motion with the kama, then ran to another section of the wall and began hacking away with sword and fist.
The dragon roared in rage and spread its wings, taking to the air and moving to Abaddon’s location. Cildar looked to the north. The city’s soldiers from the outside were beginning to be driven back through the gates, clearly losing to the larger, fresher forces they faced. He began barking out orders to the knights standing nearby. “Back to the gates, pin down the soldiers leaking in, don’t let them reorganize. Mind the archers. Get some Cainites up on those walls, try to take them out.”
He dashed in and revived Myris to consciousness. He would have attempted a healing, but the Cainite rose to his feet and seemed fine. A soldier came near and returned Cildar’s lost Lance to him, then headed north, leaving the two commanders standing alone. The paladin worked a few healings on his shoulder to prevent further blood loss and staunch the flow of the fiery poison, and they both turned to where Abaddon now faced the dragon.
The beast clearly held every advantage. The Daemon was on the defensive, dodging claw, fangs, and blasts of fiery breath. Occasionally the big man would lash out at the wall, shattering a stone or slashing through a key rune. Each time the dragon roared with increasing rage and renewed its assault, as Abaddon retreated and chose a new location to stand his ground.
He tried to land blows with his sword or kama, but the dragon used a combination of its claws and gusts of wind from its wings to deflect or avoid the attacks. Abaddon managed an occasional scratch, but could not turn the tide to his favor. He had suffered atrocious wounds in a short amount of time. As the dragon lashed out with its teeth and tore a chunk from his thigh, he collapsed to the ground.
The dragon looked down on him and roared for a moment, then took a step back. “You impress me, human. You’re durable for your species. I could use a lieutenant. It is difficult to rule when everyone cowers from me when I speak, but you show no fear. You would make a worthy companion.”
“Fear?” Abaddon huffed through painful breaths. “Why would I fear? There is a difference in you and I. You have plans. You have ambitions, goals, dreams. You may fear, because those things can be taken from you. But I have no ambitions, no plans. The only thing you can do is kill me.” He looked up with a broad grin across his face. “And I welcome you to try.”
Suddenly he leaped forward and hooked the kama blade on one of the creature’s ribs, then ripped backwards fiercely with bodily strength. While the dragon thrashed in rage and agony, Abaddon dashed around it and ran limply along the wall, moving the battle to the south.
Cildar motioned to Myris. “We need to stay close. If Abaddon loses, we’ve got to finish the beast.”
They moved slowly, watching the battle resume while they were still some distance away. “That creature is too fast, Cildar. How are we supposed to fight it? I thought Abaddon was fast, but the dragon moves like lightning. Even he cannot keep pace with it.”
“We’ll do what we can. He’s already injured it, maybe he can get a few more in. If he slows it down, we can finish it off.”
“I thought reds were the slow dragons. Why is it so fast?”
“It’s all relative, Myris. Relative to dragons, it is slow.”
Abaddon’s previous attack seemed to have slowed the creature slightly, and he was now doing a better job matching its onslaught. The dragon still managed to deflect his most dangerous strikes, but more small ones slipped through, and the ground beneath them burned from splashes of the beast’s blood. Finally Abaddon gave a slash with the sword in his left hand and ripped one of the beast’s eyes in half. He stepped back and smashed a few more pieces of wall, then hobbled farther down and waited for his foe to recover.
The dragon was done playing. It puffed its chest several times and widened its stance. Abaddon squinted in displeasure and looked to his shredded thigh, releasing a quiet sigh. Then the beast opened its mouth, and liquid hell was unleashed. The dragon’s flame formed a massive cone of destruction, ancient magics dispersing and amplifying the blast as it traveled. Abaddon attempted a rapid sidestep to his left, but his leg was useless and he could not move fast enough to escape. The stream caught the right side of his body and hurtled him back into the wall. He screamed in torment as his body flew backwards through stone. When the flames stopped coming he sat in a small yet deep pool of molten rock, his back propped against remnants of the wall, his blood mixing with the lava. The dragon raised its head and announced its triumph to the sky.
Cildar watched as the blood poured from the man’s mouth and down his chin, surprised to find himself mourning the death of someone he had known so briefly. Then to his shock, Abaddon began to move. Slowly he climbed from the pool and began to limp forward, still-burning fumes of dragon breath fighting to drive him back. He took a moment to stare at his enemy and then, with a sudden whip of his right arm, sent his kama flying.
His aim was flawless and his strength inconceivable for his condition, and the sickled blade flew into the dragon’s screaming mouth, through the top of its throat, and embedded into the fiery brain. The beast’s scream of triumph became a shriek of disaster, and it began thrashing wildly.
As Cildar began to move in Abaddon’s direction to help, suddenly Myris grabbed his arm. “To aid him now would ignoble his sacrifice. We must see if he can finish it.”
As the dragon stumbled back a few steps, Abaddon began advancing slowly. “You almost had me there. I was beginning to tire, and couldn’t keep up with you and focus on the wall.” He stopped and looked behind himself. The cone of flames from the dragon’s attack had swallowed a hundred yards of the wall, erasing the rune structure. “You took care of that for me. Good shot there.”
The dragon’s remaining eye widened with realization. “No!” it hissed, and turned to the other walls in the city. The green runes had died out, too much of the structure now lost to continue its function.
Abaddon smiled and shifted the sword to his right hand. “You’re getting along pretty well for a creature with an injured brain. But I’d wager I’ve wrecked your motor skills. I’ve only got enough left in me for one more shot. Block this one, and you can kill me. How about it, dragon? One more time, then, shall we find
out which of us is afraid?”
The beast’s growl shifted to a grumble of displeasure. It took a moment longer to stare at the man approaching, and the sword in his hand. Then it turned and spread its wings, anxious to retreat.
Abaddon reacted instantly, leaning forward and using his good leg to throw himself at the creature. He aimed the Dual Blade at the dragon’s shoulders and swung with a ferocious roar. The weapon sliced cleanly through the base of the scaled wings and ripped through the neck. Unable to catch himself upon landing, he dropped his sword and rolling uselessly along the ground.
He heard the thud of the dragon’s head and body collapsing, and a soft smile washed over his face. Cildar and Myris were swiftly at his side. Cildar began healing, doing the best he could to staunch the loss of blood and ravaging poisons wrecking Abaddon’s body. The paladin could feel his spiritual abilities returning, but the currents were still not sufficient for healing injuries at such a terrifying level.
“Sir Abaddon, are you still with me?” He was already up to his elbows in the man’s blood, and barked for Myris to go fetch him some makeshift supplies for splints and bandages. “Give me something, Daemon.”
“Emle.”
“Just hold on, I’m doing everything I can.”
Before finally losing consciousness, the big man answered through hoarse breaths, “If you save my life... and lose this war... I’ll kill you.”
* * * * *
Myris had been unable to find any of the supplies Cildar had requested, and instead sent a small platoon of Cainites outside to fetch medics and bring them back. Word of the dragon’s death was spreading, and the Vantriskans were quickly surrendering. Many of them seemed eager to lay down their arms, glad the war was over and hopeful for a return to peaceful times. Myris spent a few moments coordinating with Shasta for the final stages of the battle, then began to head back to where Cildar awaited. As he did so, one of his Cainites stepped to his side.
“Any signs, my lord?” the woman asked.
