88. Brothers
24 th Day of the Blood Moon
Salme – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
“Take it down!” Dahlen roared, pointing towards the Bloodmarked that had hauled itself through the second trench, arrows jutting from its chest, a massive hole through its right arm where it had fallen on a spike.
Bowstrings snapped and arrows found their mark. Five in the chest, three in the left leg, four in the right, one through the neck. The beast kept moving, the runes etched into its skin glowing with a fury. Beneath the light of the red moon, the creatures were true monstrosities.
“Give it here!” Erdhardt bellowed beside him. He snatched a spear from another man’s grasp, wrapped his gigantic hand around the wooden shaft, and launched it.
The spear punched into the Bloodmarked’s face, sending the creature sprawling back into the trench behind it, stakes bursting through its chest. The Bloodmarked roared and thrashed, its runes billowing black smoke, until finally it went limp.
All along the walls, shouts and the twang of bowstrings filled the night. Young men and women darted up and down the stairs, carrying buckets of arrows and bundles of spears, sweat streaming down their faces. The bulk of the Urak force were held behind the first trench, stretching back into the night, while the front lines pushed through the pit of wooden stakes.
Hundreds of the beasts already lay dead, studded with arrows, limbs snapped and broken, chests impaled. Those that made it across the first trench found the open bank between the two laced with crude bear traps hidden beneath piles of cracked winter leaves – the idea of a hunter from Talin. They were simple but horrifyingly effective. One wrong step and jagged bands of iron shattered legs in a single bite; but there were only so many.
“Lord Captain.” A red-haired youth that Dahlen didn’t recognise thrust a spear into his hand, then sprinted back down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.
Dahlen hefted the spear, turned, sighted his target, and hurled. The weapon slammed into an Urak’s chest as it pulled itself from the first trench. He’d have a bow if there had been one to spare. Spears were simpler to craft and had multiple uses. There simply were not enough bows to go around and not enough arrows for all the Uraks.
A blinding flash erupted to the right, and arcs of purple lightning spiked into the Uraks swarming around towards the western wall. Everywhere Dahlen looked it seemed as though the Urak tide would be held at bay. Broken bodies lay in the first trench, piling higher and higher. Flames burned amidst their ranks where Dorman and Bahkter's lightning had torn them open, and arrows fell like rain from the walls. But slowly, the horde swallowed the first trench and swarmed into the second, trampling over the bodies of their fallen. For every one that fell, two took its place, unrelenting.
The creatures hurled their torches as they charged over the second trench. The first few fell harmlessly against the walls, but more and more rose up and over. A torch whirled past Dahlen’s head and landed on a thatched roof behind him. Thankfully, rain had fallen for days, and the thatch was slow to ignite. But it would. More torches soared over the battlements, landing on rooves and dropping to the ground below.
As fires started to come to life, they were snuffed from existence, seemingly by nothing, smoke drifting upwards. That was when Dahlen noticed the Alamant, Oaken Polik, charging back and forth like a madman, waving his hands.
Dahlen took another spear from one of the runners, turned his attention back to the charging Uraks, and split a creature’s skull with heavy iron and wood. They would reach the walls. And when they did, the Bloodmarked would smash everything to splinters and the fighting would truly begin. For now, he would settle for thinning their numbers.
Erik stared down at the field of torches below, fires blooming all about the city walls. Tarmon, Lyrei, Vaeril, Dann, and the elves all stood around him, along with Syminil, chief of the Dvalin Angan sent with the army, and the two Rakina: Harken and Atara.
“They number at least ten thousand strong. Likely more.” Thuriv?r squinted. “The night obscures them. It would be prudent to wait until they have crushed themselves into the city walls. I see trenches below, a pair, both spiked. The bodies are piled high already. If we wait until half their number is across, we can crush the rear and leave the van exposed, caught between the walls and trenches, steel at their backs.”
How the elf could see anything like that in the night, Erik couldn’t fathom. Likely that moonsight Vaeril had taught Calen in Drifaien.
“It is a sound tactic,” Baralas agreed.
