“Ern, get your men to flank the east!” cried Ankar Rie, moving people together to form a line facing the eastern edge of their army. “Kateel’s men have fallen! Be prepared!”
Ern Dwull had been racing around his bowmen, scattering the last of the burst charges to them when the sorcerer spotted him. Terill Estrial already had sent a few scouts in that direction in hopes to find that the enemy had not circled them. It was a plan of action discussed earlier so direction would be instantaneous and surprise would not leave them unprepared. But the sheer mass of the enemy’s army dwarfed all planning that they created. Flanks would fall again, they knew now. Soon enough they would be closed off on all sides, fighting in close quarters until the darkness washed over them completely.
“Fall back?” Ern Dwull shouted to Ankar.
“Not yet! Wait for the scouts!”
Ern grunted something unpleasant as he ordered his men, what was left of them, to begin to flank the right side of their encampment. Be prepared, he told them. Be alert for movements in the darkness, he yelled. Fight for your lives against the demons advancing from the north, he screamed.
It was foolish, he thought. Their numbers were too thin to stretch. Without the aid of the catapults, they were left with little hope to gain anything. They were lucky to be alive this long, he thought.
“Fire into their midst! Burn their throats from their bodies!” Ern screamed his demands to a field of bowmen, who turned and shot arrows aimlessly into the northern sky.
“Commander,” Dornawee said, suddenly next to Ern, “an arrow!”
Ern saw his hand extended and quickly gave the old elf what he asked for. He watched Dornawee take the arrow with both hands and use sparks of light from his fingers to create a glowing tip. When he was finished, he handed it back to Ern.
“It will give us light enough to see them,” Dornawee explained. “Shoot east.”
Ern handed it to one of his men, who shot it well into the eastern sky. They all followed the glowing tip with their eyes until it disappeared into the dark clouds. A few seconds later, it exploded. White light rained slowly in a bright glow. Dornawee patted Ern on the shoulder, his other hand pointed east. Ern looked immediately. The Shyl Plains was open grass for as far as they could see.
“No immediate threat,” Dornawee concluded. “Yet.”
“Be on the lookout anyway!” Ern screamed to his troops. “Fire into their bellies until there is nothing left to shoot!”
By the dozens, arrows flew into the sky, raining down across the field of Takers still marching south across the Shyl. Dornawee stood with them, lacing arrows with his magic light, giving them to the Men and Elves shooting, watching the explosions light the mass of darkness coming to swallow them. For several long minutes they continued their aerial assault like a well-oiled machine.
Then a warning screamed.
Heads turned in unison, only in time to see the red flares erupting into them. Bodies burst into flying segments, toppling over each of them, sending the living either sprawling across the field or buried under their own company. Before they could act, a group of Takers was storming into them.
Commander Ern Dwull was first on his feet, emerging up past several limbs that were not his own, to stand before the onslaught with his broadsword swinging vengefully. White light shed in quick bursts from the ground, shattering into Takers, tracing back to Dorn’s fingers, as the old elf did what he could to help from his knees. His bad leg had been twisted severely and he was struggling to stand. Ern fought his way over to him, slicing his sword into Takers as they sought to overcome the injured elf.
“Take my hand,” said Ern, reaching down to help Dornawee rise.
Dorn screamed in agony doing so. The sound of his broken bone crunched beneath the skin and the elf screamed even louder. “Pull me out of here!”
“Hang on!”
Ern Dwull grasped a hold of the other’s arm and gave him a firm yank, bringing Dornawee up on his good leg, using Ern for a crutch. He looked down to the old elf’s leg and noticed the pant leg ripped and bloody below the knee. Ern grimaced. He knew it was bad.
“We’ve got to get you to—”
Dornawee cut in quickly. “I don’t need anyone’s help for this. Just hang on.”
Dorn closed his eyes and tried to block out the war sounds showering him. He went deep within himself to the root of the pain, sending his magic in soothing waves to the broken and fractured bones in his lower leg where the lines of his healing touch were carefully intertwining with broken nerves and veins, wrapping around the bones and drawing them back together. The process was excruciating and slow. He stayed focused, sewing the pieces of his leg back together with his magic, oblivious to anything happening outside of him.
Ern looked around. There were no immediate threats to them, no Takers rushing in to kill them, nothing that needed his swords attention at least. He stole looks at Dorn from time to time, but the old elf’s face showed nothing. No pain. No joy. Nothing. He was not sure exactly what Dornawee was doing. He just hoped it was working.
Minutes later, Dornawee came to with a loud exhale, as if he had been deep under water and had struggled to breach the surface. He looked uncertain of his whereabouts briefly, but it all came rushing back quickly. He let go of Ern, looking down at his leg as he applied his weight to it, testing it gingerly.
