Circle of Reign (70 page)

When they came into view, Roan raised his head above the grass. At least eight thousand Sentharian soldiers were in the formation he saw marching toward the camp. High Lord Marshal Brendar was among them, the rank insignia on his breastplate clearly visible, untarnished. The coward had obviously not joined his men in battle at the middle front.

Craven man!
Roan screamed inside, his anger flaring as it always did when officers hid behind their men. It was a strange feeling, to hold the enemy’s enlisted men in higher regard than another officer. His mind drifted back to when he was not part of the officer corps, just an enlisted soldier, before the Orsarian War. During that conflict, he had fought alongside the Senthary, not against them. He thought of General Korin, who had led the preemptive attack against the Orsarians on the Runic Islands. The old Arlethian general had been a tough man, both physically and to admire; however, Roan did admire him greatly, even now, decades after his death and wondered if he had been more like Korin, would he have lost so many of his men. Would he have failed so completely? Korin had not insulted his men by surviving when so many under him had not.

Roan had ordered twenty-five thousand of his Arlethian warriors to that middle front. The loss of so many brethren in arms stung his soul to the core. The soldiers he viewed now, marching to join the group of Sentharian soldiers that had massed at the northern front, were haggard and moved slowly. Many lay on stretchers, carried by others. Many more limped along with battlefield dressings covering wounds. He was about to advance and deal out as much vengeance as he could, starting with the craven Brendar, when the sight of something odd halted him.

Nearly a span of hooded men, larger than most, walked on the west side of the formation. Their steps felt heavier than a normal human as he filtered out the rest of the vibrations. He counted
nine. This would add to the four others he had observed days before already in the camp. Roan decided to watch for a while longer.

A spear flew past Aiden, narrowly missing his face. He stood on top of an Alysaar cutting down the rear rider before turning to the one at the reins. Aiden kicked him off the beast and he fell to the canopy below. It did not stop his fall and Aiden lost sight of him. He turned left and saw the Borathein who had thrown the spear swooping down eagerly toward him. The Alysaar he was on dove and banked as the forward rider tried to throw him free. Aiden stood upon the flying animal’s back with a balance born to Arlethians and thrust his blade down into its back. He twisted the sword. The Alysaar threw its head back in pain, jolting the remaining rider. Aiden grabbed the man from behind and snapped his neck. The approaching Alysaar opened its talons to pluck Aiden from its dying kin, but the wood-dweller leaped with his sword in hand and floated downward to land on another.

The night air swarmed with these flying demons. Arrows from the wood-dwellers below atop the canopy shot upward with stunning accuracy, catching the Alysaar at the joint where their wings met their body. It was crippling to their flight ability and dozens had fallen, taking their riders with them. Still, thousands remained. Arrows alight with fire streamed downward from hundreds of Borathein archers who made a sweeping attack over Calyn. Screams echoed upward as the arrows found home. Aiden dispatched the two riders on the Alysaar he landed on and tried to commandeer the beast by taking its reins. Instead of obeying his commands it flew straight up, higher and higher.

Very well then
. Aiden stabbed the Alysaar through its neck and again leaped downward into the thick swarm. As he dove, he had a brief aerial view of the battle. The chaos of it all made it impossible to discern anything helpful. He aimed for an enemy within
his vector and extended his sword down. The humming blade of Jarwynian steel sliced through the feathered membrane of an Alysaar wing followed by Aiden’s body, causing the creature to screech out in pain and retract its wing in reflex. It toppled in flight and fell into the trees. Aiden landed on the canopy and slid down a tree for a few feet before catching himself. A yellowish-orange glow came from below and he knew the city was burning along with the trees that bordered it. He saw many thousands of the Arlethian soldiers and militia battling the Borathein as he was, jumping from one Alysaar to the next, bringing death to the invaders, these purveyors of genocide. But many were falling themselves, lifeless or dying. He spied Ulin and several with him, their swords and armor swathed in carnage, leap from the canopy toward a target but get impaled by a flanking Alysaar on its spiked maw. The Alysaar jerked its head downward, freeing its bony beard of the impaled corpses. A roar came from its riders but was cut short as an arrow found the eye of their mount. Aiden glanced toward where the shot had come from and saw Rue-anna loosing arrow after arrow, dancing among the treetops too fast for even raindrops to catch her. Other children were with her, slinging stones, throwing sharpened wooden staves, a few wielding swords as tall as they were. Most were having little effect, though the distraction they provided was valuable enough.

But Rue-anna was masterful. Seilia had not exaggerated her daughter’s talent. Several Borathein took notice of her aim and darted from behind her at a sharp intercept angle. Three Alysaar formed a spear as they pulled in their wings against their bodies to accelerate the dive. Aiden watched in horror as they approached the unsuspecting girl but knew he could not save her. He might have enough time to take one down, but not all three. Just before the closest Alysaar could reach Rue-anna, she disappeared beneath the canopy and out of reach. As soon as the three attackers had pulled up and away from their unsuccessful attack, Rue-anna reappeared and resumed acquiring targets with deadly accuracy, taking down or gravely injuring an enemy with every shot. Aiden leaped
to her position in two strides, slicing open the underside of one Alysaar while narrowly escaping its talons on his second jump.

“You aren’t hurt?” he asked hurriedly.

“She’s fine,” came a boy’s voice from beneath the thick-leafed branches. Aiden parted some young leaves and saw Mikahl, Rue-anna’s brother, hanging on to a vertical branch just out of sight.

“Fletch! What the Blasted Heavens are you doing here?” Aiden yelled.

“He’s my spotter,” Rue-anna said as the string of her bow twanged with the release of yet another arrow.

“More like savior,” the boy answered with pride.

Aiden spotted movement under the canopy all around the children.

“We each have one,” the girl said.

Aiden marveled at the foresight. “Who designed this?”

“We all did,” Mikahl answered. “It seemed the best thing to do.”

Aiden felt small in the shadow of the wisdom of the younglings. “Well done. The Light keep you,” was all he could think to say before bounding off to find another enemy.

Lord Calder Hoyt was not a great warrior. He had been trained with steel and shield through several visits to the Erynx Military Academy in the Eastern Province, as had the head of his army, Lord Marshal Wenthil, though Wenthil’s instruction was years long as a full-time student. Hoyt’s training was more ceremonial in nature, only teaching him the basics of combat. He found, however, that when your life was threatened, you gained skills you didn’t know you had. Their execution was effective if not graceful, but that mattered little as his enemies died regardless. Master Gernald and other hold guards were by his side without fail, not engaging in the battle unless it meant to protect Lord Hoyt. That was the training of a hold guard—to protect your lord, not win the battle.

The air was filling with smoke that coagulated in the underside of the natural canopy well above them. They were attacking the Borathein with speed and then retreating just as quickly to lure them in to a crossfire of arrows and crossbow bolts coming from archers about twenty paces high in the trees. As soon as their missiles were loosed, they sprang through the trees to a position forty to fifty paces backward and repeated the strategy. But this tactic let the Borathein masses advance and would eventually allow them into the city itself. Hoyt knew this was inevitable. The jungle-like growth slowed the progress of their enemy, but once they crossed into Calyn, where there was more open ground and room to maneuver, overcoming this force would be impossible. They were outnumbered nearly five to one. The Arlethian militia was extremely effective amid the trees, cutting down several Borathein for every one loss of their own; but in a more open space some of their advantage would be quelled. Their speed would still serve them well, but Hoyt saw a retreat as inevitable. He did not know what else they could do.

As they moved farther backward toward the city, Calder felt the heat. He turned on his large horse and saw much of the city in flames. They were being pushed into an inferno.

Shilkath watched in glory from his Alysaar, Hawgl, as his warriors fought the Arlethian filth. He circled above the battle, barking commands, rebukes and curses. He felt the strength of Vyath pulsing through his veins as he carried out the sacred Griptha and smiled at so many of his enemies being sent to the frozen plains of Kulbrar. He was not concerned for his own people that fell, knowing they would find their way to the Shores of Thracia once their victory was complete. His forces had suffered losses, but it was nothing compared to the damage they were inflicting upon their enemies. Wellyn had indeed done his part. Those who remained to stand against him fought more like rats trying to outrun an avalanche than warriors.

Wellyn has left me nothing but rabble to clean up
, he thought. Though this was their agreement, the Deklar couldn’t help but feel a little cheated.

“Bellathia!” he shouted when she was close enough to hear. “Take your detachment and cut down from the east with a low sweep!”

She nodded and signaled the new orders to her sub-commanders. Two thousand Alysaar exited the swarm through an upward climb. They leveled off and flew east for a quarter-league before diving down until they were mere feet above the trees. Turning west, the Borathein riders urged their mounts forward at a terrible velocity. The distraction the rest of the battle provided did not allow the Arlethians to even sense the oncoming attack until it was too late. More than a thousand were cut down and disappeared from sight as they fell beneath the trees. A sweet lullaby of screams warmed Shilkath as he reveled in the sound. Several Alysaar came away from the assault without their riders, including Bellathia’s. The Deklar felt a moment of sadness but that shortly retreated into rejoicing at her sacrifice. But then he noticed her Alysaar was not without a rider after all. As it banked and headed toward him, he saw an Arlethian upon the mount. Shilkath felt his veins thumping with anticipation.

Finally!