“If we wait, we’ll be saving a city of ash and bones,” Atara said, her hand resting on the sword pommel at her hip. As they’d crossed Illyanara, the elf had thrown herself into the heart of every battle. She was the only soul Erik had ever seen who he believed could match Aeson blade to blade.
Erik clenched his jaw as he stared down at the city, flames slowly bursting to life across the walls.
“And if we don’t, we may join them. Urak armies do not assemble in these numbers without Shamans amongst them,” Thuriv?r said. “We would do well to appreciate the situation we are in. This is by no means an assured victory. You’ve seen how these creatures fight beneath the Blood Moon.”
“We must exercise caution, lest we throw lives away,” Baralas agreed once again.
Dann moved forwards astride Drunir, his gaze fixed on the city below. “If my parents are alive, they are within those walls. Everything that is left of my home is there.” He looked to Tarmon, who sat astride an enormous Blackthorn dense with muscle. “I will not wait. Not if it means leaving them to die. Even if I charge alone, I will not wait.”
“You will not be alone.” Erik pulled his mount up alongside Dann. The man had earned the name Baldon had given him a thousand times over. Sureheart. “Never alone. Not while I breathe.”
Vaeril drew the star-pommelled sword from its scabbard, the pink moonlight blazing on the polished steel. “Vandasera, Sureheart.”
That was all the elf needed to say. Oathsworn. Vaeril, Erik, Lyrei, Alea, Dann, Tarmon, Gaeleron, and Calen. Vandasera. Each of them bound by purpose, bound by an unbending loyalty to one another. Erik would die for them; they were his family. “Vandasera.”
Queen Tessara bowed her head to Vaeril. She no longer wore her elaborate silken clothes and cut gems. The queen was clad in black steel ornamented with gleaming silver. A silver star adorned her breastplate, and she held a long glaive in her fist, the shaft stained black. She glanced at Thuriv?r and Baralas before inclining her head to Vaeril. “The warriors of Vaelen march with their champion. You lead, Vaeril Ilyin, and we shall follow.” She turned her head to Dann. “A home for a home, Sureheart.”
“I will follow you,” Atara said, turning to look at Dann atop Drunir.
Beside her, Harken Holdark grunted, nodding in agreement.
“I have my orders. We marched here to save the city of Salme,” Tarmon said. “I will not stand by and watch it die. If you wish to do so, Thuriv?r, I will not stop you. But let your honour be marked for it. Baralas?”
The Ephorí for Ardur?n cast a glance at Thuriv?r and drew his sword. “The elves of Ardur?n hold fast to their vow. We will charge with you.”
“I do not forsake my vows,” Thuriv?r spat. “I simply value prudence in the face of battle.”
“Call it what you will, but allowing others to die while you stand and watch sounds more like cowardice than prudence to me.” Tarmon pulled on his reins, the giant black beast of a horse shifting beneath him. The thing made even the other Blackthorns look small. He gestured to Ingvat, who rode towards him. “Spread the message. We march. No horns until my signal. I don’t want them to hear us before they can see us. The cavalry will hit hard in the centre, along with the Angan. Those on foot will fall in around us with the archers thinning the flanks and raining voidfire down into the trenches. Go.”
As Ingvat rode away, Tarmon looked to Vaeril. “You will lead the mages. Do as you see fit.”
The elf nodded sharply.
Tarmon looked to Atara and Harken. “Where will you best be of use, Rakina?”
“Wherever it is bloodiest,” Harken answered, giving a toothy grin.
“With me then,” Erik said, inclining his head.
Once the word had been spread through the army, the march began down the hill. The cries of battle echoed in the empty night: crackling flames, clashing steel, dying wails. It killed Erik to not break his mount into a gallop and charge full speed into the Urak rear. But they needed to get closer and allow the archers and mages to get within range.
He leaned forwards in his saddle and ran his fingers along the black steel that barded his horse’s neck. Erik had only seen Varsundi Blackthorns a handful of times in his short life. Never in a thousand years had he thought he’d find himself riding one. When they’d stolen the horses from the Lorians, Erik had given this one the name Shadow. It was a simple name, but he’d never been good at naming things. The beast seemed almost eager for battle, snorting as it walked, barded in black steel and leather. Behind him, some four hundred of the Dracur?n rode on horseback, almost half that number being Blackthorns. Atara rode astride an Angan, Harken on a bay gelding that looked like a pony beneath him. Fifty Triarchy mages, along with Vaeril and Queen Tessara herself, rode astride the white-furred stags that were the Dvalin Angan. It would be a cavalry charge to be feared.
