The Dragon's Test (Book 3) (20 page)

The large man galloped his horse over the dead corpses, weaving through the newly lit fires, and directly into the enemy group. He trampled several men under hoof and then leapt from the horse. Two more men fell down under his weight and he finished them with his sword. Orres grunted against his recent injuries, ignoring the tearing sutures and concentrating on the task at hand. He lashed out with his sword and took down another man with one blow, then flipped his sword around and stabbed into a man charging at him from behind. He tried to retrieve his sword, but it was stuck. He let go and grappled with the next foe by hand, wrestling an axe from the warrior and head butting him until he fell backward to the ground. He ducked under a quick slice and lashed out with a sideways chop of his axe. The swordsman yelled in agony and fell to the ground.

The group now fully encircled him. A trio of men cut down his horse and the throng pressed in close. Everyone stopped momentarily. Orres looked around at the faces before him. The nearby flames reflecting off their helmets and dirty, bloodstained armor. Then he let out a feral yell and charged to his right. With each swing of his axe another foe dropped. He could feel the sting of blades
striking him, but he did not slow. Occasionally a fireball or arrow would drop someone around him, but he paid no mind to it. He just gave in to his rage. Like a bull he plowed through a dozen men before a spear pierced his side. He fell to his knees, still swinging his weapon and dropping those foolish enough to attack him from the front. Then another blow came to the back of his neck. As he fell down to the dirt the enemies trampled over him.

Orres grinned when he saw Lepkin
duck into the forest. “You won’t catch him now,” he said.

“No,” someone said from above him. “But I have you as a consolation.” A sharp point pierced Orres’ back and his grin froze on his face as he expired.

Erik ran through the woods. Sticks and twigs snapped under foot and the bushes and lower limbs of trees rustled and scraped against him as he forced his way through. Lady Arkyn ran above him in the trees, leaping from branch to branch with the grace of a squirrel. A mounted soldier entered the forest, charging straight for Erik. As the ranger launched from one tr
ee to a new one she spun in midair and let loose a deadly arrow that pierced the rider through the neck and dropped him to the ground below in a gurgling heap. Lady Arkyn maneuvered back around just before landing on a thick branch and continuing after Erik.

Sword
smen crashed through the forest, stomping about heavily as they sprinted in. Lady Arkyn worked her bow furiously, dropping an enemy every couple of paces as she nimbly kept up with Erik below her. She had plenty of arrows, but there were simply too many foes to stop them all. Erik was starting to stumble, obviously still recovering from the magical blast that had exploded near to him.

A flash of light appeared then between the group and Erik. A mighty, bloodthirsty howl rent the air and a great, silver beast launched out from the light and tore into the nearest opponent. Lady Arkyn stopped on one foot, perching the other up on her straight leg for balance as s
he seized the moment to pick off several foes.

Arrows rained down, each one a shaft of whistling death that dropped a foe with ease. On the forest floor below, Silverfang did his work. Those men near enough to see the beast froz
e in place, staring at the snarling, bloody snout. A couple of the men squealed like children, but none of them moved. The wolf’s spell had them petrified. Fangs flashed and tore the enemies down quickly, allowing Erik to finally put distance between himself and the enemy.

Erik stumbled out of the forest, breathing heav
ily and shaking his head. His toe slipped into a hole in the ground and he almost fell to his face, but a strong arm caught him and hoisted him up. He looked up to see Braun

“Is it done?” he asked.

Erik nodded. “The warlock is dead.”

Braun steadied Erik on his feet and bent over to look into his face. “Are you certain?”

Erik shrugged. “Unless the man has a spell that can put him back together, he is finished.”

“Back together?” Braun repeated curiously, then he leaned back. “Is he in pieces?”

Erik nodded slowly. “Split in two diagonally from shoulder to opposing hip,” Erik replied. After a breath he added, “He was also on fire, from the sword.”

“Well,” Braun muttered. “I would wager that should do it.” The tone in his voice was one of bewilderment, but Erik could sense the underlying pride in Braun’s words as well.
“Are you hurt badly?” he asked. “We saw the magical assault and feared the worst when you got hit.”

“I
’m alright,” Erik said. “A little dazed, but I’ll live.”

Braun pulled him along to the other side of the house. Torches fully illuminated the scene before the manor. Gorin and several guards worked the catapults as quickly as they could. Demetrius was there also. Wendal and a few other mages were busy weaving spells and counteracting the enemy’s magic. Several men from
House Lokton’s retinue were rushing about, hefting carts of clay pots filled with tar from the storage shed near the forge to the creaking catapults.

