The Battle of Ebulon (22 page)

“But... you... how is
this possible?”

“A gift from an old
friend of yours.”

“You’ve spoken with him?
Nobody has heard from him in years.”

“He’s the one who sent me
here. Said it was his chance to finally ‘right a great wrong’ or
something. Do you have any idea what he was talking
about?”

Brant shook his head
numbly. “No.”

Ky cocked an eyebrow.
There was a pause, then Brant strode towards Ky, a broad grin
spreading across his face as he threw his arms around his brother,
wrapping him in a hug. They both laughed exultantly. A gust of wind
whipped the snow around them, icy particles stinging their faces as
an enormous red dragon landed in their midst. His wings were golden
and his eyes glowed amber.

“Hail, King Brant,” the
dragon rumbled.

“Yole,” Brant returned.
“It is good to see you again.”

“Hush! Do you want to
bring the enemy down upon us before we’re ready?” Kamarie slid down
off the dragon’s back and her husband, King Oraeyn, followed.
Though her words contained a reprimand, her eyes sparkled with
laughter.

The deafening sound of
hoofbeats made them turn. Others had arrived. Brant’s heart swelled
with pride as he gazed fondly on the familiar faces. Arnaud, his
dearest friend, was there, along with his wife, Zara. Jemson,
Brant’s nephew, along with an entire army of aethalons also
appeared. Along with these were the wizardess, Leila, dragons, and
knights of Aom-igh. He searched, but one face was conspicuously
absent. He was not sure why this bothered him, but he could not
help but wonder where the Minstrel was in all of this. If there was
time, he would have to ask Ky what he knew.

Jemson swung off his
horse, disbelief and joy on his face at the sight of his father. Ky
embraced his son and stepped back, holding Jemson at arm’s
length.

“Look at you, all grown
up!” he cried. “Your mother would be so proud.”

A horrible chorus of
blood-curdling shrieks and howls recalled them to their purpose.
All eyes turned to Brant as he raised his sword high over his
head.

“Friends!” he called out.
“We have answered the call. This world and these people have been
robbed of their fighting strength, and in this final hour they have
need of ours.”

A cheer rang out in
response.

“Just on the other side
of this forest lies a city besieged by Orcs. I know not more than
you what dangers such fell beasts may pose, but I have faced
seheowks and wyvrens with many of you. Together, we have faced
dread dragons and were-creatures. With you valiant warriors at my
side I fear nothing that lies before us.”

“For Ebulon!” Ky’s voice
rang out, reverberating off the snow-covered trees. Others took up
the cry. High above them, the dragons wheeled and
roared.

Brant answered the cry,
“For Ebulon and all who seek peace and freedom!” He leapt onto the
back of one of the extra horses. Dylanna and Ky followed
suit.

The army poured through
the forest with Brant and Ky leading the charge. The men and women
were well-trained and needed no further orders for now. Brant and
Ky raced together at the head of their force. Brant glanced over at
Ky and they shared elated grins. Despite the danger they were about
to face, there was something exciting and wild about the coldness
in the air, something exhilarating about the way the snow sparkled
in the early light of dawn, something invigorating about facing a
new challenge and testing their skills as warriors once more.
Beyond that, it was good to see his brother again, the way Brant
remembered him: his best friend.

They reached the forest
edge and halted, surveying the scene before them. A narrow plain
separated them from the outer walls of a massive city. The walls
stretched away in either direction as far as the eye could see...
or they would have, had they not been demolished. The remains of
the wall lay in large, jagged chunks as if they had exploded from
the inside out. There was no way to tell how far the damage
extended, or even if the wall had been unique to this particular
portion of the city.

Inside the walls were
buildings and dwellings the like of which Brant had never seen.
They lined cobbled streets that wound their way up the mountain
around which the city had been built. The roads culminated in a
massive stone castle that had been carved into the face of the
mountain.