“What did you do?” asked Ern with an incredible look. He saw Dornawee’s leg straighten, looking as though nothing had ever been wrong. “You’re fine!”
“Almost,” gasped Dorn. His leg was repaired enough for him to stand and move, but was not healed completely.
“Incredible.” said Ern in response, truly admiring the elf’s ability.
“An ancient remedy.” Dornawee looked tired and pale, his breathing was still ragged. “Unfortunately, it does not heal everything.”
“Well, your skills are beyond anything I’ve ever encountered. You’re remarkable.”
“And you are a true fighter, my friend.”
It had been a long time since Ern Dwull allowed himself a friend, allowed anyone to penetrate the walls he carefully construed. But things were different now. Lon was gone. Death was looming at every turn. And Dornawee was a different creature altogether. He had never known an elf before. But as he stared into Dorn’s eyes, he thought the change was welcoming.
“You are a good ally, elf.”
Dornawee nodded. “Let us finish this mess, my friend!”
Ern Dwull yelled in response, thrusting his stained blade skyward. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something moving behind them, something sweeping at them like a storm cloud brushing the Shyl’s grass. Ern swallowed hard, realizing why the east was empty: the enemy had already passed and were behind them. He brought his sword up at once, yelling as hard as he could. “Incoming!”
Dornawee went cold. “Oh my.”
Issilix Delsoue shined in a dark crimson as Tane removed it from its sheath. It was warm. Tingling. It could sense Tane’s emotions and was glowing with expectance. He could feel it through his entire body. Pulsating. Speaking to him in soft throbs. Pleading for Tane to do what was needed, to use it finally. It was eager to fulfill its master’s command.
As the towering infernos drew near, the blazing catapults shining like the sun peeking through clouds, Shadox and Tane saw the darkness sweep out of the east and storm north to the backside of the army. Their horses sped into the back of the Takers swarm, trampling into them with a momentum so strong that their swiping clawed hands were knocked aside effortlessly. Shadox fired his anger in huge glowing balls that shot into the crowd devouring the dark forms, leaving nothing in their trail.
Tane clung to his horse as he swung his sword down into a group of Takers that raked for his legs. The crimson blade sliced through with ease, leaving their bodies in dying halves. He swung quickly, nervously, scared to give the enemy a chance to touch him, scared to see what his sword was capable of doing. But the Takers that raced to him never came clo
se enough. Fighting scared, he was using his sword as Mantel Orris had taught him, and his instincts for survival fueled his adrenaline rush making his actions swift and precise.
Then his horse went down.
Takers tore into its legs sending it spun out of control, sending Tane to the ground. Tane quickly scrambled to his feet, watching red beams glow all around him as fingertips lit like candles in the dark. Takers began screaming a shrill and terrible wail, ear-piercing and ghastly, as they were drawn to Tane like a magnet.
As the Takers sent their hatred in fiery red bolts, Tane had no time to do anything but react. Screaming, he brought the Flame of Blood up. To his surprise, the Takers fire slammed into his blade, coiled angrily around the sword, then disappeared within the metal. It was as if his sword was devouring their magic.
Tane staggered back. Impossible! Suddenly a section of Takers erupted into ash beside him. White flares raced into the dark swarm seconds before he saw Shadox destroying all that he could.
“The sword, King! Use its power! Now!”
Tane saw the fierce look the sorcerer gave him and understood that somehow the Flame of Blood was meant for more than what he was using it for. As red beams still struck it, from everywhere now as Takers raced to destroy him, Tane still failed to grasp its purpose. Holding the pommel tight with both hands, Tane could feel jarring bolts attack it. The sword swayed with each hit, almost swiping it clean of his hands. He was scared then, uncertain as to how much the sword could sustain, scared to think of what would happen if he let it become destroyed. But as he turned to slice into the nearest threats, cutting them into ruins at the blade’s touch, he had no idea how to unlock its power.
He spun in circles then, swiping relentlessly, but as fast as he could send them lifeless into the bloody grass, others were replacing them. They came rushing from hundreds of yards away, howling their shrill cry in pursuit. Red fire burned at him from every direction, absorbing into his sword. There were too many, he thought. He had badly misjudged everything. One slip now and he was dead.
Suddenly clouds of ash erupted around him seconds before he saw glimpses of Shadox’s sleek form dashing through their midst firing his white magic rapidly, keeping the demons at bay as much as he could. Do not be afraid. He heard the sorcerer’s words loud and clear. But the chaos was frantic and Tane had no time to waste on thoughts or ideas. Mustering his strong arms to swing harder and faster, Tane fought for his life.
