The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Read online

  Before she could nudge Phrym forward, however, the line of allied soldiers a hundred feet in front of them broke, and the Tyrant’s men came swarming through like an angry horde of red and black ants.

  Ellyesce snarled and threw up a shield of spherical magic.

  “We have to move, now!” he shouted, as a pair of arrows struck the barrier just above Jahrra’s head.

  She gasped and dug her heels into Phrym, but the semequin reared, screaming as the small group of broehr, massive, beast-like beings with sharp claws and teeth, charged forward, boxing them in.

  “Jahrra!” Ellyesce shouted, drawing his sword as the shield surrounding them crackled apart, and he was driven farther away.

  Jahrra tamped down her fear and pulled her longsword free of its scabbard, grateful Jaax had insisted she wear her armor at all times.

  Roaring, the broehr surged forward. She counted nine of them, all between seven and eight feet tall. Although sporting their own crude, black armor, Jahrra noted that it wasn’t as thick as the magic-hardened leather she wore. Not impervious to blades, then. An advantage, even if it was a slight one. She would just have to remember to thrust and not strike, unless she could get a decent amount of strength behind her blows. Phrym danced beneath her, snorting and snapping his teeth in terrified fury.

  Hang on, Phrym, hang on, she thought as her own heart thundered in her chest.

  The first broehr lunged, its bear-like head slamming into Phrym’s shoulder as he tripped over a fallen enemy soldier. Phrym whinnied at the shock of the blow and shied to the right, nearly stumbling over those who had already fallen. Jahrra hadn’t noticed them before, having been so caught up in the aerial battle of the dragons. Now, she glanced down, immediately wishing she hadn’t. The dead and the dying lay scattered about the field, some wearing the crimson and black of their enemy, some not.

  Snapping her head back up, she told herself to focus on her own troubles. She could help the injured later, if she ever got the chance. Phrym regained his balance, then planted his front hooves and kicked out behind him, clipping a line of what might have been Nesnan men fighting for Cierryon. A few more surrounding them went down, but she still had the broehr to contend with.

  They closed in swiftly, the ones in front trying to sweep Phrym’s legs out from under him. Trying, Jahrra realized, to dismount her but not kill her. She thought fast, her arm poised, sword point ready. As soon as the next broehr lunged forward, she jabbed her sword downward, slicing through the thick fur and skin at the back of his neck. The creature bellowed, his cry cut short as she pushed her sword in deeper, severing the spinal cord. She yanked her blade free, the broehr falling to the ground in a heap. Blood spilled from the wound and soaked into the tough, short grass carpeting the vast plain. Nausea struck Jahrra again, but she fought against it. To give in would mean capture. She could not risk that, no matter how horrific the scene unfolding around her became.

  Ignoring their fallen comrade, the rest of the broehr inched forward. One managed to grab a hold of Phrym’s reins, yanking his head forward so that he fell to his knees. This time, Jahrra did tumble from the saddle, landing in a crumpled heap beside a large stone.

  Phrym snorted and lashed out at the broehr, regaining his feet and using his hooves to defend himself. His ears were pressed flat to his skull, and the whites of his eyes flashed.

  “Run, Phrym!” Jahrra screamed through her helmet. “Go! They will kill you!”

  But he didn’t run. Instead, he danced around those closing in on Jahrra, snapping his teeth and kicking when he could. She thanked Ethoes the elves had provided some armor for him, too. Otherwise, they might have killed him by now. As much as she wanted to run to her semequin and remount, Jahrra didn’t have that option at the moment. Wrapping her fingers around her sword’s grip, she rolled to her feet and faced the eight remaining broehr.

  “Come and meet the same fate as your friend!” she snarled.

  One of the beasts to her left tensed to attack, but Jahrra saw him out of the corner of her eye. These creatures were slower than many of her sparring partners from the past, so she could read their movements much better. She sidestepped his lunge, bringing her sword around in the hopes of slicing the back of his neck. Unfortunately, her timing was off and the blade bounced harmlessly off the short horns growing from behind his ears. Spinning on the balls of her feet, Jahrra pivoted just in time to meet another broehr as it bolted forward. She feinted high, then dropped to one knee, slicing low across the soft underbelly exposed when the creature’s fighting leathers shifted as he lunged. She didn’t pause to check the damage. The painful grunt and crash of a heavy body against the damp earth told her what she needed to know: if he wasn’t dead, he had been injured enough not to be an immediate threat.

