Nightfall (Book 1) (24 page)

It was within an hour—either direction—of midnight, when the three Companies I was with met up with four more from another haven, called Geirth Neilin. We had a short rest for our noon meal (it actually was short, since we had no beasts of burden or supply wagons to care for) and soon after we resumed our hasty march, we heard sounds of panic ahead, from the enemy beginning its attack. We left behind our extra supplies and raced forward; each Company led by—or left with instruction from—its Commander.

Over the last stretch of our march, the centaurs had been emptying one of the two packs each carried on his, or her, own equine back. The bags proved to be full of armor and they had been covering themselves in the beautifully crafted, darkened metal gear since. All but the centaurs had marched in their full armor from their respective havens, but I had never owned a single item of armor. “Lord Izotz.” I looked around, perplexed by the title used before my name; the call had come from the ogre Commander, and when I turned to face him, he threw a rough sack containing some hard, light object within its folds. “It is a gift from Ganix, by request of the General.”

I reached my hand into the sack and felt a cold, smooth surface under my fingertips. I removed the item and found that it was a helmet quite similar to those of the Commanders, though the helm itself was black and the arching swan’s wings were shot through with silver. After a moment of examining the piece of armor, the ogre called to me again, as he walked toward me. “You are supposed to wear it on your head,” he laughed. I smiled back and lifted the helm, settling it onto my head; it felt strange having something other than the hood of a cloak resting on it, but I did not object. The huge ogre knelt before me. “You will bring us great victory today—and every other day that we march to war with you in our midst.”

“I hope so,” I replied. The other warriors swarmed around us as they headed toward the fight. The ogre stood and the two of us saluted each other, slamming fists onto our chests and then we took off, our battle cries bursting forth across the tumult around us. The first few of my opponents were easily dispatched, heads, and whatever else they had been unable to protect, flew through the air as my sword severed them. During the battle I managed to catch glimpses of the elf haven, which was actually a city made of platforms, and hidden like the outpost I had been in on trips between Caernadvall and Baso Argi.

Zigor’s Guards had placed a number of ladders leading into the treetops of the city, and those men who were not being immediately shot down by the elves’ arrows were swarming onto the swaying streets of Jeul Derin, where they were wreaking havoc amongst any who were unprepared to defend themselves. I slowly fought my way to the group of Guards protecting the nearest ladder and began decimating their numbers, even keeping up with the slow trickle of men who were making their way through the havoc to the ladder’s base. Finally, they were disposed of and I launched myself toward the platform on a burst of magic. As I reduced the group of Guards who had ascended the ladder before I had reached it, I was attacked from behind and realized that I had left the ladder open to use. I buffeted the few men who had already gathered on the platform with a wave of air and sent them hurtling to the ground below, then I blasted the men still ascending the ladder with a raging ball of fire. I shoved the ladder away from the platform, not worried about my allies below, for they would warn one another of the approaching danger. Once I was certain the locals could defeat the few Guards remaining in the levels of the haven, I returned to the battle playing out on the ground below.

Though no one else could muster as much magic as I, I had noticed it being used, though only in small ways like blocking a sword, or setting aflame arrows before they were loosed. Occasionally there would appear a fireball, but the mage would wait a while before calling upon Lietha again. I had never needed a respite before calling upon Lietha, so having to gauge whether or not I could handle a spell was an alien concept to try and imagine. I gave up on the thought and vaulted over the heads of a number of Guards. Landing in the midst of them, I raised a field of pebbles, from beneath the moss and ferns covering the ground, to about chest height, and the Guards who had been about to attack, paused, warily glancing between me and the ring of floating rocks.

One of the men stared at me with open bewilderment, so I stated, “I might duck, if I were you.” Why should he believe me though? He stared back, either distrusting, or lacking comprehension, and was caught in the tide of flying rocks that shot through rows of the Guards before their propulsion was finally matched by the impact. A further number of Guards were easily dispatched by my allies, as they were distracted by the large portion of their comrades suddenly falling to the ground.