White fire exploded behind him, shaking the ground with its impact, filling the night sky with blowing dirt and falling ash. Everything became darker, lost in the cloud of debris. Glowing red eyes cut through the screen suddenly, and before Tane could act, red fire was smashing into his blade. The jarring force sent him toppling to the ground. The Taker lunged for him before he could have a second to move, sharp claws stretching forward to slice into his chest as its palms began to shoot its red fire. In a split second then, Tane could feel the ball of helpless rage boiling deep within him surge through his body and into his sword, and as he screamed his defiance, he thrust forward the Flame of Blood.
Tane watched from his back as everything seemed to happen slowly. He could feel the energy surging through Issilix Delsoue. He could feel it tense as the pressure was ready to release. He saw it shine with crimson coils; the Taker suspended above it, slowly descending, its magic firing. The red bolts hit the sword, but as Tane thought it was too late to protect himself, the fire was sent shooting back into the Taker. Tane saw into its dead, burning eyes; he saw the evil flickering out at him. But then the red light hit the Taker, smoldering it, bursting it into smoking hot embers at its touch.
Tane closed his eyes as the ash rained across him. His whole body shook nervously. What was that? His eyes fixed on the sword, momentarily forgetting everything else. That feeling! That power! It was as Shadox had said. The sword acted on his desire, his urging impulse. He stared at the sword’s glow as it sparked. Tane smiled. His relief was overwhelming.
A thundering of footsteps intruded on his revelation then and Tane scrambled to his feet. Takers. They were racing for him with no thought in mind to do anything but turn him into shreds. The Flame of Blood glowed like a torch at his response, collecting the red fire as it shot towards him. Tane swung it then, not as a weapon to cut, for now he realized that it wasn’t, but as a beam of his thoughts. And they were dark.
Issilix Delsoue flared instantly, shooting their red beams back to them like lasers, destroying even those running from afar. Within a few minutes, enough of them were thinned out so that he could see the sorcerer fighting yards away.
“Shadox!”
Shadox stood with his arms extended, his fingers blazing his magic into the shifting sea of blackness. His magic cast a white glow across his face, his hood covering his head, his eyes as intense as his white fire. He knew without looking what Tane had done. And what Tane still had to undo.
“Let’s go!” yelled Tane, pressing closer towards the burning catapults. Shadox followed at his side, running hard.
Commander Ern Dwull fought with his back to Dornawee, his bloody sword swinging violently into the demons as the horde attacked them. He could hear the searing sound that the elf’s magic made, he could hear the grunting from exertion from its master, and the deep breathing from the strenuous effort. There had been no let down, no time to recover and relax, no time to repair the scrapes and wounds received, and no time to hope that the end was near. They were overrun and for all they knew they were alone.
“There!” the old elf yelled, turning his attention to Ern’s side, watching a Taker swipe its claws down towards Ern’s head. Dornawee shot his magic into it, freezing it in place for a second, long enough for Ern to turn and strike it with his sword.
They had been fighting this way for a while. Dorn knew his strength would not endure if he used his magic as extensive as he had. Short dosages, just enough to keep them alive, he thought. Ern fought valiantly at his side. His broadsword never resting, his body never pausing to rely on his new partner, his eyes always alert for their safety. He wondered how long the old elf could hold on. He knew the magic was draining him. He could hear it in his voice and see it in Dorn’s eyes. He would not let anything happen to him. As long as there was air to breathe, the elf could depend on him.
“We need to fall back,” Ern said.
Dornawee shook his head. “There may be no one left to fall back to!”
“We will not die here, Dorn!”
The black swarm that washed from the south broke apart then, and thinned out. Neither understood why. They watched most of the Takers turn and run south, racing away as if they were wolves on the hunt and fresh blood was in the air. Still, a small circle of Takers remained. They wanted the elf.
“What’s happening?” asked Ern, breathing in quick bursts, his face sweaty. His chain-mail vest had been torn from his chest and head, scratches alongside of his forehead were reminders of how close he had come to his end. “Why are they retreating?”
“They have no reason to flee,” shouted Dorn. “Maybe they attack the Ailia Court!”
Fighting for their own lives, the two stood beside each other and stole glimpses south. “Did you see that?” Ern shouted. A white light flashed a hundred yards away, in the direction the Takers had fled to. Another followed. “Look, Dorn!”
Dorn turned his head in time to see a crimson flare disappear within a burst of white light. The Takers around them howled and scrambled away, running towards the light flashing from the south, steadily moving closer.
“It is coming this way,” gasped Ern Dwull. For the moment, they were alone. Whatever was heading towards them had gathered the attention of their enemy. “Who do you suppose that is?”
“Judging by their reaction, I would say it was someone of power.”
Ern nodded. He turned to glance quickly at the elf. His pale face was lined with sweat beads and he looked exhausted. “Are you okay?”