A clap of thunder rolled through the sky overhead, dark stormclouds brewing.
Erik could feel the tension build in those around him as they drew closer, the screams and cries of battle rolling back up the hill. From there, sat astride his mount, it looked as though the Urak front lines had just reached the walls, swarming over the trenches like a wave of ants. His brother was in that city, and knowing Dahlen, he was standing at the heart of everything. They had never been apart this long.
“Just hold on,” Erik whispered.
Just ahead, Tarmon lifted a horn to his lips and kicked his mount into a canter.
Erik tightened his grip on the reins and pushed Shadow forwards. The horse needed little encouragement.
Tarmon picked up the pace, Shadow and the other horses following suit.
The sound of the horn consumed all else, and Erik clenched his jaws and snapped at his reins. “Yah! Forward!”
The Blackthorn broke into a gallop, the earth churning beneath him. Erik drew slow breaths, his heart racing. He pulled himself low, grasping the reins with his left hand and sliding a sword from its scabbard with his right, the world shaking every time the horse’s hooves smashed into the ground.
The air smelled of dirt and death. The only sounds were screams and thumping hooves. The light was that of the bleeding moon.
“For the world of men, we fight!” Tarmon roared, his voice carrying above even the thunder of hooves. “For the Draleid, we fight! Dracur?n, with me!”
A chorus of roars rose in response, and the hairs on Erik’s neck and arms pricked, a shiver running through him, a fervour burning in his heart. He thrust his sword into the air and let his voice join the others. This was the war his father had prepared him for. This was the war he was born to fight.
The beasts at the Uraks’ rear turned to face the charge, shock etched into their leathery faces.
Erik’s heart hammered twice, and then the cavalry crashed into the Urak line. Even the Uraks couldn’t stand in the face of Shadow’s charge. The Blackthorn smashed through two of the creatures while Erik swung his steel and carved open another’s jaw. Streams of lightning and fire plumed from the elven mages astride the Dvalin, ripping paths through the Urak horde.
He swung again, his blade splitting an Urak face from cheek to cheek, dark blood spraying.
Shadow reared and smashed his hoof into another of the beasts’ throats, then slammed them down into the chest of an Urak that had fallen, bones shattering beneath the horse’s weight. Erik turned to see a Bloodmarked cleave a horse in two with its claws, red eyes fixed on him.
“Yah!” He tugged at the reins and angled Shadow to face the beast. But as he did, an enormous white stag rammed into the Bloodmarked’s side, gold-veined obsidian antlers splitting the creature’s hide and lifting it from its feet.
The Dvalin Angan thrashed its head side to side, antlers shredding leathery flesh, runes burning with red light. Vaeril sat astride the Angan, that magnificent blade – ünviril – glistening in his fist. He waved his empty hand, and the Bloodmarked was torn free of the Angan’s antlers as though by the gods themselves.
“Imbahír, Dracur?n!” Vaeril roared. Forward, Dracur?n. “Aldryr ar Orimyn!”
Fire and fury.
Cries sounded at Erik’s back, and the infantry fell in around them, the white dragon tinted pink in the moon’s hue, the Triarchy elves charging alongside them.
But as they did, arcs of purple lightning tore through a thick of bodies, ripping four riders apart along with their mounts, the acrid smell of burnt flesh filling the air.
Two Fades burst from the swell of Uraks, black-fire níthrals in their hands. Uraks flowed after them, and the creatures ripped into the infantry like demons unleashed.
Queen Tessara howled as she charged past Erik and sent a plume of fire from her palm, devouring three Uraks. She swung the glaive in her right fist and cleaved a Fade’s arm at the elbow. But as she made to turn, an enormous black spear burst through the neck of the Dvalin Angan upon which she rode. The Angan stumbled sideways, blood pouring over its white fur, then collapsed into the dirt, Tessara leaping from its back. She swirled in the churned earth, swinging her glaive about her as though it were light as a feather. Uraks fell everywhere her steel moved, and warriors of Vaelen charged in around her, but the two Fades circled her like vipers.
