Chapter 15
Alora
Alora sat astride her mare on the ridge, the leather reins slick beneath her palms. The breastplate strapped over her gown pinched at her shoulders, heavy and uncomfortable as the short sword at her hip. Though familiar with them, she had not thought to ever one day use them in war.
She looked out at Stormwatch Keep, its towers burnished orange in the setting sun. White and gold Hydra banners fluttered in the wind. It had been the first point of Calveron’s invasion, for it was the perfect stronghold for their ships.
Now Argyle would take it back.
The evening was quiet, the crisp autumn wind tugging at the hem of her gown.
A handful of Calveron soldiers stood watch on the ramparts, likely drunk and slow on the heavy feast and wine Alora had sent over in the early afternoon. Even their ships idled quietly in the harbor.
Her father sat like a figure hewn from stone in his saddle, grim and quiet in his armor. Flanking him was Commander Basile, Lord Graye, and Caelum. Their horses shifted restlessly, pawing the earth. Behind lay Argyle’s hidden host, packed in the trees, waiting for the signal.
Sweat beaded down Alora’s nape as she watched the sun sink on the horizon. The rays vanished, leaving the land in shadow.
Commander Basile and Caelum put on their helmets. Her heart shook with dread when his gaze met hers. He gave her an encouraging nod.
Alora looked to her father.
Laurent raised his hand, and an ensign officer waved a red flag.
Commander Basile bowed his head to his king. “Argyle will be yours again, sire.”
He drew his sword and led the charge.
Horses charged down the slope with Argyle’s men streaming behind the commander and his son, a river of steel rushing into the dusk.
They stormed the keep and screams of the dying and the clash of steel echoed on the wind, making Alora’s hands shake on the reins. She watched as green clashed into gold, drawing out sprays of red. Armed with iron, the commander’s men quickly cut through the fae soldiers like wheat.
Her stomach turned at the sound of every cry, every blade that struck true. The sounds sank into her bones, as though each death stained her soul that could never be washed away.
Such was the cost of war.
Alora drew a slow breath, forcing the tremor from her hands. She could not dwell on guilt, not when surrender would bring worse horrors. Still, her heart ached.
Her gaze sought Caelum’s cape among the chaos below, her lips moving soundless prayers. Let him be spared. Let him not join the dead before dawn.
Beside her, her father sat as unshaken as the stone beneath Stormwatch’s walls. His hand was steady on the hilt of his sword, his eyes cold and fixed on the battle. He was a king hardened by years of battle, and her, trembling at its first true taste.
She flinched at the sudden blast of a horn’s sharp blare. A call for aid. The horn was quickly silenced, but not fast enough. Lanterns lit with firelight on the Calveron’s ships. Their sails snapped open and a horn blared in response. They were coming.
Alora waited, holding her breath. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Caelum riding out of Stormwatch’s gates.
Caelum galloped up the hill to them, helm tucked under his arm, his armor streaked red as if he had bathed in slaughter. His eyes were grave, yet his voice rang clear. “The keep is yours, sire.”
The soldiers behind them erupted in cheers, but Alora’s heart sank when she saw the grief on Caelum’s face.
“Your father?” Alora asked.
He lowered his gaze. “The Commander was fatally wounded. I sent for a healer but…”
The wound was too great.
Laurent clapped his shoulder. “Your father lived his life with honor, Caelum. Argyle will remember his name.”
Her fingers curled into the reins until the leather bit into her skin.
Honor.
The word stung Alora more than the smell of blood drifting on the wind. Lord Basile had died on her orders.
Caelum nodded stiffly. “Forgive me, sire. I was not quick enough to stop the horn-bearer. We lost the element of surprise.”
“Yes,” the king said. “But that was to be expected.”
The ensign officer rode off on a gallop towards a high ridge. There he waved a yellow flag.
From the smog the ships of Argyle emerged like phantoms, sails dark emerald against the flame-colored horizon, led by Admiral Alder on his flagship.
For a heartbeat, Alora held her breath.
Then the Calveron fleet roared to life with horns. Sails flared open and a mass of ships turned to meet them.
Alora nodded at the second ensign officer waiting beside her.
His back flag swept the air, signaling Stormwatch Keep.
At once, Argyle’s soldiers posted on the walls lit the fortress’ cannons.
A rumble shook the keep as fire burst from its battlements.
Cannon fire streaked across the water and smashed into Calveron’s ships with earsplitting booms.