But it was not this sight
that made Brant pause. It was the army of creatures before him.
Thousands of grotesque beasts were arrayed just on the other side
of the broken wall. He could not make out their numbers clearly,
but his own forces were easily outnumbered by more than five to
one. The leader of this monstrous army, a massive, hideous Orc, sat
atop his Warg. The Orc’s mouth was stained red and his eyes gleamed
a sickly yellow. He gripped an immense sword in one mighty claw and
a thorn-covered whip in the other. In contrast to his own ugliness,
the Warg he rode was actually a stunningly beautiful creature. Its
appearance was not unlike that of a wolf, though it was nearer the
size of a dragon.

Urging his Warg forward
with a loud, “Hah!” and a lash from his wicked-looking scourge, he
rode swiftly across the plain until he came to face Brant and Ky,
who sat their horses at the front of the army. The Orc sneered, his
face even more ghastly up close.

“It proves I was right to
return with my legion to fortify this area once more,” he snarled.
A cunning light appeared in his eyes as they darted between the
faces of the two men before him. “The reports were true: armies of
unknown origin have come to save Ebulon,” his voice became a
mocking hiss. “What interest have you in Ebulon? This is not your
fight. Why risk your lives for this paltry kingdom? We have no
quarrel with you.” The Orc grinned, a ghastly sight. “You are too
late. Ebulon has fallen. Ebulon is ours. Leave us this place. Leave
us our feast and we will let you go in peace.”

“We seek no terms with
you,” Brant growled through clenched teeth. “You offer peace to us
in exchange for slaughter to them? We will never have peace with
you, and you will never butcher again!”

“Then you choose death
for all!” the Orc roared.

“Enough talk!” Ky yelled.
“Aethalons! Forward!”

He lowered his sword and
charged at the enormous Orc. The creature appeared amused and
brushed aside Ky’s attack. He let out a chilling howl, unleashing
the flood of grisly, malice-filled creatures to flow over the field
of battle.

With his brother
surrounded in the midst of the enemy swarm, Brant drove his horse
forward. With the Fang Blade aloft he shouted his battle cry, which
reverberated before and behind as his army followed and raced into
the attack.

All was chaos and blood
and the clang of steel upon steel. Brant lost sight of Ky. He lost
sight of every familiar face as he rode into the fray. Tusks,
teeth, claws, and a foul odor were his entire world as he battled
his way from one foe to the next. The Orcs fought with unparalleled
ferocity. This enemy was powerful and skilled, and they knew no
fear.

The pure white snow
gracefully blanketing the meadow quickly transformed into a muddy,
blood-strewn horror. Arrows rained down on the Orc ranks as Kamarie
and Zara commanded the archers. Oraeyn and Arnaud, the kings of
Aom-igh, fought desperately side by side, felling Orcs and Wargs in
reckless abandon.

The dragons above blasted
the enemy with searing bolts of fire, but this was hardly the first
battle for these Orcs and they had their own archers and spearmen.
It soon became apparent that the enemy’s overwhelming numbers could
not be held at bay for long. One dragon fell to the earth,
screaming, a javelin buried in its chest.

The battle raged on and
Brant could see that many who had answered his call now lay dead on
this field of grief. The destroyers of Ebulon had paid dearly, but
victory was still theirs to claim. Suddenly, the Orc army pulled
back. Brant stared, uncomprehending, his senses strained as he
tried to discern why the enemy seemed to be calling a retreat. A
humming noise filled the air, followed by a soot-like mist that
emanated from the ground and shadowed all it touched. Realization
struck and Brant’s mind cried out a warning. He wheeled his horse
frantically. He knew not what this mist could do, and he did not
want to find out.

“Dylanna! Magic!” he
shouted, his eyes scanning the ranks of his comrades, searching for
her face.

In an instant she was at
his side, along with her sisters, Leila and Zara. They studied the
darkness as it shrouded the enemy from sight.

“Can you counter it?”
Brant asked.

“We will need the help of
dragons,” Dylanna replied. She bent her mind towards that purpose
in hopes that this new call would soon be answered.