“Imbahír!” Erik snapped at Shadow’s reins. He doubted Shadow understood the Old Tongue, but the word had found its way to his lips without a thought and the horse understood his need nonetheless. Shadow broke into a savage charge, crushing an Urak beneath his hooves. “Inari!”
Tessara pivoted in reaction to Erik’s shout, stepping aside as Shadow swept past and Erik’s blade opened an Urak throat. The horse reared and kicked a beast in the face before bucking and thrusting its hind hoof into a Fade’s jaw. The Fade crashed into the dirt, its jaw hanging lose, its nose and cheeks shattered and broken. And still the creature made to rise.
Before the Fade had climbed to its feet, Tessara surged past Shadow, her hands empty. A brilliant light burst from her right fist, taking the shape of a deep blue blade. The Queen brought the níthral above her head and drove it down into the Fade’s chest, eliciting an otherworldly shriek from the creature as it thrashed and writhed.
“Yah!” Erik roared, and Shadow charged. He released the reins, pulled his feet from the stirrups, and launched himself from the horse’s back. As he hit the ground, Erik rolled, rising to one knee between Tessara and the second Fade, its níthral poised to take her head. He drove his sword into the creature’s thigh, released the handle, then ripped his second sword from its scabbard over his left shoulder and opened a gaping wound across the Fade’s chest. Before the creature could react, Erik thrust the tip of his sword through the bottom of its jaw, the steel slicing through the cold flesh and up into the skull.
Even with the steel splitting its skull, the Fade’s bottomless black eyes stared at him, its lips twisting.
The creature howled as steel carved through its neck from behind and left its head impaled on Erik’s blade, body slumping. Erik snapped his sword down and flicked the Fade’s severed head into the mud. He slid his first blade from the creature’s thigh and looked up to see Atara already carving deeper into the Urak lines, moving like a herald of death, her blade tearing the Uraks to pieces.
“Du haryn myia vrai,” Tessara said, approaching Erik, blood and dirt marring her previously pristine plate, her breaths heavy. You have my thanks.
“Det er myia haydria, Inari,” Erik said with a dip of his head. It is my honour, Queen . He turned and found Shadow, leaping into the horse’s saddle as the elves of Vaelen swarmed them, pushing the Uraks back.
Dann appeared beside him astride Drunir, Lyrei at his side. “You all right?”
Erik nodded, drawing a sharp breath. “To Salme.”
Dahlen brought his left blade up, turned away the swing of an Urak sword, then slid his right blade deep into the creature’s gut. He pulled the blade free, just until the tip left the flesh, then drove it back in anew and ripped it out. The Urak’s intestines spilled onto the ramparts as it stumbled and fell to the ground below.
He spun on his heels and thrust his blade up through the jaw of another Urak attempting to crest the walls. The steel carved through its chin, lips, and nose, cleaving bone and flesh alike.
Before he could push the ladder from the palisade, a hand slapped against his chest and pushed him backwards. Nimara threw herself past Dahlen, swinging her wicked, double-bladed axe into an Urak’s chest. She yanked the haft back towards herself, causing the creature to fall to a knee. In a flash, she released the axe’s handle, then grabbed one of the short axes at her hip and slammed it down into the back of the Urak’s head.
Nimara yanked the axe free and slid it back into its loop, pulled the Urak over onto its back, and heaved her weapon free of its chest. She planted her foot on the creature’s side and pushed it over the ramparts.
“We can’t hold the walls much longer.” Erdhardt wiped blood from his eyes and looked out at the shifting sea of leathery skin that swept over the land. “As soon as one of those Bloodmarked makes it through, we’re done.”
At the rear of the Urak horde, the night ignited with flashes of lightning and pillars of fire. They’d all heard the horns, and even then Dahlen could see the purple banners bearing the white dragon jutting from blocks of archers who rained steel down upon the Urak flanks. Erik was here. He’d made it.
“Always at the last minute, little brother,” Dahlen whispered.
