Chapter Twenty-one Aemon’s Stand #5
“I don’t know!” the Prince called back, cutting down a man who had forced his way forward, but leaving him alive.
As if in response, there was a resounding crash, and the wall of a nearby house exploded outward.
The Prince jumped and rolled away, springing back to his feet and turning to confront this new threat.
His eyes rose and fear took hold of his heart as he beheld the final Earth Daemon, the dark figure of a Bloodmage on its back, with the shining medallion hanging around its neck—it must have made its way through the mangled gate while they had been busy dealing with the other two.
The Daemon took a step forward into the light of a nearby torch and the Prince froze.
The red-and-white soldiers charged forward, headed by the first Daemon and Bloodmage who could smell victory, and the Kindred around the Prince all settled into defensive stances, faces grim but still set with determination.
The Prince, however, remained motionless, his sword forgotten. He had just realized something that should have been impossible: it wasn’t a Bloodmage riding the Daemon.
It was Davydd Goldwyn.
The mace descended and veered at the last second.
The Kindred watched in shock and amazement as it struck the first Daemon full in the face and knocked it completely off of its feet and onto its back.
Immediately, Davydd’s Daemon stepped forward and brought the mace down on the Bloodmage, killing him and causing a second explosion of rock and flying splinters that carved a broad swath out of the Imperial soldiers, who had no idea what had hit them.
The Daemon’s arm rose again, and the Prince and the Kindred charged forward, joining in the battle.
The Imperial soldiers stood strong for about half a second, and then Davydd’s Daemon leaned forward, opened its rock-and-moss covered mouth, and let out a bellow loud enough to shake the walls of the houses around them.
It swung its mace one more time, and then the Imperial soldiers turned and ran for their lives back up the boulevard.
As they gave chase, making their way back to the wall, the Prince ran up to Davydd.
“How… how?!”
“Does it look like I know?!” the red-eyed man roared back with a roguish smile that showed quite clearly he was having the time of his life. “I just point and hope it goes that way!”
Doing exactly that, the eshendai pointed toward the crowd of Imperial soldiers surrounding the final Daemon and the monster charged. As it lumbered away, the Prince noticed the medallion of the dead Bloodmage swinging around Davydd’s neck.
The Prince let out a fierce shout that was taken up by the Kindred around him, and they ran after the red-eyed Ranger.
The Kindred were now able to engage the Imperial army directly, and it soon became clear that while the Imperials were better armed, better organized, and all around the more efficient soldiers, it was the Kindred who were unstoppable.
Arrows were being continuously fired into the group, finding weak points in the red-and-white armor, and forced as they were to concentrate their attack through the bottleneck of the gate, the Army of Roarke was unable to bring their superior numbers to bear.
Davydd’s Daemon, backed now by the full might of the Kindred army, felled the final Daemon and threw it bodily over the wall. A cheer went up from the Kindred, and their attack redoubled, the Imperial army forced all the way back through the gates.
“Drive them from the city!” Davydd shouted; he disappeared through the gate on the shoulders of the massive beast of rock and wood, and the Kindred followed, attacking the fleeing Imperials. The Prince, swept up in the moment, followed them through the gate on the heels of Davydd’s Daemon.
And then the presence of his brother burst into his head like a minor sun.
“No!” he cried, but no one heard him. A dark figure, nearly as big as Tomaz, stood before the Kindred, flanked by the fifth Earth Daemon and a squadron of men dressed not in white-and-red but in dark black-and-red that seemed to make them a moving part of the night.
Davydd pointed his Daemon toward the figure and charged.
With a painful roar of agony, the Daemon fell back, an enormous axe blade buried in its side.
And then the Daemon, with Davydd still on top, rose into the air, and was thrown not over the wall, but through it, bringing down a wide stretch of stone that included what had once been the gatehouse, as well as part of a guard tower.
From where the Prince stood, he could see Davydd, lying on the ground unmoving as rubble fell around him.
Kindred bowmen fell amidst dislodged stones, and the Kindred soldiers were forced to duck down and find cover wherever they could.
The Prince, having stopped in his tracks when he’d recognized his brother’s presence, was on the inside of what had been the gate, and watched with horror as Ramael’s personal guard forced the Kindred back up the mountain once more.
And then, miraculously, the army halted, and the two forces separated. There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence, and then, with a deliberate slowness, the tall, dark figure of Ramael disengaged from the Imperial force and strode forward.
The Prince pushed his way to Leah and Tomaz.
“You need to run,” he said. “Run and evacuate as much of the city as you can.”
“What are you talking about?” Leah hissed back at him.
“I can distract him and buy you time, but you need to go—now!”
There was a heavy crunching sound, and the dark figure came out of the shadows and into the torchlight.
He was a giant. Dressed in black and blood-red armor from head to toe, he stood eight feet tall and carried two enormous double-bladed battleaxes, one in each hand; the blades alone were easily as large as the Prince’s entire torso.
He wore a helm from which grew bone-white horns, curving down and framing a metal visor, which was shaped to resemble an enraged bull.
Though he stood at half the height of the Earth Daemon behind him, there was a weight to him that made him seem somehow larger, as if he were more physically present than any other being could possibly be, even beings made from the very essence of the earth.
As he walked, it was easy to note that his every movement was sharp and precise; he moved with a deadly power that screamed danger.
As he approached the waiting Kindred, his gaze fell on the Prince, and his step slowed.
With two quick motions, Ramael the Ox Lord, Fifth Child of the Empress, Prince of the Realm and Defender of the Imperial Borders, sheathed his battleaxes and removed his helm.
“Hello, little brother,” he said.