Zara and Leila joined
Dylanna and the three wizardesses stood together silently. Brant
could not see the magic they wrought, nor did he understand it,
though he could wield a measure of his own magic. A shimmer
appeared in the air between them and the writhing mist. It reminded
Brant of the dome Calyssia had created around her Pearl Cove, as
well as the shield Zara had once erected around Fortress Hill to
protect a large group of women and children during a battle many
years ago.

A great red-gold dragon
landed nearby. It shimmered and the creature became a young man who
raced over to Brant.

“Brant, Dylanna sent for
me,” the lad panted. He was limping slightly, but he shook off
Brant’s concern. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Good man,” Brant stepped
back, letting Yole join his wife.

The black mist reached
the barrier. It paused as if uncertain, though surely it was
impossible for such a thing to have emotions of any kind. Yole
closed his eyes as the mist hesitated and all the muscles in his
face tightened. Sweat trickled down his forehead at the effort he
was expending. A brilliant blue-white bolt of lightning sparked out
from the barrier and cracked through the mist like a scourge. A
mighty wind whirled into existence and the black mist was flung
back towards the Orc army.

A truly horrifying scream
soared up from the Orcs as the mist reached their front line. Brant
could not see clearly what was happening, but the sickening cries
and howls emanating from his foes told him he was glad of
this.

As the mist cleared,
Brant could see that it left behind a void of twisted, tortured
death on everything it had touched. The horror of what had just
been avoided caused the bravest to tremble. Taking advantage of the
momentary pause, Brant regained the initiative and urged his men
forward to the attack.

Once more Brant’s army
surged onto the battlefield. The Orcs, with a greatly reduced
advantage, met them halfway with a renewed savagery and hatred. As
Brant felt the weight of the unrelenting malice of his enemy, he
understood that their opponent could not be measured in numbers,
but rather the evil that inspired it.

Searing pain in his left
side caught him completely off-guard. He had not seen the Warg as
it leapt, but he felt its claws and teeth as they sank into his
shoulder and side, and he felt the sensation of being airborn as he
was carried from his saddle. He landed on his back with an
anguished thud, the Warg’s teeth still firmly embedded in his
shoulder. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and he lay
there, gasping, unable to lift his sword or reach his dagger. The
Warg pressed a large paw onto his chest, making it even more
difficult for Brant to find his breath. The beast lifted its head
in an earth-shattering howl then its sharp teeth drove towards
Brant’s unprotected neck.

There was nothing he
could do. Brant closed his eyes and accepted an honorable death in
battle. It was not the worst place he could have died, he reasoned,
waiting to feel the fangs rip into his throat and the warmth of his
lifeblood seep out onto the ground.

Instead, he felt the
pressure lift from his chest and he heard a savage death cry. Then
a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and he felt himself being
pulled to his feet. He opened his eyes and looked into the solemn
eyes of his brother. The Warg lay a few feet away, its dark blood
staining the trampled snow in a wide pool.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to
you sooner,” Ky apologized. “How badly are you hurt?”

Brant gingerly touched
the gashes on his side and shoulder and found they were not as deep
as he had feared. He could not raise his left arm, but he could
still swing his sword arm with full range of motion.

“I think I’ll live,” he
said, “thanks to you.”

“You’re my little
brother,” Ky said simply. “It’s my job to watch your
back.”

Brant swallowed past a
sudden lump in his throat, but had no time to reply, for the enemy
was upon them once more. Back to back, Brant and Ky battled the
fell beasts, slaying many. As he stood with his brother, the
carcasses of their enemies piling up before them, Brant found
himself experiencing a sudden euphoria.

This is how
it was supposed to be!
he thought as he
stabbed an Orc that was lunging towards Ky’s unprotected side. Ky
parried a blow and then gave a mighty back-handed swing, cleaving
an Orc’s head from its shoulders just before it could drive its
dagger into Brant’s back. Their movements were like an intricately
choreographed dance. Their swords were a whirling frenzy of death.
Their every motion perfectly complemented the other’s movements.
There was a momentary lull in the battle around them and Brant and
Ky shared a wild grin. Brant threw his head back and laughed up
into the sky.