Erdhardt swung his hammer into an Urak head rising above the parapet. It hit with a crunch. The beast fell in silence, and Erdhardt planted his foot on the ladder and kicked it free of the walls. “I say abandon the walls. Fall back into formation in the streets, funnel their numbers into smaller spaces. Spaces where the Lorian mages can rip them apart.”
“No.” Dahlen looked along the walls, where Salme’s defenders were hurling spears and loosing arrows into the Urak onslaught below. “We need to make them bleed for every inch of this city. We need to hold these walls for as long as we can. Erik’s arrival changes everything. Salme may yet live to see another sunrise, but only if we drag it through the night.”
Erdhardt looked as though he disagreed, but he gave a sharp nod. “As you say, Lord Captain.”
“Bloodmarked!” The cry rose somewhere to Dahlen’s left. He looked over the ramparts to see the enormous creature hauling itself from the second trench. Its runes illuminated the mass of bodies that lay in the blood-soaked dirt. Two spears punched into its chest, causing it to stagger, while three more sank into the corpses at its feet.
The creature charged forwards, ripping one of the spears free as it did. It hurled the spear with inhuman strength, and a scream pierced the night as the steel slammed into a woman’s chest and sent her soaring to the ground some twenty feet behind the walls.
Two arrows punched through the Bloodmarked’s head in quick succession: one through the ear, the second barely a finger’s width to the left of the first. The creature dropped, limp and lifeless. Dahlen looked to the roof of the wooden tower built into the walls on his left. Tharn Pimm knelt against the low parapet, already nocking another arrow. The man was a monster with a bow.
They fought tooth and nail for what felt like an eternity, until blood covered every inch of the walls and bodies had piled high on both sides. Dahlen’s muscles burned from swinging his swords, and his bones ached. He’d seen Darda Vastion taken by a black spear to the head, and three of his Silver Wolves had fallen to Urak claws and steel. Yoring, Almer, Nimara, Erdhardt, and Jorvill Ehrnin all stayed tight to Dahlen, hacking and slashing at everything that dared come over the walls. And for every defender of Salme that fell, three Uraks did the same. Slowed by the trenches, the creatures were hammered with arrows and spears, dying in droves.
That was until cries erupted from the ground inside the walls.
Dahlen turned to see Uraks spilling into the city. The warriors he’d positioned on the ground slammed their shields together and levelled their spears, taking the charge head-on.
He’d barely reached for the horn around his neck when a column of the Lorian cavalry came blazing along the eastern section of the wall and smashed into the Urak flank like a hammer.
The spearmen surged forwards, drove steel through anything that still moved after the charge, and formed a new line across the now-shattered gates.
More screams broke out, and a section of the wall erupted to Dahlen’s right, wood and bodies lifting into the air amidst a shockwave of fire. A second explosion sounded, and a third and fourth further in the distance at the western wall, plumes of fire burning in the night. The Bloodmarked had breached the walls.
Erdhardt whipped his head around and met Dahlen’s gaze.
“Abandon the walls!” Dahlen roared, opening an Urak’s throat as it reached the top of a ladder. He grabbed the horn and blew in four sharp bursts. “Fall back!”
Another explosion illuminated the night on the eastern wall, where Exarch Dorman was holding the ground.
“Abandon the walls!” Dahlen roared again, pushing two men towards the stairs. Below, the shield wall was holding across the gates and the cavalry were smashing through the Uraks that were beginning to trickle through the breaches.
Hands grabbed Dahlen’s shoulder and spun him. He stared into Nimara’s eyes as a black spear glanced off her thick pauldron – where his chest had been – and skittered upwards and off into the city.
Dahlen’s heart froze in his chest, and the air caught in his lungs.
“Hafaesir forged you those eyes for a reason,” Nimara said, grabbing the side of his head. “Use them. This city will fall if you do. I will fall.”
Something cold touched Dahlen’s cheek, then again, and again. And then the skies opened.
Erik sheathed his sword and yanked a spear free from an Urak corpse as Shadow charged. The rain sheeted down, falling as though the sky itself had been ripped open. It battered against him and hazed his vision, Shadow’s hoofbeats slapping and sucking in the mud.