The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) (17 page)

CHAPTER
30

“The Battle is won when the warrior is convinced of victory.”

-Excerpt from

"The Warring Way"

T
he rebel army approached Kalador under a blazing, noonday sun. The air hung thick and hot around them, and the wind whipped dust into the air that made it difficult to breathe. Valaron and Galdor stood on a rise overlooking the flat plain stretching from the base of the plateau to the city wall. The plain ran up to the mountains in the west and joined the grass of the flatlands in the east. They watched the Morts gather into battle-ready ranks, the regiments ordering their numbers for the impending war. Cler’d’roh joined Valaron and Galdor. The three friends watched their enemy make preparations for battle.

“My guess would be around fifteen thousand Morts,” said Galdor as he looked over the plain. “It will be an uphill battle until the end.”

“I agree,” replied Cler’d’roh. “Our archers will take out as many as they can, but once the fighting starts I expect we’ll see heavy losses among the villagers.”

The Mort warriors covered the plain from one side to the other. The ground was black with bodies. Swords gleamed in the sunlight. Runners moved across the field carrying orders between the captains who made adjustments in the ranks and moved their garrisons to form larger battalions and regiments. A literal sea of monsters prepared for the coming war.

“We can take the rest of the day to organize the men. It would be best to hold off until morning unless the Morts press an attack.” said Valaron. “Everyone will need to be well rested.”

The rebels made camp across the plateau. Galdor rode off to meet his captains and prepare for a strategy meeting to be held at sunset. Cler’d’roh returned to inform the elves of the situation.

Valaron stood alone for a long time while he watched the Mort army. He could feel a black anger that covered the plain. The Mort’s emotions ran unchecked. They fell over Valaron like a blanket of hatred. A sudden anger stuck in his throat, and he struggled against his own growing rage. Valaron practiced the centering techniques that Cler’d’roh taught him in the morning rituals. He inhaled deeply through his nose, held his breath,
and
then exhaled as slowly as possible. Each breathing cycle slowly worked to calm his growing rage.

A new emotion broke the calm of his ritual. He recognized the familiar tendrils that wrapped themselves around his mind. Draegon was reaching out for him. Valaron turned his back on the enemy horde and made his way back to where Draegon waited. Valaron knew that his connection to Draegon was more pronounced than even Cler’d’roh imagined. Each one could touch the other’s mind with a direct familiarity, and Valaron had found no limit to the distance that their bond could cover. The link was so strong that several times Valaron almost believed that he had heard Draegon’s voice in his head.

The sun fell quickly behind the mountains, and Valaron left Draegon to join the others gathered to lay plans for tomorrow’s battle. He entered the tent and found Galdor deep in conversation with another man dressed in the cavalry uniform. Galdor tapped the stranger on the shoulder and pointed at the arriving dragon rider. Cortain’s face lit up when he saw Valaron. He rushed through the crowd to embrace his nephew.

“What are you doing here?” exclaimed Valaron.

“Now is not the time for an old man to be tending his farm,” replied Cortain. “This is the time to stand up and fight.” A broad smile covered his face. “Galdor has asked me to help develop a battle plan, if that is acceptable to you,” he added.

“Of course. You are one of the few men here that has any experience. Your help is more than welcome. How is your arm?” he asked.

“A little stiff, but it seems to be getting better all the time,” answered Cortain. “I guess I will find out soon enough how well it has healed.”

“Hello, Val.” Toran stepped from behind Galdor.

“Toran!” Valaron embraced his friend then pushed him out to arms’ length. “What are you doing here?”

“He would not stay behind,” said Cortain.

“I did not want you to have all the fun.” Toran grinned and slapped Cortain on the back.

“I am glad you are here,” said Valaron. “We can use your help.”

Valaron called for attention and the meeting came to order.

“We are terribly outnumbered,” began Valaron, “but numbers are not enough to gain victory for our enemy. The King must be unseated if we are to live in peace, and determination must win this war. We fight for what is right and true, and that shall carry us through the day.”

“Without a larger army at our disposal, a direct assault will only end in disaster,” said Galdor. “The Morts are experienced warriors, and as we saw at Klastor our losses are heavy when we fight one-on-one. We must have a plan that overcomes our lack of numbers. As things stand now, the elves are our greatest strength.”

“Our archers are experienced,” acknowledged Cler’d’roh, “and they will be able to remove many of the enemy if they are given time and opportunity.”

“Are you suggesting that we let the elves fight for us?” asked Franklin. “My men are ready to do whatever is needed, but they didn’t come all this way to watch the elves fight our war.”

“Nothing like that,” replied Galdor, “but it would be prudent, don’t you think, to allow as many Morts as possible to fall before we engage them with swords and lances.”

“What you are talking about is an attack in two waves,” said Cortain. “The obstacle to archers is the presence of friendly troops. While we are out of the way, the elves will be free to fire into the Morts without the worry of hitting our own people.” He nodded to Cler’d’roh and added, “With all due respect to the elves accuracy, it is not my desire to die with an arrow in my back.”

“Exactly,” said Galdor. “The first wave of the attack should be led by the archers, and the rest of us will hold back as long as possible to allow the elves to do as much damage as they can. The more we can reduce the enemy’s numbers, the greater our chance of success.”

Cler’d’roh turned to Valaron and asked, “What of you and your dragon?”

“We will have to move low and fast to avoid the Mort arrows,” answered Valaron. “I can fly across from east to west and attack the middle of their army. That should separate them into two smaller divisions. If we could attack them in two places, front and rear, that might give us an advantage over their numbers by keeping their attention drawn to two fronts.”

Pen’d’roh
entered the tent and pulled Cler’d’roh aside. “I see,” she said. Turning to the others, she smiled. “It would seem that I have good news. Klan’d’ron approaches from the south and will be here within the hour. He leads a complement of two thousand warriors from Loeath’d’nah.”

“Excellent!” cried Cortain. “That may give us the advantage we were looking for.” He described a plan to the others that soon had them nodding their heads and smiling. The meeting ended in high spirits.

Cler’d’roh led a band of elves to intercept Klan’d’ron and apprise him of their plan. She found the King and his army moving toward the plateau. Klan’d’ron was one of the oldest surviving elves. He was King when the Dark Son terrorized Ashandor. His silver hair fell majestically to his knees in large braids cascading from each temple, the hair woven with golden threads. The King’s green eyes were clear and bright. His thin face held a beauty that was unmatched among his kinsmen. The points of his ears stood high beside his head. Cler’d’roh explained Cortain’s plan and Klan’d’ron heartily agreed. The King and his elves raced due west into the forest of the Raen mountains.

“The enemy is camped on the plateau, my Lord,” Slath said to the King. “I suspect they will attack at first light.”

“Is everything ready?” asked
Praelix
, fingering the arms of his throne.

“Yes, my Lord,” answered Slath. “The soldiers await your command. Shall we attack under the cover of night?”

“No,” replied
Praelix
. “Let the rebels make the first move. It will be their last.” He leaned forward in his seat and asked, “Is there any sign of the dragon?”

“No, my Lord,” answered Slath. “He has not been seen since they arrived.”

“Excellent. Tell your warriors to be ready. I will tolerate no mistakes,” said
Praelix
, waving his hand. Slath left the throne room to return to the battlefield.

The King’s rage focused on the rebels camped on the plateau. “Enjoy your rest,” he said to himself. “Tomorrow’s sunrise shall be your last.” He leaned back and nursed his anger.

#

Toran walked through camp to the tent he had been offered by one of the soldiers. When Toran entered, he found Vic sitting on the floor and digging in the dirt with a stick. The old man shot to his feet. “About time,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to come looking for you.”

“What are you doing here?” said Toran.

“Waiting for you. Are you listening?” Vic took Toran’s arm and started to leave, but the young boy held his ground.

“Stop that. What do you want?”

“Come along, boy. We have to hurry.” Vic tried to pull him outside. “Puss buckets. I guess I am going to have to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“This,” said Vic. He waved his hand and the flap moved out of the way, hanging in the air.

Toran stood perfectly still.

“I’ll explain later,” said Vic, “but
we
have to move quickly.” He pulled Toran outside. “You are coming with me.”

“But I am here to fight,” said Toran. He was trying to make sense of what he had seen.

“You have another destiny, boy, and it is waiting. Now come along.”

“I cannot just leave. I have to tell someone. They will wonder what happened to me.”

“
Puss buckets!
They have more to worry about than you,” said Vic. “You
r
part
is
in
a much larger battle than you would see here, a part in something
that will change all of Ashandor.
There is a darkness that hides itself
, boy
. An evil that must be stopped and you are going to help me if I have to carry you.
Now, quit stalling and follow me.”

Toran was not sure why, but he knew that Vic was telling the truth. They gathered the few things that they could carry and headed off on foot toward the South.

#

V
alaron sat beside Draegon in the darkness and enjoyed the contentment he felt from the dragon. His elven gifts allowed him to open his mind to Draegon, to feel what the dragon felt. The days spent marching from Klastor had allowed them to spend lots of time together learning to sort through each other’s emotions.

Dragon and rider became even closer than before. They flew together with a shared mind, each one anticipating the other’s thoughts. Valaron no longer needed to urge the dragon with his knees. He merely had to think and Draegon reacted. The massive, black dragon was fully recovered fully from the effects of the plague, and he was as strong as ever.

Valaron sang in the darkness while Draegon hummed deep in his throat. The two friends continued to sing long after the camp had grown silent, melodies coming to each of them at the same time. Harmonies flowed like a well rehearsed choir. No longer restricted to the Dragon Songs of old, Valaron and Draegon’s connection allowed them to make music that no human or elven ear had ever heard. Their thoughts were open to each other as they improvised. Notes flowed like water from a spring. The two friends sang for hours under the gaze of thousands of stars that twinkled brightly against the black heavens. Mael stood in the sky; his feet firmly planted on the Grands. It seemed to Valaron that the pink star at the constellation’s heart was brighter than ever before.

CHAPTER
31

"The battle strong

d
id
r
age all day

and victory was nigh
,

when from the midst

of friends there came

a traitor with his cry.

All was lost

and none had hope

as day turned into night.

The war was failed

and soon the rebels

all would think of flight."

-Epic Poem

"Battle of Sa’haduum"

M
orning brought the sounds of troops preparing for war. Men and horses moved to form ranks as they prepared to descend to the plain below. Valaron and Cortain stood at the edge of the plateau overlooking Sa’haduum and watched the elves march down onto the battlefield, their armor glistening in the morning light.

“I am proud of you, Valaron,” said Cortain. “You’ve not only been able to rally the villagers against the tyranny of
Praelix
, but you have formed an allegiance with the elves that has not been seen for hundreds of years.”

“They will be our saving grace,” replied Valaron. “If we are to see victory, it will largely be due to the elves’ willingness to fight.”
He looked around and asked, “Where is Toran?”

“I have not seen him this morning.”

“Well, I am sure that he will turn up.

The two men watched the archers form four fronts that spanned the field. Each one readied his bow for the attack. The Morts began a slow advance toward the elves’ position while Galdor rode back and forth behind the elven archers waiting for the signal from Cortain.

The Morts picked up speed and raced headlong toward the elves. When the enemy was within range of the archers, Cortain waved a red standard in the morning breeze and the war was on. Galdor gave the order. Elves fired their arrows into the advancing Morts. Bodies dropped all across the plain. Each rank fired in order from front to rear, and the Morts stumbled over the bodies of their own fallen warriors. Cortain led the rebels down from the plateau and formed their ranks behind the archers, a crush of bodies packed onto the rise and up and across the plateau.

The Morts continued their advance. Arrows flew thick through the morning sky. Each one found its mark, but for every Mort that fell another leaped across his fallen comrade and charged ever closer. The rebel forces rode through the ranks of archers at the last instant and slammed into the Mort army. The elves shouldered their bows and raced forward, swords gleaming in the morning sun.

“Form up behind me,” Galdor called as he led the men into battle. He rode hard and slashed first on one side and then the other. His cavalry sword severed arms that threatened to pull him down. Repeated cuts dropped the enemy on all sides as he charged deeper into the throng of Morts.

“I see you saved some for me,” Cortain shouted as he hacked his way forward to join Galdor at the front of the battle.

“There seems to be enough for everyone,” replied Galdor. He gripped the reins and tightened his knees as his horse stepped to the side to avoid a rather large Mort that barred the way. Galdor’s sword made quick work of his adversary, removing head from shoulders. The two friends carved a path through the horde of monsters that swarmed around them, and t
he other men rallied behind
their gallant leaders. The horses took their own toll, trampling fallen Mort soldiers and striking down others under their flashing hooves. Spittle flew from the horses
’
mouths as they charged and pranced their way deeper into the Mort army. Their breath came hard from the labor of battle.

Valaron raced to Draegon and flew west into the mountains along the edge of the battlefield. They flew across the tree tops until they were directly alongside the center of the Mort army. Draegon swooped out of the trees and darted across the middle of the enemy ranks. The Morts scattered as the black dragon’s shadow fell over the field. Valaron cut a path of destruction as Draegon sped just above the heads of their enemy.

Draegon muscled his way high above the battlefield, and the dragon Battle Song filled the air. All fighting ceased as dragon and rider sang the melody of war from ages past. The Battle Song carried over the plain, and every eye was fixed on the massive form of the dragon. Draegon circled the field as he harmonized with Valaron, countermelody moving around the tune by a precision that defied description. The two voices echoed over the battlefield. Enemies stood side-by-side, transfixed by the awesome horror of the winged threat.

Draegon dove to the far side of the field and flew across once again as the fighting resumed. The dragon dodged arrows while Valaron hacked his way through the center of the Mort army. Draegon snatched Morts from the field and ripped them with his talons. He crushed others in his massive jaws as he fought his way across the sea of monsters, tossing Morts high into the air to fall dead on the field. Valaron cut and sliced the enemy from his saddle. A line of destruction slowly opened up across the center of the Mort army. The two warriors flew low over the battlefield, and an ever-widening gap separated the enemy forces into two groups.

“Now to unleash our serpents,” Valaron said as they turned north at the edge of the forest. They flew low over the trees. Valaron spotted Klan’d’ron’s army gathered at the edge of the tree-line near the city and signaled them to attack. The elves raced out of the forest where they had remained hidden overnight. They attacked the Morts from the rear. Klan’d’ron’s archers fired deep into the ranks of Mort soldiers that spread across the plain. The ancient King led his elves into battle, his long silver hair blowing behind him as he ran.

The rear flank of the Mort army turned to face this new threat, and the elven archers dropped hundreds of the brutes before charging into the enemy ranks with swords drawn. Klan’d’ron and his army slammed into the rear flank of the Morts and pushed them toward the center of the field. The elves killed with grim determination, and the Morts struggled to keep from being overwhelmed.

Galdor and Cortain continued to make progress as they led their company of mounted troops deep into the center of the enemy. They hacked and stabbed as their horses’ hooves cut down the enemy. The foot-soldiers followed close behind to drive a wedge deep into the enemy’s position.

“Push harder,” shouted Galdor. “Open up their ranks,” he yelled as he hacked at the enemy that pressed around him. The Mort army was being divided into three parts as Galdor’s charge separated the front half of the enemy. Valaron and Draegon were widening the path that split the army in half from side-to-side, and Klan’d’ron led his elves from the rear in a bloody fight against those Morts close to the palace.

Rebel soldiers continued to race into the path that Galdor and his men had opened. The villagers forced a split in the front half of the Mort army, The Brotherhood close
d
behind. They took out stragglers and those separated from the main groups. Franklin was in the lead as they charged in from the rear. By the time the sun was climbing overhead, the rebels had cut their way deep into the Mort army.

“It’s the smell,” said Cler’d’roh as she fought near the front of the battle line. She wielded her sword with deadly efficiency. “Don’t you smell it?”

“No,” answered
Pen’d’roh
as he fought close by her side.

“The stench is overwhelming,” Cler’d’roh complained as she killed with a broad sweep of her sword. “I can’t believe that you don’t smell it.” She turned to face the charge of an overly large attacker. “Don’t these creatures ever bathe?” Ducking, she slipped behind and ran him through before he could turn. She pulled out her sword and flipped it over. A backward thrust stopped the monster that charged from her rear.

“I still don’t smell it,” replied
Pen’d’roh
. He surveyed the ring of Morts that had him surrounded. The circle slowly rotated as
Pen’d’roh
turned, his sword outstretched in his hand. “Make your peace,” he growled. Morts fell one after the other to the lightening speed of his flashing blade. “Follow the horses,” he called to Cler’d’roh. “Help them push deeper. We must split the front ranks to weaken their position.” The two elves fed on the hatred that they felt from the Morts. They channeled their growing anger into the rage of battle. They moved quickly forward slashing with blinding speed and dropping their enemy on every side.

“Stay in close,” shouted Franklin. He led The Brotherhood against Morts trying to circle around and trap the rebels from behind. “Keep the rear open. We must not allow them to close off our retreat.” The Brotherhood was tucked in close behind and took their own slow but deliberate toll. Franklin and his men fought hard to keep the rear from closing in behind them. Their short daggers flashed in the sunlight. The Brotherhood’s infighting techniques were surprisingly effective. They stepped close inside the Mort’s defenses, slashing throats and stabbing deep into vital organs.

#

Praelix
watched the battle from high on the city wall. He was accompanied by five of his personal guard. The Morts were anxious to join the fight, but they kept their place guarding the King.
Praelix
watched Klan’d’ron and his elves butcher the rear of his troops. The King clenched his fists in rage as Valaron and the black dragon opened up the gap that separated the two halves of the Mort army.
Praelix
signaled one of his guards who waved a black and red standard. The flag rumbled and snapped in the stiff wind.

#

A shout rose over the battlefield when Kragh and his garrison suddenly bolted out of the forest in answer to the King’s signal. They raced toward the rear of the rebels, and Galdor quickly realized that they were in danger of being surrounded.

“There!” he shouted to Franklin, pointing at the approaching Morts. “Stop them or they’ll cut off our rear.”

Franklin turned to look and was cut down from behind. He fell to the ground and rolled over. Quintas stood over him holding his dagger covered in Franklin’s blood. “Now!” Quintas yelled. The Brotherhood turned their weapons on the rebels just as Kragh and his garrison closed off any hope of retreat.

The Brotherhood’s treachery allowed Kragh to cut off the rebels only avenue of escape. They were trapped in a circle of Morts. The enemy pressed hard against the villagers as the traitorous Brotherhood joined Kragh and his garrison.
Praelix
smiled as he watched from the top of the city wall.

Valaron looked on helplessly as the traitors turned on the rebels. Draegon roared and swung around wildly in the air, his wings beating hard to cover the distance. Klan’d’ron’s elves were busy fighting at the rear. There was no way they could reach the trapped rebels in time to help.

“Form a circle!” shouted Cortain as he and Galdor whirled their mounts to race back to the rear guard. “Form a circle and push to the rear,” he screamed. The two experienced cavalrymen cut into the Brotherhood and hacked their way into the press of Morts. Swords flashed in the sunlight. Blood flew from their blades. The enemy pushed harder in an attempt to push the rebels inward.

Draegon swooped low with Valaron hanging from his saddle, his deadly scimitar hacking at the enemy. The dragon took his own toll using jaws and talons. “There,” shouted Valaron, pointing. Draegon reached out with single-minded determination and snatched Quintas in his jaws, crushing him as they flew across the battlefield. The traitor was carried over the mass of warriors as the dragon climbed higher and higher. Draegon released his hold from several hundred feet and Quintas’ lifeless form landed in a sickening thud among the throng of Morts.

Valaron severed Mort and traitor alike with his scimitar. He cut over and over through their ranks, but the rebels slowly fell to the weapons of their enemies. Dragon and rider made repeated passes over the battlefield, but it soon became apparent that the enemies numbers where overwhelming the trapped rebels. The rear half of the Mort army rallied at the thoughts of victory. They pushed Klan’d’ron and his elves back toward the forest.

“It is too late,” Valaron said as they turned for yet another approach, “There are too many of them.” Valaron and Draegon flew past once again and left a path of dead Morts behind, but more of the enemy simply moved in to replace their fallen comrades. Valaron watched the Morts and the Brotherhood traitors fight side by side, slowly cutting away at the rebel force. Valaron realized that all was lost despite repeated attempts to make an opening for the rebels escape. He watched in horror as his friends shrank under the attack. Humans and elves fell together under the press of enemy soldiers and the daggers of the Brotherhood traitors.