The Elf King (59 page)

Chapter 33

“
E
rn, get your men to flank
the east!” cried Ankar Rie, moving people together to form a line
facing the eastern edge of their army. “Kateel’s men have fallen!
Be prepared!”

Ern Dwull had been racing
around his bowmen, scattering the last of the burst charges to them
when the sorcerer spotted him. Terill Estrial already had sent a
few scouts in that direction; in hopes to find that the enemy had
not circled them. It was a plan of action discussed earlier,
through possible scenarios that they would be faced with, so
direction would be instantaneous and surprise would not leave them
unprepared. But the sheer mass of the enemy’s army dwarfed all
planning that they created. Flanks would fall again, they knew now.
Soon enough they would be closed off on all sides, fighting in
close quarters until the darkness washed over them
completely.

“
Fall back?” Ern Dwull
shouted to Ankar.

“
Not yet! Wait for the
scouts!”

Ern grunted something
unpleasant as he ordered his men, what was left of them, to begin
to flank the right side of their encampment. Be prepared, he told
them. Be alert for movements in the darkness, he yelled. And all
the meantime, fight for your lives against the demons advancing
from the north, he screamed. It was foolish, he thought. Their
numbers were too thin to stretch. Without the aid of the catapults,
they were left with little hope to gain anything. They were lucky
to be alive this long, he thought.

“
Fire into their midst!
Burn their throats from their bodies!” Ern screamed his demands to
a field of bowmen, who turned and shot arrows aimlessly into the
northern sky.

“
Commander,” Dornawee said,
suddenly next to Ern, “an arrow!”

Ern saw his hand extended
and quickly gave the old elf what he asked for. He watched Dornawee
take the arrow with both hands and use sparks of light from his
fingers to create a glowing tip. When he was finished, he handed it
back to Ern.

“
It will give us light
enough to see them,” Dornawee explained. “Shoot east.”

Ern handed it to one of his
men, who shot it well into the eastern sky. They all followed the
glowing tip with their eyes until it disappeared into the dark
clouds. A few seconds later, it exploded. White light rained slowly
in a bright glow. Dornawee patted Ern on the shoulder, his other
hand pointed east. Ern looked immediately. The Shyl Plains was open
grass for as far as they could see.

“
No immediate threat,”
Dornawee concluded. “Yet.”

“
Be on the lookout anyway!”
Ern screamed to his troops. “Fire into their bellies until there is
nothing left to shoot!”

By the dozens, arrows flew
into the sky, raining down across the field of
Takers
still marching south across
the Shyl. Dornawee stood with them, lacing arrows with his magic
light, giving them to the Men and Elves shooting, watching the
explosions light the mass of darkness coming to swallow them. For
several long minutes they continued their aerial assault like a
well-oiled machine.

Then a warning
screamed.

Heads turned in unison,
only in time to see the red flares erupting into them. Bodies burst
into flying segments, toppling over each of them, sending the
living either sprawling across the field or buried under their own
company. Before they could act, a group of
Takers
was storming into
them.

Commander Ern Dwull was
first on his feet, emerging up past several limbs that were not his
own, to stand before the onslaught with his broadsword swinging
vengefully. White light shed in quick bursts from the ground,
shattering into
Takers
, tracing back to Dorn’s fingers, as the old elf did what he
could to help from his knees. His bad leg had been twisted severely
and he was struggling to stand. Ern fought his way over to him,
slicing his sword into
Takers
as they sought to overcome the injured elf; as
they tried to take him.

“
Take my hand,” said Ern,
reaching down to help Dornawee rise.

Dorn screamed in agony
doing so. The sound of his broken bone crunched beneath the skin
and the elf screamed even louder. “Pull me out of here!”

“
Hang on!”

Ern Dwull grasped a hold of
the other’s arm and gave him a firm yank, bringing Dornawee up on
his good leg, using Ern for a would-be crutch. He looked down to
the old elf’s leg and noticed the pant leg ripped and bloody below
the knee. Ern grimaced. He knew it was bad.

“
We’ve got to get you
to—”

Dornawee cut in quickly. “I
don’t need anyone’s help for this. Just hang on.”

Dorn closed his eyes and
tried to block out the war sounds showering him. He needed to be
focused, steady. He went deep within himself to the root of the
pain, sending his magic in soothing waves to the broken and
fractured bones in his lower leg where the lines of his healing
touch were carefully intertwining with broken nerves and veins,
wrapping around the bones and drawing them back together. The
process was excruciating, and slow. He stayed focused, sewing the
pieces of his leg back together with his magic, oblivious to
anything happening outside of him.

Ern looked around. There
were no immediate threats to them, no
Takers
rushing in to kill them,
nothing that needed his swords attention at least. He stole looks
at Dorn from time to time, but the old elf’s face showed nothing.
No pain. No joy. Nothing. He was not sure exactly what Dornawee was
doing. He just hoped it was working.

