Page 382 of Of Empires and Dust
Something cold touched Dahlen’s cheek, then again, and again. And then the skies opened.
Erik sheathedhis sword and yanked a spear free from an Urak corpse as Shadow charged. The rain sheeted down, falling as though the sky itself had been ripped open. It battered against him and hazed his vision, Shadow’s hoofbeats slapping and sucking in the mud.
He drew a sharp breath, steadied himself, then threw his shoulder back and hurled the spear into a Bloodmarked’s neck. The beast staggered but swung its obsidian claws and carved open two Dracurïn who fought on foot. The spear still jutting from its neck, the Bloodmarked rammed its claws through the gut of a Vaelen elf, slicing open the steel plate as though it were nothing. The creature pulled the elf close and ripped open her throat with a savage bite, then threw her into the legs of a charging horse. It clapped its hands together with a roarand sent a pillar of black fire swarming over a score of gold-armoured elves. It would have killed more if Atara hadn’t sliced its legs out from under it, then twisted and took its head with a single clean swing as it fell.
Dann appeared astride Drunir, drawing an arrow from the quiver at his hip and loosing into an Urak’s eye.
“We need to push through!” he roared, fear and panic in his voice. “The Uraks are inside!”
Erik glanced at the twenty-foot-high palisade wall that ringed the city of Salme. The western section had collapsed almost completely, flames billowing into the dark sky overhead while rain fell the other way. Several other breaches had been smashed into the wooden fortifications, one of the towers consumed in a blazing inferno.
Hold on, brother. Please, hold on.Erik drew his sword and pointed towards the city. “Tarmon!”
“Go!” The man swung his blade from the back of his black beast, carving through a loose arm. “Take the cavalry and the mages! We’ll hold the line!”
“Vaeril, clear a path to the city!” Erik looked to the elf, who was carving apart Uraks from the back of his Angan mount, wielding that star-pommelled sword, elves in the black of Vaelen surging around him.
Vaeril nodded and shouted, “Imbahír, evalien un Aravell! Imbahír til haydria!”
Forward, elves of Aravell! Forward to honour!
Within seconds, Vaeril was charging towards the gates, white stags moving with him, mages bearing the silver star, the golden stag, and the green tree all answering his call. Even Thurivîr himself urged his Angan forwards and joined the charge.
Uraks were torn asunder by the air itself, consumed by fire that poured from elven hands, ripped apart by streaks of lightning, and crushed within their own armour. It was like acharge from the Age of War, that blade – Ünviril – coruscating in the crimson moonlight as Vaeril raised it above his head and roared another rallying cry.
“Vandasera,” Erik whispered to himself. The word meant many things to him now. At that moment it was an acknowledgement of family found. It felt good to have so many souls he was willing to die for and so many who would do the same for him. Erik snapped his reins. “Cavalry! To the city! With me!”
Dann fell in beside Erik. Drunir was far smaller than Shadow, but the horse hadn’t a drop of fear in its heart as it charged, trusting Dann to take down any beast that came close enough to touch it. Two arrows skittered off Dann’s pauldron and breastplate in quick succession, but he didn’t even notice, his white cloak flapping behind him. Ahead, Vaeril and the mages had sliced a bloody path through the swell of Urak bodies all the way to the second trench. Even those beasts couldn’t stand in the way of the sheer destruction wrought by a contingent of elven mages. Erik had been around the Spark all his life. Known its power, seen it, feared it… but not in his wildest dreams had he ever truly comprehended the scale of wanton death and destruction that power would bring in war.
For a second, just a fleeting moment, Erik felt pity for the Uraks. That pity died as he watched a Bloodmarked rip open a horse from breast to rump with one swipe of its massive claws. The air seemed to shimmer, and then the horse burst into flames, the Bloodmarked igniting the creature with its Blood Magic.
“Yah!” he roared, snapping his reins again and again, urging Shadow onwards.
The first trench was so full of Urak corpses that Erik could barely see the tips of the wooden spikes poking through chestsand limbs. It was as though there was no trench at all, just an overspilt grave.
The Dvalin Angan cleared the mound of corpses in a single leap, continuing their charge towards the gates, white fur striking against the blood-soaked corpses and blazing infernos. The Uraks were climbing the walls now, charging through the gates, swarming over the city like kerathlin.
Erik cast one last look over his shoulder to where Tarmon and the bulk of the army fought like beasts against the Urak horde. He drew a sharp breath, turned back to the city, and roared, “Forward!”
Shadow surged forwards and leapt over the twitching mound of bodies that filled the trench. The horse’s front hooves slapped into the sodden ground, rain pouring down around him. His back hooves landed with a crunch, shattering the bones of a long-dead beast.
The world grew still in that moment before Shadow’s next stride. The fires blazed from within the city now, and the walls were all but abandoned. Past the second trench, Uraks flooded through the gates.
The tiniest sliver of his heart felt the cold touch of fear. But that fear was not for himself. Erik was born to fight this war. He was born to wield a sword and stand where others would not. His father had built that kind of courage into him, forged it. The battlefield was his home. It was the only place he truly felt comfortable. No, the fear in his heart was for Dahlen. He could not lose his brother. He could lose anything in the world, but not Dahlen. Hewouldnot.
Beside him, Drunir charged forwards and cleared the trench, followed by Lyrei and Atara astride two massive Dvalin Angan.
“Forward!”
A Bloodmarked smashedthrough the shield wall that lined the gates, men and women hurtling through the air. One man landed beside Dahlen, his shield arm twisting and snapping against the ground, bone bursting through flesh. His scream sent a shiver through Dahlen. Another man landed on his head, the light vanishing in his eyes with the crack of his neck.
Dahlen leapt towards the break in the lines as Uraks flooded through. His Silver Wolves moved with him, Thannon and Camwyn tight at his side. Nimara, Yoring, Almer, and a clutch of Salme’s defenders charged at his right. They’d separated from Erdhardt and the others somewhere in the thick of the fighting, but Dahlen could hear the behemoth of a man roaring over the sounds of death.
The Bloodmarked swung at Dahlen’s head, and he dropped to the ground, sliding in the mud on his knees. He drove his left blade into the beast’s thigh, then yanked it free and plunged his right into the opposite leg. The creature howled and swung down with its black claws. Dahlen threw himself back, losing his grip on the blade lodged in the beast’s leg.
He slapped into the mud, and the Bloodmarked loomed over him, only for a double-bladed axe to whirl through the air and slice into the side of the creature’s skull. The Bloodmarked stumbled, dazed and blinking wildly, steam rising as the rain hammered down and sizzled on its skin. The axe blade was lodged deep into the bone, the haft jutting upwards towards the rooves of the buildings that lined the street – and yet, the Bloodmarked didn’t drop. The runes in its skin glowed furiously, red light spilling through the rainfall.
Nimara hurtled towards it. She rammed her foot down onto the pommel of Dahlen’s sword lodged in its leg. The beast’s knee twisted inwards, and it collapsed to the ground. As it fell, Nimara pulled a short, bearded axe from the loop on her belt and hacked it down into the Bloodmarked’s neck.