  Another broehr advanced, and Jahrra dispatched him just as quickly. Every time she inflicted a serious wound, she was drawing her sword back into a guard, ready for the next attack. Three broehr down, four … The fifth one was more difficult. As he came at her, she went for a high cut, but didn’t expect his right arm to sweep out and catch her on the side. The elvin armor saved her from being eviscerated, but the strike knocked the breath from her lungs and sent her to the ground once again. With some effort, Jahrra rolled over to find the remaining broehr closing in. One of them grabbed the blade of her sword, yanking it free. Another wrapped its massive, clawed hand around her ankle.

  “No!” she screamed, trying to kick as she pulled a dagger from a sheath at her side.

  She swiped up, false edge aimed outward, and grinned when the blade sliced across one of the broehr’s faces. A cut opened up, blood streaming down his furred cheek like scarlet paint. Despite her efforts, the beasts disarmed her and were moments away from hauling her up and carrying her off when a roar exploded from above, followed by a swift burst of emerald flame. The broehr above her screeched as the fire hit, and Jahrra covered the eye slot in her helmet as the heat curled around her. More roars of agony as taloned feet swiped the broehr aside. An audible crunch, followed by a choked scream informed Jahrra one of the creatures had fallen victim to the wrath of dragon’s teeth.

  The weight that had been pressing into her vanished, and Jahrra rolled over onto her hands and knees, trying to breathe. She angled her head to the side, peering out from the narrow gap in her visor. A shadow fell over her, and all she could make out was the back of two green, scaly forelegs. Jaax. He had found her in the midst of all the battle chaos.

  Another gout of fire shot forth, this one away from her, as the Tanaan dragon incinerated an entire line of the Red Flange. Jahrra swallowed back more bile. The horror of war, the stench of burning flesh and spilled blood, the screams and moans of the dying, the very sight of those who had fallen, their wounds too horrifying to imagine. She was going to be sick. How on Ethoes was she to face the Crimson King and the full magnitude of his entire army when she could barely hold her own against a mere fraction of that force?

  A snort and a nervous whinny snapped Jahrra’s attention away from her own dismal thoughts.

  “Phrym!” she gasped joyfully, tears pricking her eyes as the gray dappled semequin danced into view.

  A few streaks of blood stained his legs, and his armor had been gouged in several places, but he was alive. Blessedly alive! She collapsed to the ground, curling upon herself as the adrenaline wore off and left her shaking.

  “Jahrra! Are you injured?”

  Jaax peeked between his front legs, his eyes narrowed on the young human woman curled upon the ground below him. Taking a deep breath, Jahrra unfurled from her protective position and pulled off her helmet. Her hair stuck out in messy strands from her braid, but she didn’t care.

  “I think I had the wind knocked out of me, but other than that, I’m fine.”

  Jaax released a weary sigh. “Thank Ethoes. The fight is almost over. The dragons took out most of the enemy, and the allied troops are taking care of the rest.”

  She blinked in astonishment. “We won?” F
rom everything she knew of war, it took days, months, years, even, of fighting to decide a clear winner

  Jaax nodded, his mouth cut in a grim line.

  “This was a small force, Jahrra. The true battle against Ciarrohn will undoubtedly last longer than an hour.”

  Jahrra gaped. They had been combating for an hour? It had seemed only minutes had passed.

  Jaax stepped away from her, and she used his proffered forearm to stand. A few skirmishes were taking part several yards away from her, but as she scanned the battlefield, it was clear the fight was over. Thousands of bodies littered the plains, many charred beyond recognition from dragon fire, but plenty wore the mismatched colors of the allied troops of the Coalition. Jahrra tried not to count them, only observe what remained. Those who had survived this first encounter with minor injuries walked the field, looking for fallen friends or putting a dying soldier out of his or her misery with a swift sword thrust.