He turned to Ern. “Magic will steal y
our energy quickly.”
“Do you need to rest? I can—”
“Ah!” screamed Dornawee, falling to the ground in a blur.
Ern looked with confusion. Dornawee lay on his stomach with something dark squirming across his back. Taker! Ern quickly brought up his sword, but before he could deliver the blow to save his friend, he too was sent flying to the ground. Clawed hands swiped for his face and neck, but Ern was fast, protecting himself with his sword, acting on instincts and relying on his strength to fight off the Taker.
And then he felt a terrible sting in his right thigh. The Taker had sank its hands down into his leg. Ern knew what came next. Frantically he began to chop his sword at the Taker’s arms, striking it quickly, cutting into its flesh until it jerked off him. He saw its hands begin to glow red then and he rolled his body out of the way just as the earth where he was laying burst apart by red flames. Ern quickly came to his feet, the pain in his thigh throbbing immensely. He saw his blood dripping off the fingers of his enemy.
Ern raised his sword in defense then, screaming to the Taker to charge him, screaming his nervous energy in anguish. The Taker obeyed. With red fingers glowing, it began towards Ern. But then something happened that Ern did not expect. The Taker was suddenly glowing, struck with a white light, exploding right before him. Ern looked back to see Dornawee on his knees, his fingers still emitting a white hue, his face holding a look so stricken with pain that Ern almost looked away.
And as Dornawee slumped forward, Ern saw the remainder of the Taker slither into his body.
“No!”
Ern raced for Dornawee, his sword raised high, his pain forgotten as quickly as his feet moved to save his friend. He understood what the elf had done. His heart ached with a mad realization that Dorn protected him even when he himself was being attacked. Dornawee had saved his life. As he reached the elf, he saw Dorn’s body convulsing. He watched his eyes roll to the back of their sockets.
“No!”
“Kill me,” Dornawee gasped. His voice raspy, changing.
Ern saw Dornawee’s skin shift with unnatural movements. Somewhere lost in his body, Dorn was fighting still. Ern had no idea what to do.
“Dorn!”
“Kill me, Ern! Do it! Do it now!”
Ern shook his head. He looked down and saw the pain in Dornawee’s eyes. They were looking back at him, begging Ern to do what he couldn’t. Dornawee spoke again, the same urgent message whispering in dying breaths. But Ern couldn’t do it; he could not strike his friend. Not when there was a chance that Dornawee’s magic could save him.
Do something, Dorn!
But as Ern remained frozen in hesitation, he saw the transformation conclude. Dorn’s eyes glazed over with a new look, a new mind set, a new master. The shifting in his face stopped. The worry in his eyes gone.
Ern Dwull jumped aside then, as red light boiled across the eyes of his dead friend, shooting skyward. Ern hit the ground rolling, standing quickly to see Dorn’s body moving towards him.
It can’t be!
But as he focused on the unthinkable, as he struggled with the fact that he had allowed the transformation to be complete, he lost his awareness and backpedaled over a dead elf and went down. His sword fell out of his grasp. He lay helpless. He watched the Taker close in on him slowly. He stared at Dornawee’s face and tried hard to convince himself that it was not his friend any longer, that nothing of Dorn was still inside it.
Kill me, Ern. Do it! whispered continuously in his mind. The heavy loss of blood began to take its toll on him. His sight began to spin, his mind dizzy. He was losing control, and he was not sure he wanted to fight it any longer.
Then two dark figures emerged behind the Taker. The one holding the crimson sword moved in fast, his weapon glowing bright, drawing the Taker’s attention.
Then Ern watched everything unfold in a haze, his sight dimming, slowly washing inward. The crimson light seemed to draw the life out of Dorn, he thought. Ern swore he saw the Taker being lifted out of the elf’s body and into the crimson light. But Ern was bleeding badly now and the loss of blood was taking its toll.
Before he knew what was happening, the other figure, the one looking like a Taker himself, was shredding strips of cloth to wrap about his open wound. Ern could not make out the words the other was speaking, but he knew he was not dying. The bearer of the sword was kneeling down next to him then, somehow appearing out of the gloom all at once. Ern tried to fight off the dizziness, to hear and understand what they were saying to him. But it was too late. He felt himself drifting. It was soothing. His eyes were struggling to open and he didn’t care anymore if they did. He was so tired. It was easy to just relax and let go. Dorn! He wasn’t sure if he had said it out loud. It didn’t matter.
“Is he dying?” Tane asked Shadox.
“His wounds are deep. But he’ll survive.” Shadox finished wrapping up Ern’s thigh and stood. “He’ll be fine, Tane. Let him rest. Come, we’ve only just begun.”
Tane turned and raced away, feeling the power surge through the Flame of Blood.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR