Sunset of Lantonne (97 page)

Then, everything changed.

Far out past the dragon and any portion of the city, the column of black smoke that continued to hover over the quarry began sending out tendrils far darker than the evening sky. Accompanying the ebon strands, a pack of the black-winged creatures Ilarra had seen with Nenophar during their approach to the city suddenly appeared, racing toward the dragon and ignoring everything else.

The dragon made it one flap further, getting partway across the outer city before the smoke-like tendrils caught up with it. The bands of darkness wrapped around the dragon’s tail and legs, stopping his forward momentum so abruptly Ilarra could see pain and surprise flash across his reptilian face.

Far off to her right, Ilarra could heard Nenophar’s screams as his brother fell from the sky and crashed into the abandoned homes of the outer city seconds before the winged creatures descended on him. In moments, she could not even see the dragon for all the moving bat-like creatures swarming over his body. The tendrils yanked him toward the quarry, dragging him with enough force that stone buildings collapsed with each jerking movement. The dragon left a trail of torn ground where his claws had dug in.

Ilarra forced herself to look away, knowing there was nothing she could possibly do that a dragon would not be more than capable of doing himself. Even if she could, more than half the outer city lay between them, with all of its undead keeping her from any chance of getting to him. As she lowered her eyes, the dragon’s screams began to echo off the city. He was dragged past the last buildings and onto the plains, where the tendrils could drag him all the faster.

Numbly turning toward Nenophar, Ilarra saw On’esquin was holding him back as he struggled to go after his brother. A second later, Nenophar collapsed, and On’esquin held him as he wept.

In the other direction on the wall, the defenders also stared in shock at the dragon’s frantic throes, any shred of hope they had possessed gone with him. She already knew what they were thinking—if a dragon could die, what hope did they have? Nothing was going to save them now.

Though she had never been one to know pride in her own abilities or successes, Ilarra could seek out any number of reasons among the Turessian influences in her mind to understand that emotion. She clung to it for confidence, knowing that by convincing others she could help them—no matter what the truth might be—and that would be their only chance. Ilarra forced herself to walk with some degree of steadiness, her partially healed leg feeling wooden whenever she put weight down on it. She made her way slowly back to the group, shoving aside a zombie that stood in her path, toppling it.

“You,” she snapped at the nearest soldier, whose stare made her wonder if he even heard her, “start marching south. We’re going to use the alleys and follow the western wall around and make for the south gate.”

No one moved. Several of the men nervously glanced between the zombies that continued to stand quietly and Ilarra, their eyes going to her cradled arm. Greth did not appear to even hear her, his attention still entirely on Raeln, who had not budged.

“Now!” Ilarra growled at the man, this time limping over to confront him, even though he was far taller than her. “Start walking or we’ll leave you behind.”

More than one of the defenders looked down at Raeln and Greth, as if seeking confirmation from someone they had fought beside before agreeing to anything she said. Though he continued to tend to Raeln and did not so much as glance at the soldiers to see they were waiting for him to react, Greth said loudly, “Take everyone and go.”

“We’re all leaving,” she insisted, trying to decide if grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck would help or hurt her efforts.

Greth lifted his head slowly and caught the eyes of the woman nearest him, who had been standing with her weapon limply held in her hand as if she were barely aware of what was going on anymore. “Go with her. Drag anyone who’s still too shaken to make the decision for themselves,” he told the woman.

The female soldier started walking, taking most of the group with her. Those who lagged behind were escorted by the others. They headed toward the stairs slowly, still cautious around the unmoving undead. Within moments, Ilarra, Raeln, and Greth were the only living people on that section of the wall.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” she warned Greth, taking a step toward him.

Immediately, he snarled at her, tensing and baring his teeth like a cornered animal. Something in his demeanor told her that there would be no hesitation before attacking her if she tried to force him. “If I move him, he’ll bleed out before we get off the wall,” Greth finally told her, calming ever so slightly and lowering his head until he his forehead on Raeln’s shoulder. “We’ll find our way out once he comes to.”

Ilarra wanted to warn him that the undead might begin moving as soon as she was gone, but something in his expression told her he already knew it. She looked over to the departing soldiers who were already at the stairs and soon would be out of sight. “Raeln went down fighting for this city. It’s the way he would want to be remembered…helping others. Please don’t stay behind and die senselessly, Greth. We need all the help we can get. You’re probably the most talented soldier we have left.”

“Senselessly,” noted Greth, snorting. He gave a nearby undead a dark glare from the corner of his eyes, then looked back at Ilarra, keeping one hand resting on Raeln’s chest as if to shield him. “Go. Run away with the others. When you find someone you care enough about, you’ll understand why I’m staying here. I won’t have him taken by them and I won’t have him die alone.”

Ilarra then noticed the knife in Greth’s hand. He meant to kill at least Raeln before the undead fell on them. Likely, he meant to kill them both, given the chance. A warrior’s death of sorts, probably noble in his mind. To Ilarra, it was a foolish waste, no different than losing Ishande and Rolus back in Hyeth. “Wildlings and their loyalty issues,” she said, having intended the thought to be silent. “Your kind will be the death of us all, but at least we’ll all die with friends at our sides.”

Walking uneasily over, Ilarra meant to grab Greth and risk his anger to make him come along. But by approaching, she put herself in a position to look past him to where On’esquin was fighting off several undead, practically pulling a blank-faced Nenophar behind him. Sighing, she bent down and touched Raeln’s face, feeling the shallow and unsteady breaths that shook him. When she dug her fingers into his fur, she found his skin cool and his pulse so weak she could only barely sense it.

“We all have people we love, Greth,” she told him, taking a slow breath to prepare herself for what she knew she had to do. “I need you right now. Those people need you…more than they need a suicidal wolf left behind. Far more than they need a wizard who’s lost much of her power.”

“Ilarra, I will not leave him.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Go, be happy somewhere far from here. Run as far as you can.”

Closing her eyes, Ilarra ripped strands of magic from the ether, forming them into a healing spell she hoped would be strong enough. If it was not, she knew there was little she could do about it. However powerful the spell was or was not, it was tearing away part of her life essence to make the magic work at all. It would have to be enough, or she doubted she would live to try again.

In the span of a heartbeat, Raeln choked and sat up, looking around in confusion even as Ilarra collapsed. She hit the paving stones hard, feeling as though someone had thrown her at the ground. There was no pain, only pressure, when she landed with her limbs numb and her head spinning.

A second later, both Greth and Raeln appeared over her, making her smile weakly despite their obvious worry. She could not find the strength to say anything, almost as if her lungs could not contain the needed air to eke out even a single word. Instead, she closed her eyes, hoping when she opened them again, both men would be long gone somewhere safe.

Ilarra slowly opened her eyes again after what felt like hours, and found instead of the silent dead all around her on the wall, the buildings of Lantonne raced by. There were people running past her and strong arms holding her, but she could not move more than her eyes to try and learn what was going on.

For the briefest moment, she thought she might be dreaming, and she got a glimpse of the sky as the buildings parted. She knew it had to still be evening, but the sky was lit with a fiery red glow that looked far more like sunrise. As she watched the brilliant light, it faded away and a rumble nearly knocked the person carrying her to the ground.

A shrieking noise overhead preceded a group of the dark-winged creatures from the black cloud at the quarry. As they raced past, Ilarra heard a pained grunt somewhere nearby and someone shouted, “They got another Turessian! Go! Go!”

The city passed by swiftly. They were moving very fast, though Ilarra’s dizziness made it seem even faster than anyone could possibly have run. From what Ilarra could gather, people were joining them frequently as they ran, coming from the buildings they passed in ones and twos. Occasionally, a larger group would come running down one of the side streets, usually bloodied and several times trailing packs of undead not affected by Ilarra’s commands back at the wall.

It was a struggle to stay awake, but Ilarra soon recognized they were moving past the western gate, where thousands of dead bodies lay mangled. The group stopped just past that opening in the wall, catching their breaths in a sheltered section of alleys normally used for transporting cattle to and from the gatehouses without clogging the city streets. Once they had stopped, Ilarra could see they had probably a hundred or more people in the alley, crowded so close they could only stand still until the leaders of the group began moving again.

During the lull in movement, Ilarra looked around dizzily, seeing dirty and blood-covered faces of many elves and humans. In spots, she could see halflings being hoisted onto the shoulders of stockier dwarves. One of the dark elven men she had seen at the north gate even caught her eye farther down the alley, leaning against the wall as he tended to a painful-looking gash in his shoulder. A pack of four ogres were carrying two wounded citizens each, as well as bundles of supplies on their backs. She even spotted the bright colorings of fae-kin here and there among the people. These were all that was left of a city of so many thousands.

What she did not see at first were any other wildlings or orcs. She knew she would never spot Nenophar in the large group in his elven form, but she thought that maybe she might be able to see On’esquin. Raeln came into view briefly, whispering directions to people who looked too terrified to think for themselves.

“No extra green-skins or animals,” she mumbled to herself, trying to turn her head and search the rest of the crowd. “Everyone’s here but them.”

“The survivors said the dead came straight for anything with green skin or fur,” replied Greth, lowering his head nearer Ilarra’s to allow him to keep his voice low. She had not even realized he was the one carrying her until he had spoken. “They ignored soldiers and went straight for those people.”

“My Raeln is still so worried about everyone’s safety,” she mused, unable to make her thoughts stop tripping over one another.

“Raeln is alive, thanks to you,” Greth answered her, hugging her tightly enough it began to hurt. “I owe you everything. Neither of you will probably ever understand how much what you did means to me.”

Ilarra weakly patted at Greth’s cheek. “Make sure he knows. If he doesn’t know, why’d I do that for you both?”

Greth laughed at her, though tears leaked into his fur before he could make himself stop. Nodding, he started to say something, but cut himself off as the group began moving again. 

As they ran, Ilarra stared up at the sky whenever she could see it, awestruck by the beauty of it. The flashes of color were brief, often vanishing into inky blackness, but in her dazed state, it was all a show for her to enjoy.

It was nearing midnight by the time the refugees from Lantonne had made it out of the southern gate. Dark black clouds rolled off the mountains, bringing signs of an evening snow or rain shower as they blotted out the starts.

At every intersection and most of the individual buildings, they had met with strong resistance from the remaining undead in the city, though the undead army had stopped acting like an army at all. Every encounter had been with a handful of roaming zombies, each acting independently, which made picking them off far easier than it could have been and likely the only reason they made it out the gate at all.