Minutes later, Dornawee
came to with a loud exhale, as if he had been deep under water and
had struggled to breach the surface. He looked uncertain of his
whereabouts briefly, but it all came rushing back quickly. He let
go of Ern’s support, looking down at his leg as he applied his
weight to it, testing it gingerly.

“
What did you do?” asked
Ern with an incredible look. He saw Dornawee’s leg straighten,
looking as though nothing had ever been wrong. “You’re
fine!”

“
Almost,” gasped Dorn. His
leg was repaired enough for him to stand and move, but was not
healed completely.

“
Incredible.” said Ern in
response, truly admiring the elf’s ability.

“
An ancient remedy.”
Dornawee looked tired and pale, his breathing was still ragged.
“Unfortunately, it does not heal everything.”

“
Well, your skills are
beyond anything I’ve ever encountered. You’re
remarkable.”

Dornawee nodded slowly.
“And you are a true fighter, my friend.”

It had been a long time
since Ern Dwull allowed himself a friend, allowed anyone to
penetrate the walls he carefully construed. But things were
different now. Lon was gone. Death was looming at every turn. And
Dornawee was a different creature altogether. He had never known an
elf before. But as he stared into Dorn’s eyes, he thought the
change was welcoming.

“
You are a good ally,
elf.”

Dornawee nodded. “Let us
finish this mess, my friend!”

Ern Dwull yelled in
response, thrusting his stained blade skyward. Out of the corner of
his eye, he caught a glimpse of something moving behind them,
something sweeping at them like a storm cloud brushing the Shyl’s
grass. Ern swallowed hard, realizing why the east was empty: the
enemy had already passed and were behind them. He brought his sword
up at once, yelling as hard as he could. “Incoming!”

Dornawee went cold. “Oh
my.”

I
ssilix
Delsoue shined
in a dark crimson as Tane removed it from its
sheath. It was warm. Tingling. It could sense Tane’s emotions and
was glowing with expectance. He could feel it through his entire
body. Pulsating. Speaking to him in soft throbs. Pleading for Tane
to do what was needed, to use it finally. It was eager to fulfill
its master’s command.

As the towering infernos
drew near, the blazing catapults shining like the sun peeking
through clouds, Shadox and Tane saw the darkness sweep out of the
east and storm north to the backside of the army. Their horses sped
into the back of the
Takers
swarm, trampling into them with a momentum so
strong that their swiping clawed hands were knocked aside
effortlessly. Shadox fired his anger in huge glowing balls that
shot into the crowd devouring the dark forms, leaving nothing in
their trail.

Tane clung to his horse as
he swung his sword down into a group of
Takers
that raked for his legs. The
crimson blade sliced through with ease, leaving their bodies in
dying halves. He swung quickly, nervously, scared to give the enemy
a chance to touch him, scared to see what his sword was capable of
doing. But the
Takers
that raced to him never came close enough. Fighting scared,
he was using his sword as Mantel Orris had taught him, and his
instincts for survival fueled his adrenaline rush making his
actions swift and precise.

Then his horse went
down.

Takers
attached themselves to his horse and tore into its legs
sending it sprawling out of control, Tane flying awkwardly to the
ground. Tane quickly scrambled to his feet, watching red beams
begin to glow all around him as fingertips lit like candles in the
dark.
Takers
began screaming a shrill and terrible wail, ear-piercing and
ghastly, as they were drawn to Tane like a magnet. He was
circled.

As the
Takers
sent their hatred in fiery
red bolts, Tane had no time to do anything but react. Screaming, he
brought the Flame of Blood up. To his surprise, the
Takers
fire slammed into
his blade, coiled angrily around the sword, then disappeared within
the metal. It was as if his sword was devouring their
magic.

Tane staggered back. He
swallowed hard.
Impossible!
Suddenly a section of
Takers
erupted into ash beside him.
White flares raced into the dark swarm seconds before he saw Shadox
destroying all that he could.

“
The sword, King! Use its
power! Now!”

Tane saw the fierce
determined look the sorcerer gave him and understood that somehow
the Flame of Blood was meant for more than what he was using it
for. As red beams still struck it, from everywhere now as
Takers
raced to destroy
him, Tane still failed to grasp its purpose. Holding the pommel
tight with both hands, Tane could feel jarring bolts attack it. The
sword swayed with each hit, almost swiping it clean of his hands.
He was scared then, uncertain as to how much the sword could
sustain, scared to think of what would happen if he let it become
destroyed. But as he turned to slice into the nearest threats,
cutting them into ruins at the blade’s touch, he had no idea how to
unlock its power.

He spun in circles then,
swiping relentlessly, but as fast as he could send them lifeless
into the bloody grass, others were replacing them. They came
rushing from hundreds of yards away, howling their shrill cry in
pursuit. Red fire burned at him from every direction, absorbing
into his sword. There were too many, he thought. He had badly
misjudged everything. One slip now and he was dead.