“Ankar!” Ern Dwull yelled, pointing his sword ahead of them to where their enemy crawled rapidly. The sorcerer directed his magic onto them, burning them as they came. But there were too many to stop altogether. Takers pushed past the burning wreckage of their brethren without slowing.
“There’s too many!” Ern turned to his bowmen, who were already shooting arrows, screaming for his archers to fire without ceasing. But as he did so, he noticed that their arrows were doing nothing against the oncoming fury.
“Swords ready!”
Ern Dwull stood at the front of his soldiers, his sword up and ready, his men preparing themselves for confrontation behind him, as red beams lashed out from ahead of him. Men standing near him were hit, none survived. Screams rose out from his army as they panicked, placing their shields in front of them in hopes that the metal would be enough. But the soul-crushing bellow from the demons howling in approach made them believe that nothing would save them.
Suddenly blue light appeared before Ern in a blinding glow. He turned to see Ankar Rie standing with his arms stretched and his magic spewing from his hands in both directions. A wall, Ern thought. A shroud to protect them. As he turned back to face his enemy, they were at his doorstep with glowing palms firing red fire into the shield.
Ern Dwull stepped back in fear, nearly toppling over his own feet. He saw then that Terill, Dornawee, and several other elves had joined Ankar, and their shield ran a great distance, towering into the black sky. The shield was magnifying in intensity; it was growing, he thought. Ankar Rie shouted once, then the shield began to fall like a tidal wave.
Ern shouted in delight. He watched the radiant wall crash down and disintegrate the nightmares around them. His army roared in response, momentarily letting their guard down. They cheered in defiance, in triumph.
But their celebration was premature.
Through the chaos, a swarm of dark figures snaked into their midst, clawed hands ripped into throats and chests before the threat was even realized. Men standing at the front died violently. Swords came up in challenge, but some too slow, some striking their mark seconds before their arms were scratched off their bodies, then their chests opened wide.
“No!”
Ankar Rie’s fire spewed into the lot of them, burning what he could catch, saving a few men from a terrible death, if only to see them dying seconds later. Elves with magic joined him, but the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming and streams of demons tore through unchallenged. Elves and Men shot waves of arrows, yet Takers swept in like a flood to drown them all.
Ankar Rie turned his fire blazing in all directions. Everywhere he turned he saw red eyes and blurry shadows streaking past. Magic flashed all around him. Men and Elves fought for their lives behind him. The same thing had happened to the east and west flanks, he figured. The war animal had crawled into their home now, and it had no intention of leaving.
Terill Estrial, Lord of the Forest Elves, raced his way through his people, his palms shooting his white fire in rapid bolts. It was frantic, it was desperate. The fight for survival had such a frenzied pace to it, that he knew they could not match through the night. In every direction he turned someone was dying. In the far distance, he could see giant explosions seconds before he heard them, knowing the small number of troops on the flanks would struggle. As they were.
Takers lunged into his back then, tackling him to the blood-soaked ground. He struggled to face them, to turn his hands towards them and defend himself properly. But the Takers were hungry and would not let up. Glowing red eyes smothered him, frantically trying to dig their way past the shield he cast just before he hit the ground. Struggling to break free, he managed to kick a few off and turn his body enough to move his arms freely.
Quickly he slammed his fists into the faces of those closest, sending his white heat blasting forth at once, moving on to the next face even before those demons were obliterated. Within a few seconds he was able to sit upright, spraying his fiery bolts into the wall of monsters coming to claim him. Giving himself some room, he was able to stand to his feet.
Then Dornawee screamed.
As Lord Estrial turned in all directions, he saw his friend nowhere. He ran then, using his magic to clear a way through the monsters, heading towards the sounds of the old elf fighting.
“Dorn!”
And then he saw him. Smothered by black figures that clung to his limbs, Dornawee stood fighting for his life. His screams were being muffled now as a Taker had a firm grasp on his neck. As Terill sent his magic in an attempt to rescue his ailing friend, he saw Dorn’s knees give out and he fell. His face was lost in the Taker’s bodies. Fire burned from Terill’s fingers, turning them to ash. Yet more joined the battle, some even turning from the old elf to fight Terill.
“Dorn!” He yelled again, but no response came back.
Terill felt something hard hit his back then. Before he could help himself, he was falling into the dirt.
Dornawee yelled as loud as he could, managing only to muffle an attempt to scream, while Takers began to enter him. On the ground, he could see soulless eyes looking into his own.
My Lord! The madness!
He could feel the heat radiating off their bodies as they smothered him. Dozens of arms pressed against his body everywhere, frantically searching for a way through his shield and into his skin. He struggled in vain to push them off, to fight his way off the bottom of the pile to stand once again valiantly. But there were too many now, and more were joining. His sense of urgency was deepening. Screaming to deaf ears, he thrust his magic forth from his fingers, but could not even see the glow from his attempt. Takers were countering with their own fire, he knew. They were scourging him relentlessly.
Staring into the shifting darkness swallowing him, he was becoming light-headed. He would not last much longer. His sight grew dimmer. Darkness was washing over him in a dizzying sleep. He could no longer breathe. They would have him, he thought.
No!
Then he could feel his legs again, or rather the ability to move them. Then his hands and arms. He fought the dizziness with hope and in a blur he could see the dark figures remove from him. He could hear the sounds again. His breathing began again, quickening. He wasted no time in scrambling around to move, to regain his feet.
“Get up, elf!” Ern Dwull yelled, swinging his sword faster than he could even think to do so, all impulse and instinct, action and reaction. “Hurry! Get up!”
Ern’s sword was black, coated with dark liquid that ran down his blade like the sweat on his face. Takers came from every angle, but nothing was stopping him from slicing into the monsters covering Dornawee. He saw the old elf’s body moving now, scrambling to his knees, then feet.
“You okay?”
Dornawee nodded, unsure, a horrid look masking his pale reflection as he turned to see Ern. His senses returned to him then. Staring into Ern’s determined eyes, he saw something rushing towards them.
“Get down!”
Ern wasted no time dropping to the ground as Dornawee’s hands came up, glowing already, fire starting to push past his fingers, shooting forth over Ern’s head just as he landed on the grass. He could hear the impact, the terrible sound of heated magic searing into the swarm of demons only inches away. Showered by ash, Ern rose to his feet, eyes wide, sword ready.
“Thank you!” he screamed.
“Thank you, as well.” Dorn backed up to Ern then, standing close, briefly watching the madness all around them.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ern scowled.
“You probably never will again, either.”
Takers were everywhere. Their dark forms swept past like shadows in the night. Explosions rocked the Plains from end to end, screams bellowed in waves, the sounds of armor clanking and swords sweeping filled the pockets of silence. Ern’s heart raced. Many of his men were dead. Many more would be by dawn, he thought coldly.
“I do not plan on dying here tonight!” he screamed. He turned to face Dornawee. ?
??Not me!”
Dornawee saw the madness in his eyes. It was enough for him to believe the commander. “Stay close to me, then.”
But Ern was already moving past him into the midst of the Takers’ belly.
Shadox and Tane rode their horses hard across the Shyl Plains. For the past mile they could hear explosions in the distance, roaring like thunder lost in the darkness above, they could almost feel the ground rumbling beneath them. As they cleared a small rise, the explosions were finally visible. Miles across the Shyl, lights flared and died in quick bursts, glowing bright in the dark. A deep and terrible rumbling followed.
“The war has started,” Tane yelled, if only to himself. “We must hurry!”
Shadox closed his eyes then, leaning close to his horse’s neck, concentrating hard. He began to speak, sending his thoughts to his protégé, telling Ankar Rie what was coming. Once finished, relieved that the receiver was found able to listen, found alive for that matter, Shadox urged the horses to press on harder.
“The enemy is too great for them to withstand alone!” Shadox’s scream was desperate. “It has come to eliminate us all!”
“But the sword will save us,” Tane more asked than stated, looking to Shadox for reassurance.
“Your brother is the only chance for saving us,” said the sorcerer somberly. “The sword will destroy what has been created, but Takers will exist as long as the Ku breathes!”
Tane was anxious now, more-so than ever. Issilix Delsoue was strapped to his side and for the last several hours he felt it pulsating against him. Its magic radiated warmth that he could feel beneath his skin, down into the depths of his soul. It was hard for him to understand how he felt it, the connection to the sword even while it was sheathed. But it was even harder to ignore. Shadox had been right about him. He did not bother to question him further about anything.
“They will be drawn to your sword,” Shadox warned. “They will know of its power. But only you can unlock it, Tane.”
Tane nodded and tried to mentally prepare himself for the battle ahead. He had no idea how the sword was going to act. Since taking hold of it, since departing so quickly from Cillitran with it in his possession, Shadox had told him almost nothing about it. Its origin was discussed, of course, how it was created and by whom. But Shadox had admitted to him that he did not know much about the extent of its power.
“The magic is part of you. It will protect you. It will destroy what you want it to destroy. It is an Elven weapon; it is linked to you, Tane.”
Tane looked ahead then, absolutely unsatisfied. All he understood now, was that the sword was his alone, and very powerful. The time will come all too soon to test that power, he thought.
But not soon enough.
Ankar Rie’s glowing hands were pressed deep into the cowl of a Taker when his magic shot forth, plunging deep into its eye sockets, until its head exploded. As he turned then, shredding a few more pressing near him, a familiar voice whispered in his mind.
We have the sword, Ankar. Hold fast, we are coming.
The voice was gone just as sudden as it came. But it was enough to make Ankar Rie smile.
Hope.
Stay alive for a few more hours.
“No!” he yelled then as he saw Terill Estrial flailing on the ground, lost in a tangle of black robes and swiping hands. Blue fire burst from his fingertips immediately, rushing to Lord Terill’s aid. But before he could reach him, Terill exploded in a white light with smoking ash settling into a dark cloud. When the smoke settled, Ankar Rie saw Terill standing alone.
Ankar turned his attention to the oncoming assault, flaring his heated light bursting into the field of demons. Terill stood next to him a few yards away, kneeling to the ground, planting both hands in the soil. Ankar looked over at once, making sure the Elven Lord was not seriously injured. Then he saw Terill’s face growl viciously as a white light seeped from the ground around his hands. The ground shook then. For the length of a hundred yards ahead of them, the ground opened up, swallowing Takers by the hundreds. Terill withdrew his hands moments later and stared with exhaustion, watching the earth close up, burying his enemy.
“From the depths they were born. To the depths they return!” Terill cursed. He slowly rose to his feet, his face sweaty and worn. He was beginning to tire. Too much magic, too quickly. And the war had only begun.
“Fire!” Ern Dwull screamed suddenly.
Terill and Ankar Rie looked behind them to see a line of bowmen with arrows notched and ready. The tips of their arrows were fixed with burst charges. Ern was racing down the line, ordering a group of bowmen he found through the chaotic mess, spilling burst charges from a pouch next to them for their assault. In another moment, Ern disappeared in the battle.
Terill and Ankar knelt down quickly, hearing the arrows speed overhead. Another volley followed just as fast. Seconds later they were exploding in brilliant lights, showering the Shyl Plains in dirt and ash. Their lustrous flares reflected against the low-hanging clouds like a war in the sky. Red beams cut through the destruction in response, met by shields thrown up from Terill and Ankar Rie. The lights absorbed, leaving the charging Takers moaning with fury.
Ankar Rie looked around at the mess unfolding. Dead Men and Elves lay scattered everywhere. Catapults burned behind them like towers of fire with flames threatening to lick the clouds. Men of armor and sword fought hard to stay alive. Elves with bows were plucking the dark monsters swarming beyond with resilience, firing their arrows to no end. Explosions still rocked the western flank with brilliant fire, while the east lay quiet and dark.
Ankar pressed his shield higher around him, watching the red bolts die into it, as he walked backwards a few feet to stand closer to Terill.
“I need your help,” he yelled to the Lord of the Lyyn. Terill inched his way closer, listening to Ankar explain what he wanted to do.
Then Terill Estrial fell back behind Ankar, using the other for a shield as he spun his magic across the earth searching for idle swords. Like a forest of shiny metal, blades began to rise from the cold, lifeless hands clinging to them, shifting with the pommels facing down, rising higher with Terill’s command. Terill’s right arm gave them direction, lifting them higher, just a few feet above his head now, turning the blade tips facing him. Then like a catapult, Terill swung his arm overhead, turning his body towards Ankar’s shield, throwing the hundreds of swords in response deep into the Takers onslaught. Ankar Rie withdrew his shield, momentarily caught up in the awe. Together they watched the gleaming swords penetrate Takers, decapitating them, striking through with enough force to continue the action deep into the enemy’s midst.
Terill smiled, watching Ankar yell in excitement. But the effect was draining him. He was going to have to limit his magic before the exhaustion leaves him paralyzed.
“Terill!” Ankar Rie yelled, seeing the tired look in the other’s eyes. Terill waved him off, motioning that he was fine. But Ankar knew the signs of fatigue.
“Shadox is coming, Terill! Hold on!”
“I am fine, sorcerer.” Terill stood proudly, looking around, feeling his strength slowly return. Recovery time was necessary, but unreachable. In the night, he turned in a circle, looking at the devastation. Elves and Men battled together against the sea of dark figures. Magic spread in bright bursts, explosions following. He wondered then where Dorn was.
Then he saw something moving in the dark. It was tall and fast. Ankar Rie swung his arms upright, aiming instantly. But Terill stopped him, grabbing his hands, urging him to wait. The form raced through everyone, directly to them. It was a horse and rider. An elf.
The horse slowed, and then stopped at their feet. The rider still clung to the leather harness, appearing now as if he was hanging onto it for his life’s sake. Terill and Ankar Rie rushed in close.
“Kateel?” Terill asked.
“My Lord, we have…failed you.” Kateel’s voice was shaky, broken with quick gasps. His face stricken with fear. “The east…fallen
. The enemy…moves…past us.” Kateel tried to point, but lost balance and fell off his horse, landing in Terill’s arms. Kateel’s voice drifted softly away, as did the life in his eyes.
“Kateel!”
Then Ankar Rie noticed, too. Beneath Terill’s arms, where Kateel’s back should have been, was open flesh, tore and bleeding in shreds. He watched Lord Estrial lay Kateel’s unmoving body down to the grass.
“We have to fall back and regroup, or we’ll be surrounded!” Ankar yelled. “Terill, get your people back! Terill!”
He stood with his fingers glowing blue, watching Terill Estrial scream to the sky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE