The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  He recognized that voice and John was off his mount, sword free, moving to stand by Erik’s side. “You murderous bastard!” his brother yelled, mouth open in rage, weapon ready for attack. “Poison is a coward’s weapon! Are you brave enough to meet me in combat or will you hide behind your army like the piece of shit you are!”

  “Ah, I can see that the pleasantries will not be exchanged. Such a shame. I had hoped to offer terms and be home by supper,” the man responded as he removed his helm and looked upon John with scorn. Clint had become the Horseman of War.

  He smiled as he yelled back “What home? I killed your father, your mother, and burned Kershaw to the ground!” He dismounted and strode to Erik’s other side, his hand on his pommel. “Your father begged for his life before he died, but that did not keep me from doing what had to be done. A rabid beast must be put down, no matter how much you distaste the work. But I’ll tell you a secret, I got great pleasure out of it.” It wasn’t true, Willow had killed the old man, but there was no point in telling Clint that. He would say just about anything to wipe that smug smile off that bastard’s face.

  Clint looked at him, at first not recognizing who he was seeing. Then realization dawned and the man took a few steps in his direction. “You son of a bitch! I will kill you for that. I will see your corpse—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Merlin interjected, finally stepping forward with the rest of them. “I’ve heard it all before. If you want to fight, let’s fight.”

  Wyrddlin let out a ferocious roar and the griffins looked ready to pounce.

  Clint hesitated, eyes shifting amongst them, not sure of what his next move was.

  “Pestilence, why not say hello?” the black gargoyle interrupted, calling to his fellow Horseman, and Tristan had a sinking feeling he was not going to like this; not one bit.

  Pestilence slid from the Chimera and came to a halt by Clint’s side. The man was ready to charge across at them, but when Pestilence grabbed his elbow, he glanced her way, then smiled. Stepping forward, the armored female slid off her helm and a pale elf smiled at them, eyes fixed on the Elven King.

  “Hello, Father,” she sneered at the stricken elf.

  “Bella?” Erik called in disbelief, his voice faltering. He was about to run to her when John reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Taking his lead, Tristan did the same. The last thing they needed was the Elven King racing over there with Excalibur and literally handing it over to the Phoenix. “Let me go!” Erik raged, struggling mightily within their grasp.

  He grunted with the effort and watched as Merlin stepped closer to the Horsemen, calling upon his magic and sending it to light the grass between them. “Get him on the Griffin,” he commanded John and Erik refused to be led away. “Bloody hell,” the mage muttered, stepped forward and put a hand on the king’s forehead. “Somnum.”

  Erik’s head immediately fell, and the elf was fast asleep. The two brothers worked together as they moved the monarch to his griffin, strapped him in, and patted the beast on the rear. “Fly,” Merlin commanded, and the griffin immediately responded, taking to the air with a mighty leap and a gust of wind.

  When they turned, the Horsemen were back on their mounts, their helms in place once more. “Well, it was worth a try,” Clint called, and Tristan seethed at the smile he knew was hidden underneath that helm. “Don’t worry, his time will come, as it will for you all. And you,” he paused, pointing his sword in Tristan’s direction, “I will be coming for you personally.”

  “Why wait?” he thundered, weapon ready.

  “I want to kill that elf girl of yours first, rip the baby from the womb, and make you watch as I feed it to my dragon,” Clint responded and if not for the fire burning in front of him, he might have charged over there himself and put an end to that jackass for good. Then War nudged his mount and the red dragon raised his head and bellowed a long gust of flame in their direction.

  He had to cover his face against the heat of it and he could hear John cursing on his right. Wyrddlin roared in response and the griffins added their cries to his as well.

  When it subsided enough for him to lower his arm, the Horsemen were gaining altitude and moving away from them. “Your time is coming! And when it gets here, I’ll personally put my sword through your heart!” he yelled after the rising dragon.

  All he got was laughter in return as their enemy disappeared from sight.

  V

  “You two should get out of here,” Merlin told them.

  John quickly nodded and started backing out of the room.

  He lingered for a second, eyes on the sleeping elf. Jarel had attempted to remove the monarch’s armor, but Merlin had advised the aide the king would not be in bed long after waking, and he’d just have to put it back on again.

  “It had to be Clint, didn’t it?” he remarked, shaking his head. The mage’s eyes turned to look at him and he felt the certainty of it all click into place. “She sent Clint and Bella, knowing that either would draw someone into open conflict, alone, undefended on the plains before the castle. Had one of us died—”

  “The morale of the people would be shaken and had we lost Excalibur—” Merlin trailed off, watching the elf with concerned eyes.

  “It all would have been for nothing,” he finished with a frown. “We’re not going to all get out of this alive, are we?” he asked suddenly, the feeling of dread heavy upon the air. Why did it have to be Clint?

  Merlin paused, then shook his head. “I’m not going to lie, some will die. With a battle such as this, that is unavoidable. But you need to remember, they will die so the rest of us will live, and that gives their sacrifice meaning.” His friend turned to face him, and he noticed that John was still hovering in the background, waiting on Tristan to join him.

  “Think on why the Horsemen did not attack,” Merlin commanded, and he let his thoughts drift, going over what had happened, but coming up empty. The Horsemen were formidable. He couldn’t think of a reason they didn’t—other than to taunt them; prolong their misery. “Even they aren’t sure of the power of the sword, how it might react, what they would be facing. Remember, those are not mindless zombies out there, they feel fear as well. That’s why they turned and fled back to the army they’d left behind. They are not as powerful as we are made to think.”

  “What are you talking about?” John asked, returning to the bedside, giving up on their leaving and wanting to take part in the conversation.

  “These Horsemen are pale imitations of the ones she sent before. They are more formidable in that they are reasoning, intelligent creatures, but she did not create them as powerful as she did last time,” Merlin explained, taking a pipe from his robes and lighting it with a finger.

  He shook his head in confusion. “Why would she do that? Why not try to make them more powerful rather than weaker?”

  Merlin chuckled. “My boy, they aren’t weaker, they just aren’t fully Horsemen of the Apocalypse either. Famine was so driven by hunger that she left her assigned escort in order to ravage the northern plains; feeding endlessly until an armed convoy came across her alone and undefended. Pestilence constantly fed by spreading his plague and ended up killing more of his own men than the enemy’s. Death immediately turned on her and disappeared, refusing to obey her commands. The only Horseman that lived up to her expectations was War. Which, the both of you faced and walked away from,” he acknowledged with a small grin.

  “I’m just sorry I didn’t end him when I had the chance,” John cursed, having been filled in on what happened after the orc fled Lancaster.

  “That’s not your fault,” he told his brother, eyes firm. “It was mine.”

  There was a groan from the bed and the king had begun to stir. “No. It was the Phoenix; all of this has been the Phoenix,” Erik muttered, opening his eyes and looking upon them, a small tear leaking from his right eye. “Look at what she did to my daughter.”

  “Maybe we should—” John began.

  The two brothers t
urned and came face to face with the Queen of the Elves. From the look on her face it was apparent that she had heard what had happened on the grasslands and it broke his heart to see the tears in her eyes.

  “My Lady,” he bowed, then discreetly made his exit, Merlin and John fast on his heels. They closed the door, leaving the two grieving parents to console one another and he looked to the mage. “I could use a drink.”

  A tall elf was standing in the hallway by the door and he turned to look at them. The man was well armored and had weapons attiring his entire body. He had a sly look to his eyes and he chuckled at Tristan’s remark. “I’ve been trying to get her to do just that for over an hour now,” the elf snickered, nodding to the two elven women standing ten feet further on.

  Willow and Kylee were arguing, and he realized that the ranger must have heard the news as well. Clint had been here, and she missed another chance to exact her revenge. His blood started to rise; just who was this elf wanting to catch a drink with?

  “For your own good, I hope you mean the white haired one of the pair,” John chuckled, seeing his brother’s hackles rising.

  The elf’s eyes widened a bit in confusion. “Who else would I—?”

  He shouldered past and approached his sisters. “It was not the time or place,” he told the furious elf, her eyes finding his; causing him to almost stumble into them as he involuntarily jerked back. “You will get your chance, he’s not going anywhere. He’s promised to deal with me personally for what happened to his father. As long as you are by my side, you will get your revenge. We don’t have to go find him, he’s going to come right to us.” He fingered the scar on his hand and forced a smile.

  “It’s the last time I get left behind,” she snarked, her face flushed. Then her eyes fell on the elf standing in the hall behind him and he thought he saw her cheeks redden further.

  Willow’s eyes followed her sisters, then she smiled. “Oh, is that him? He’s cute!” She saw the frown on his face and chuckled. “But not as cute as you, my love.”

  “Uh huh,” he muttered, and John clapped him on the back.

  “Come, let’s get that drink. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to have another? I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a long day,” his brother told them, grabbing Tristan by the shoulders and pushing him away from the gawking sisters. “And Willow, I’d get over here before your man’s jealousy flares again,” the large man chuckled.

  “Who was that?” he heard the baritone of the other elf ask behind him, as his wife came to his side and laid her head on his arm.

  “My brothers,” the ranger answered, and he rolled his eyes at the answering snicker.

  He forced himself to continue forward, resisting the urge to turn and make an issue out of it. With John’s arm around one shoulder and Willow’s around his waist, he was forcibly walked down the hall and away from the couple bringing up the rear.

  “Tell me you saw that coming,” Willow suddenly said to the mage that had come to walk on John’s right.

  Merlin simply smiled at her and gestured towards the palace doors. “Let’s get something to drink before the dwarves get it all.”

  “Dwarves? Have you seen how much those men from Alamar drink? We’ll be lucky if there’s even Grog left at this point,” John muttered with a shake of his head, as they headed out the doors and into the night.

  Chapter 26

  Line in the Sand

  I

  “Are you sure this is wise?” Tristan asked the Elven King.

  The three of them stood on the ramparts overlooking the massed armies before them and his heart was thudding rapidly in his chest. The time they knew was approaching had finally arrived. Now that it was here, he felt fear trying to break through his resolve and cause him to flee. He fought it down, focusing intently on the enemy army and the Four Horsemen leading it.

  Merlin was a silent observer. His eyes were looking in the direction of the army but were seeing none of it, as they were misted over with white fog. He always got that way when studying the future and it was best if he left the mage be; he’d be cranky if disturbed.

  Erik nodded in answer to his question; gazing down at his own forces arrayed before the castle walls. “If it were simply orcs and goblins we were facing, then using the fortifications to hold the enemy back would make sense. But after a serious discussion, it was decided that it was best to meet them head on.”

  “What’s the point of having walls if you aren’t going to use them?” he pursued, looking at the massive horde arrayed against them and not seeing how they’d survive the day in open combat on the field. It went against everything he knew about battle strategies with concern to siege warfare. His tutors would be pulling their hair out if they saw what they were doing.

  The king grunted. “What good is a wall when dragons, harpies, gargoyles, and other winged creatures can easily fly over it? How strong is a wall when magic users can bombard it with their spells to bring it down and gain entry? No, our only real choice is to engage them in the field and try to keep the fight away from the city. The civilians have been ordered to withdraw into the forest, but the evacuation is nowhere near complete. And if Forlorn gets destroyed, then what was the point of fighting in the first place?”

  “I guess,” he finally remarked, not buying it. The enemy were just too large in number; they could be easily overwhelmed. He had a sinking feeling he would never see the moon rise again.

  Assorted races of goblins and orcs made up the core part of the enemy army and had to number in the tens of thousands. No one knew for sure, because no one had seen how far the encamped army stretched west. Troglodytes and gargoyles had been spotted moving through the ranks of the enemy force and it looked like gnolls and kobolds would be serving in the skirmish lines. The enemy cavalry were made up of jackyls, mounted on an orange and red bird-type creature that he had never even heard of, much less seen. Harpies flew here and there while the odd chimera soared into the sky and flew over the enemy encampment; eager to get the fighting started. He even thought he saw a few ogres and giants back amongst the trees and John had mentioned trolls earlier that morning.

  The Phoenix was literally throwing everything she had at them.

  The only heartening aspect was that for the first time since the Freedom Wars, every free race that populated the lands were currently flying standards on the field below. The elves had taken the vanguard position in the middle of the field, made up of not only Forlorn forces but of every elven city that populated the dense forest to the east. Earhen was the largest of those and had many standards dispersed throughout the contingent before him.

  During the night, a large force had arrived from the south, made up of different armies, each from the human settlements that John had called upon to serve. They had once sworn fealty to Constantine, and even though they had yet to do so to John, had been compelled to march when called upon. His brother had spent the morning organizing them on the southern flanks, intermixing their forces with Noelani’s to better augment their chances of survival. Lancaster standards flew on the southern part of the field and he felt pulled to join his countrymen; to die at their side if needed.

  Griedlok had agreed to act in support capacity, to fill gaps and counter moves by the enemy and were taking up the rear guard in-between the vanguard and southern armies. Cavalry units were constantly moving, strafing the rear of the army to keep the enemy guessing on where their positions would be during the battle.

  Storvirk had insisted on taking the northern position, the contingent of battle-ready orcs standing by their side. Kore had gone to be with his countrymen that morning and he knew the warrior would be personally leading them into battle. The orc’s sense of honor would never allow him to sit back and direct. He needed to be at the forefront; where the fighting was the heaviest.

  The fae were dispersed along the entire field amongst their ranks. As magic users, they would be best spread out rather than focused in one general area. It was easy to dire
ct the bands of centaurs in battle, they acted more like cavalry and had a more traditional role, but what did you do with the rest? How did you direct a leprechaun or a dryad? He didn’t know the names of all the creatures that made up the fae race, but there was constant movement below as fantastic creatures flittered through the army, in search of where they will be most needed. Hobgoblins, brownies, pixies, nymphs, gnomes, salamanders—it was hard to distinguish and keep track.

  He did not envy Erik in his position, as overall commander of the forces, in keeping it all straight in his head.

  Elves rode Pegasus mounts and griffins, trying to match their flying counterparts in their constant movement across the skies, and he wondered how different an aerial battle would be when the armies engaged. But then, it looked like he was going to find out.

  The arrival of the red dragon had posed a problem. They would need to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t set fire to the fortress as the battle commenced. Wyrddlin had offered to take Tristan with him when things began, and they would engage Clint the instant he took to the sky. Kylee had wanted to go with them, but Wyrddlin had been insistent that it would be hard enough to maneuver like he needed to with one rider, much less two. He had promised the ranger that he would make sure Clint lived long enough to meet her knife, and he intended to follow through the best he could.

  Merlin would work with Revan and Serix to direct the fae and other magic users during the battle and General Jade was given command of the elven army, with Erik in charge of the entire host as needed. John was leading the human and dwarven armies to the south and Storvirk was handling the north. The Knights of the Realm were splendid in their silver armor, their standards whipping in the wind; squires running here and there to supply water to their knights as needed. He had sent Derek to help them, as he would not be able to accompany Tristan on his ride with Wyrddlin.

  Pendoran was currently sitting on his horse to the rear of the knights, having refused an order to remain behind and let Tar Reiz take command of their men. He had started to regain his weight and was steadier on his horse. He felt capable and Erik could not persuade him otherwise.