Alora’s lips curved in a fleeting smile.
This was the edge of her plan.
To catch Calveron in a crossfire between Stormwatch’s guns and Argyle’s own. For a moment, the sea lit with fire and splintering wood, explosions thundering through the night as enemy vessels reeled under the assault.
Then the first rowboats scraped onto shore. Calveron’s soldiers poured out in glittering ranks, storming the beach with steel and spellfire to retake the keep. Lord Graye drew his sword, leading the infantry to clash on the sand.
Caelum slid his helm over his blood-streaked face.
“You don’t have to go,” Alora called to him. She couldn’t help but feel if he went down there, she would never see him again.
He smiled up at her and rested his armored hand over his heart where he had tucked her handkerchief. “I must lead my father’s men. Should this all come to fail, may I pass through the Gates swiftly.”
“Caelum…” Her voice broke on his name, lost to the sea-wind. He kicked his heels and galloped into the dark without looking back.
Drawing his sword, his horse spurred into the fray, his cry of battle rising as the first Hydras tore from the waves.
Their shrieks splitting the night as they fell upon their army.
The earth trembled beneath the force of their wails, men scattering like reeds before a storm.
Crimson streaked the sand, staining the foam as the tide dragged it back to sea.
Alora squeezed her eyes shut against the screams. Rune should have been here by now. She searched the moonless sky, squinting through smoke, but saw nothing.
Laurent cursed under his breath, spyglass to his eye. He shoved it into her hands, and she raised it with trembling fingers.
Thalion led his fleet and Calveron had the numbers and the strength. Argyle’s ships were breaking beneath their cannons. The first went down with the last of the twilight, swallowed whole in fire.
Her throat closed when she spotted it, Argyle’s emerald-bannered flagship. Flames devoured the deck. The proud Admiral stood at the prow, sword raised in defiance, before the smoke consumed him.
“Down!” Laurent seized her, dragging her from the saddle and shielding her with his body as a cannonball slammed into the ridge.
The earth convulsed, dirt and smoke raining from the sky.
Stormwatch’s wall shuddered below as another blast sundered its stone.
A second strike tore into the army’s ranks, screams carrying up to them with the force of splintering magic.
Laurent gripped her shoulders, his eyes flashing with anger and fear. “You said he would come! Where is he?”
Alora rose shakily on her legs. “He will be here, father. He gave his word!”
Her father scowled. Stepping back he mounted his horse again and drew his sword.
He nodded to the last remaining unit of his army, and the lords also drew their weapons. “Argyle may fall tonight, men. To that I say, we fight till death claims us!”
The men bellowed in response.
“No, wait!” Alora cried. “Father, please. He will come.”
Laurent put on his helm, his gray eyes hard as stone. “I was a fool to believe this would succeed. When have the gods ever smiled upon me?”
A roar shook the Heavens.
A massive draconic figure descended above them from the clouds in a gust of wind and shadow, wings stretching wide, snuffing out the stars. Screams echoed as all looked up and saw death made flesh.
“So hush your cry beneath the stone,” Alora murmured with a relieved smile. “For he has heard, and he comes… but not alone.”
Alora’s breath caught as shadows poured over the waves, monstrous shapes bursting from the dark as if the sea itself had birthed them. Three figures led the charge, tearing across the sand with impossible speed.
The first was a woman who moved like mist, cutting through men with twin curved chakram that spun like wheeling suns. Each arc left a streak of red in the air, and bodies fell in her wake as though wheat cut down in harvest.
Beside her thundered a beast of nightmare, towering twice the height of any man. Its Warhammer rose and fell in brutal rhythm, crushing Calveron soldiers with each blow. Men screamed once, then no more.
The third was smaller and agile, a blur of sinew and smoke. Its hands were claws, dark as ash, and every sweep of them stole another life, tearing through flesh as if it were nothing at all.
They fell upon Calveron’s ranks like fire on parchment, leading Rune’s army of demons.
Steel and shields were useless against them.
Even the Hydras, monstrous and snarling, were no match for the hounds of smoke that tore into their throats, dragging them into the surf.
The air filled with screams and the tang of blood, smoke and salt mixing until Alora could scarcely breathe.
This was not a battle. It was a slaughter.
The black beast descended upon Calveron’s fleet, dragonfire and shadow consuming wood and flesh alike. Fae leapt into the sea, quickly dragged under by water demons. Ships splintered and sank, men screaming as they tried to swim away, and the sea boiled beneath his fury.