“The warlock is dead!” Braun shouted.

Everyone stopped just long enough to look back and hail Erik with a chorus of congratulatory shouts and cheers. Then a series of bells and gongs sounded around the manor and they all went back to their work.

“The warlock is dead, but the battle will be heavy tonight,” Braun said.

A long faced man approached from the front of the manor and took Erik’s chin in his hand, turning his head to the side. “You have a nasty gash here,” the man said. “I can take care of that. Look into the torchlight for me.” Erik did as he was told and the light made his eyes ache. He blinked against it, but the long faced man held him firm in the light. “Slight concussion too,” he said. “Pupils are not reacting to the light evenly.”

“Anything serious?” Braun asked.

The man shook his head. “No, I’ll have him back on the field in a few minutes.” Then he took Erik’s arm and laid it around his shoulders. “Come with me, Master Lepkin,” he said.

“I’m back to the battle,” Braun announced. “See you when you are ready.”

Erik offered a slight wave as the long faced man pulled him toward the house. They pushed through the doors and turned down the hall to the dining room. Erik looked around the room and noted that instead of food, the tables were covered with wounded men from the day’s fighting. Many of them were asleep, but some were writhing in discomfort and moaning. The sight made Erik’s heart heavy with sadness. He sighed deeply and turned to sit in a chair that the long faced man slid behind him.

A short, plump woman came forward. Erik could tell by her clothes that she was not from the academy, but he didn’t know who she was exactly. Probably the wife of one of the men who served House Lokton, but that was only a guess.

“I thought we were done fightin’ for the night,” she scolded the long faced man. “Now I hear the alarms and you are bringing me more heads to sew together.”

“War does not function on a convenient schedule,” the long faced man said dryly. “Just bring me a bowl of water and some gauze.”

The woman gave a hefty
harumpf!
and stormed off to fetch the supplies. She returned not a minute later with a small soup bowl and a blood crusted goblet stuffed with gauze and rags. “Here,” she huffed as she shoved the items into Erik’s hands. “I have more serious wounds to tend to.” Then she turned and went back to a groaning man on a table nearby.

Erik leaned around the long faced man and watched the woman work, changing the blood soa
ked bandages for new ones. A rivulet of blood streamed out over the edge of the table and dripped onto the floor below. The plump woman cursed under her breath and furiously went to work applying pressure and shouting to another pair of women to come and help.

“Shouldn’t you help him?” Erik asked the long faced man.

The man sighed and turned away to look. Then he summarily shook his head and went back to cleaning Erik’s face. “No, he is already dead. He is just too stubborn to give up his ghost yet.”

Erik jerked his head back and looked at the cold hearted man angrily. “Shouldn’t you try?”

The man frowned. “I have seen more than a few battles, Master Lepkin. Obviously that bump on your head knocked your senses loose, otherwise you would see the logic of my words. In war you must be able to properly recognize those you can save from those who are too far gone. A proper triage center doesn’t waste efforts on those who will expire.”

“That’s cruel,” Erik whispered.

“War is cruel,” the man repeated flatly. He then used a wet rag to wipe the last bit of blood from Erik’s head before cupping his left hand over the wound. The man’s eyes rolled back into his head slightly and his eyelids flittered as he mumbled words that Erik didn’t understand. A warm, tingling sensation poured into his gash and he felt the skin sealing itself together. The fogginess in his head cleared away and he felt revitalized. A moment later the man pulled his hand away and dropped the dirty rags into the soup bowl. “You should be fit to return to the front,” he declared.

“Why not use your magic on the others?” Erik insisted.

The man turned a crooked smile on him, the first sign of emotion that he had shown since Erik first saw him. “Surely you did take a heavy shot to the old noodle, didn’t you?” he jested. “If my magic was powerful enough for the wounds these men bear, I would have helped them hours ago.”

Erik stood up and left the room, barely pausing long enough to thank the man for helping him. He pushed out through the main door, his right hand sliding down for the hilt of his sword. Men ran back and forth in front of him, some carrying rocks and more tar-pots for the catapults, others rushing forward to the front lines. Captains shouted orders and soldiers grunted as they were quick to obey.

“Master Lepkin, we could use you at the front,” Gorin bellowed above the din.