One of the Guards had followed my instruction and rose as his companions fell around him. “Astounding,” I snorted, as we both raised our swords to attack. He grunted from the impact, but persisted and charged me again. “Just give up already,” I said. I was not even breathing hard, but the man was panting as he prepared again to attack.

“If you will actually fight me—like a man—instead of playing about like an adolescent.”

“If that is truly what you desire…" I struck his sword from his grip and severed his head in one smooth swipe.

More ladders had been erected after the Guards had fought valiantly to gain them passage through the masses of fighting warriors. I called upon Lietha and set a few aflame; men screamed in pain as they burned to death, while falling through the air. One of the flames caught on the platform above it, so I quickly had to snuff it out before it could engulf the entire level. I gave up on burning the ladders, without being near enough to sufficiently control the flames, but gained a great deal of amusement when a foolish Captain sent his men up a ladder and it crumbled beneath their combined weight.

I froze a Guard in front of me, and as I swung the blunt of my sword toward him, I called out,
Duck!
My allies immediately did so—and just in time, because the frozen shards of the Guard flew through the air, piercing holes in his own ranks of men. Once each shard had found a fleshy abode, the crouched warriors jumped to their feet and returned to their heated attack.

A contingent of dragonfolk swooped overhead and assaulted one of the few small groups of Guards that was left near me. The enemy had gathered another three Companies since Eskarne, Arrats, Ekaitz, and I had counted their numbers, and had reached a full two Legions (each thousand warriors being considered a Legion) before the attack on the haven. That left my party outnumbered at nearly three to one, normally not the greatest of prospects, but we easily had the upper hand, considering the pros and cons of the gathered species. Though many of our number had been killed, it was only easily accomplished when a group of Guards rallied together to bring down a lone opponent, and the number of Guards was continually diminishing. To send so many of his warriors to slaughter had been a foolish move on the part of Zigor.

Somehow a small party of Guards had made their way up to the haven and set it ablaze. I made my way to the lower platform which—for the time being—was the only one caught in the flames. A few elves showed up to assist me in clearing the occupants from the platform, and, section by section, I was able to cut off the fire’s oxygen and snuff it out. At first we let the people return to sections cleared of fire, but after one of the platforms gave way, its integrity having been compromised by the consuming flames, we secured the use of a ladder and convinced the inhabitants to flee to the ground below.

I put out the last of the flames and was glad to see that no more had sprung up on any of the higher levels; someone had finally disposed of the pyromaniac. A scream rang out through the air, and one of the elves who had been assisting me ran with me toward the sound. I had been closer to where the scream originated from, so I was also the first to arrive. I crashed through a door and found one of the Guards attacking an elf woman. There was a dagger lying on the floor, on my side of the room, which seemed to have been her only defense. The Guard knocked the still struggling girl to the floor and I quickly threw the dagger, it sliced clean through his jaw and lodged in the back of his throat. The man collapsed to the floor, gurgling blood in his death throes.

I neared the lady, reaching out to lend her a hand, and the haven’s entire lower level gave a world weary groan and began to shudder. I pulled the semi-conscious girl to her feet, as the floor below us gave way. I leapt through a large window that had been built into an entire side of the house and pushed off from the platform, jumping clear of the falling debris. As I hurled toward the ground, with the screaming girl in my arms, I saw everyone on the ground scurrying from the path of the wooden avalanche, then we landed and I had to let go of the girl as I rolled a few times through the undergrowth, in my ungainly landing.

I groaned and spat some moss from my mouth, while trying to wipe the dirt from my eyes and nose, as I sat up and checked on my weapons. After I made sure they were fine I went to check on the girl. She seemed to be okay and her groaning told me that she was alive, at least. I crouched beside her to ask if she was fine and the only reply I got, at first, was a squealed scream—it was a dreadful sound.

“Oh, it is you,” she breathed after a moment. “Why, thank you for saving me, kind sir,” she said dreamily; I wondered just how hard she had hit her head upon landing, and wondered if she would ever recover. She then said, “What name might I call you by?” I stood and told her that my name was Itzal Izotz, after which I helped her up and she fainted. The last bit was completely unexpected, so I acted fast and caught her. I stood there, anxiously looking for someone to ditch her with and feeling completely embarrassed to be holding a girl whom I had never before met.

A moment later she sighed and rested the back of her hand on her forehead. I was relieved; finally I could let her be on her way, without feeling guilty for leaving her lying unconscious somewhere. She removed her hand and a teasing smile crossed her lips. I should have been wary at that, but assumed it was good that she was smiling—it meant she was feeling better, right? She stretched, as if to relieve muscles damaged in our fall from the platform, but then she latched her hands behind my neck.

That was when I started to panic; it also happened to be the exact moment that the ogre Commander saw me across the crowd and began walking in my direction. His long stride carried him quickly toward me. He barely paid any attention to his surroundings, since the others were quick to avoid his path. Suddenly I lost sight of him as my vision was consumed by the far too close appearance of the elf woman’s face; she pulled my head toward hers and planted her lips directly on my slightly open mouth. I snapped my jaw shut and tried to pull away from her; she refused to let go, but I refused to be kissed by her: a total stranger. I gave up on courtesy and shoved her away. She caught herself before falling to the ground and lifted her head in a snooty manner, before tromping away.

“That was nothing like what it appeared,” I said, the ogre finally reaching my side. He had a mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. The woman had left saliva on my lips and I was worried I might vomit; it was nothing short of disgraceful. “I was helping her to her feet and she passed out,” I added to my defense, hoping the ogre’s thoughts had not gotten too carried away with themselves.

The ogre shrugged. “Your love life is none of my concern,” he teased. I almost died of embarrassment, before realizing he had only been joking. “You lost this.” In his outstretched hand was the helm he had given me hours earlier; I raised my hand and ran my fingers through my hair, not having realized that my helmet was no longer on my head. I held out my hand to receive the piece of armor.

“Thank you,” I said. “I shall try not to lose it again.”

The ogre chuckled and said, “You do that, I would hate to learn that we had lost you.” I nodded, but said nothing. “Without you this would have taken at least twice as long. That is how much of a help you were.”

“How long have you been a warrior?” I asked, rather than pointing out that he was exaggerating my part in the whole affair.

“Long enough to know that you are the card we shall need in order to triumph over Zigor.”

I gave him a half smile and said, “I hope you are right. Zigor’s time as King should have expired long ago.”

“Itzal Izotz.” It was the strong voice of Argider that sounded over the dying commotion of battle. I slowly made my way through the crowd of bodies, both living and immobile, littering the ground everywhere. Once the ogre began following I made much better progress. Argider and a few of the Commanders, and others, stood around a single Guard. It was the Commander of the Guards—the man who had sat by while Ekaitz had been murdered. Yes, he had been with the ‘enemy’, eavesdropping on their war council, but he had had the power to stop my friend’s death from happening and had not done so. He had done nothing but earn my enmity. He snorted in contempt when I appeared through the ring of warriors.

“It is unfortunate that none of your men lived to learn not to meet my friends in battle again,” I stated.

“You may have won this battle, but you will not win the war,” he hissed.

“No?” I crouched before him. “Alone, perhaps I would not. But I am not alone. I have friends and allies. Zigor does nothing but make enemies and slaves—slaves have no love for a cruel master, and enemies, surely, will do him no good.” I let out a lighthearted laugh at that. I could see fierce loyalty to the harsh sovereign burning in his eyes and knew that before me was a man who actually followed Zigor willingly. What tricks could the tyrant have pulled to make the man so devoted to his evil? “It is a fool’s errand that you have been following the King on.”