Erik nodded and broke into a run. He slid his sword out from the scabbard and called forth its fire. The night hung dark and heavy over the field. The few blazing fires served only to prevent his eyes from adjusting properly. It was hard for him to distinguish friend from foe, then he remembered his power. He summoned it forth, allowing his gift to highlight his enemies for him. A confident smile crossed his face and he rushed into the fray. He kept his breathing rhythmic and steady, calculating each swing of his flaming sword as the warriors closed in around him.

Gorin fought a few yards away, breaking down the enemy with his mighty hammer and working his way through, while Erik sliced and cut his way through the first wave of enemies. Thanks to his power, each enemy had a faint red glow about them, making it easy to spot them in the darkness. Flames hissed and roared, trailing behind each swing of his sword. Someone charged in with a high arching swing at Erik, but he quickly brought his sword up, catching the attack and flinging it to the side. Then he flicked his wrists, aiming the blade’s point at his foe’s chest and driving it through as easily as a hot knife through butter. The man’s eyes went wide and he fell back to the ground.

Erik pressed on, sequestering his fear with each breath farther and farther to the back of his mind. He allowed only enough of it to remain so as to keep him
self alert, otherwise he was in the moment, as Master Lepkin had taught him.

*****

Silvi ran to the burning tent and let out a horrified scream when she saw Gondok’hr’s charred remains.
As she surveyed the scene in unbelieving shock, her eye was caught by an emerald amulet reflecting the dying flames where the tent had stood. Sensing a subtle pulse of power, she went in quickly to retrieve it. Then she ran toward the rear to find Eldrik. Many of the warlocks were already engaging the enemy, but the sight of magic being used was causing more than a few of Eldrik’s men to balk. When she finally found Eldrik, he was being confronted by several of his men.

“What evil is this?” one of the men shouted at Eldrik. “Where did these wizards come from?”

Silvi stepped forward, shouting over the men. “They are Senator Bracken’s allies. That is all you need to know!”

“Horse-apples!” another shouted. “I am not throwing myself in with this lot.
They aren’t wizards, they’re warlocks!

A third man added, “
The mindless warriors and now the wizards. It’s unnatural.”

Eldrik pushed Silvi behind him. “A battle rages behind us,” he shouted. “We have come here to put down enem
ies of the crown, enemies of House Cedreau. Will you now abandon the oath you swore to me, to my father?”

“I promised you my blade, not my soul,” the
first man shouted back. Others joined in with him.

A large man broke through the throng. “Master Eldrik is the leader of House Cedreau now,” he boomed. “I say any man willing to fight with him is a friend. We could use magic if we are to fight against the like
s of Lepkin and others from Kuldiga Academy.” A few of the men agreed with him.

“No,” said the first. “I watched these other soldiers butcher Master Orres not more than a few minutes ago. This is not the fight I believed it to be.”

“Master Orres fought against Senator Bracken,” Silvi pointed out. “You saw him fall this day because he was a traitor.”

The man spat on the ground. “I went through Kuldiga Academy during Orres’ first year as headmaster. He was always a stubborn, proud man, but never a traitor. I am done here.” The man turned and left.

“You can’t let them leave,” Silvi said.

Eldrik shrugged. “What should I do, turn on my own men? No, let them go.” Then he turned to the men. “Those who wish to go may go, but you are no longer in the employ of House Cedreau. Gather your belongings and leave. You have no more place with me. The rest of you, those of you who honor your word, you are my brothers. Fight with me this night, and let u
s lay waste to Lokton Manor.”

“For the honor of House Cedreau!” the large man shouted. Several others repeated the chorus. Some of the men went toward the back, obviously on their way out, but the majority of the group stayed true and moved forward. “Shall we march to the front?” the large man asked.

Eldrik glanced to Silvi and then turned to survey the battle. Occasional blasts of fire exploded on the ground just fifty yards away, obliterating man, tent, and horse alike. Some two hundred yards beyond that the rest of Bracken’s forces were engaging the enemy. In the dark it was impossible to know who was winning. He knew that Bracken’s forces outnumbered House Lokton, and with the addition of his own army plus the warlocks it should be even more tipped in his favor, but he didn’t know strategy very well.

Silvi approached him from the side. “If your men are good with bows, they could skirt around the forest edge to the north, and flank House Lokton’s mages. They don’t have many, just a handful of left over mages from the academy.”

“The warlocks are already engaging the mages,” Eldrik replied. Even as the words left his mouth, he could see the wisdom in her idea. He nodded and changed his mind. “Yes, that is a good plan.” He turned back to his men. “Grab bows, sneak along the edge of the forest to the north and take out their mages. Afterward, make for the catapults. Destroy their ability to launch long ranged assaults.”