  The dragons who had helped in the fight joined the elves, Nesnan, and Resai. Some limped, some had visible wounds. One cobalt-hued Tanaan caught Jahrra’s attention, and she smiled a little to find a handful of elvin soldiers binding his injured wing to his side. Several small fires, bright spots of yellow and orange against the trampled earth, smoldered and sent up black smoke. Places where the dragons’ fire had lit wind-dried bushes and shrubs. The ravens Jahrra spotted earlier were now circling in, landing on the outskirts of the battlefield as they sought out an easy meal. Jahrra shivered at the thought, but couldn’t begrudge the creatures for taking advantage of the cruelty of those beings bent on making war with one another.

  “Jaax! Jahrra!”

  Jahrra spun around, beaming when Ellyesce came trotting up on Gliriant.

  “How are the others?” Jaax asked.

  Jahrra knew who he meant. Denaeh and Dervit. They had been at the back of the company. A much safer location than where Ellyesce and Jahrra had been.

  “They are well,” Ellyesce replied, then flicked his eyes to Jahrra and added, “both of them.”

  Relief threatened to drop her to her knees, but there were still a few friends she worried after.

  “And Dathian and Haedron?”

  Ellyesce lowered his green gaze to hers. “Haedron received a bad blow to the leg. Broken, probably, but Dathian is uninjured. He’s tending to Haedron right now.”

  “Thank Ethoes,” she breathed again.

  She knew both Haedron and Dathian were trained warriors, but it didn’t keep her from worrying after them. Out of the smoky haze, two familiar forms strode forward, filling up Jahrra’s view.

  Jahrra smiled, her heart growing light. “Sapheramin! Tollorias! Are you well?”

  The paler blue of the Korli dragons inclined her head, her armor scraping against her scales as she did so. “We are well, but weary, dear Jahrra. It takes a lot of energy to breathe so much fire.”

  Jahrra almost snorted in amusement, but kept herself in check. As much as she appreciated Sapheramin’s humor, she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate at the moment.

  “How do our numbers look?” Jaax asked, casting a more serious taint over the current mood.

  It was Tollorias who answered, his dark amber eyes sharp as ever. “Garron took a severe wound to his wing, so he will need time to mend. Half the Korli received injuries serious enough to be looked upon by a healer, though I suspect only a few of them will need extended time for healing. Eight more Tanaan were also injured, but those injuries were minor. We had luck on our side for this round, Raejaaxorix.”

  Jaax nodded once, the scaled armor running down his neck chinking with the movement.

  “These weren’t Cierryon’s best,” Jaax muttered, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the field. Above, the gray clouds had thickened and a light, icy drizzle began to fall. “We should move our injured beneath the protection of the forest and get some fires going. I doubt the Tyrant will send out any more troops any time soon. Clearly, we had been correct in thinking he would not expect us to march from this side of Dhonoara, or else he would have sent out a much larger company.”

  The two Korli dragons nodded and turned to do Jaax’s bidding. Jahrra watched as more dragons joined them, offering to carry the most severely injured on their backs. Gradually, what remained of the Coalition’s force migrated a mile back the way they had come, setting up camp along the edge of the forest.

  There, Jahrra sought out Denaeh and Dervit, all three of them checking one another for mortal wounds.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Dervit squeaked when Jahrra removed her armor and pulled up her chainmail and tunic to reveal a large, purple bruise dominating her left side.

  She hissed as she lowered her shirt back down, but nodded to Dervit. “It’s fine. Just hurts.”

  “I’ll conjure up an ointment for that,” Denaeh said, expression grim. “It’ll take away the pain and help heal the bruise faster. I’m sure I can find some useful herbs in these woods. I’ll even gather more firewood while I’m at it.”

  Jahrra didn’t offer to join her, for she was weary from the fight and her ribs ached. While they waited for Denaeh’s return, Jahrra and Dervit went looking for Haedron and Dathian. They found the two elves not far from their own camp. Dathian had pitched a tent, and Haedron was laid out inside on a cot, a healer tending to his injured leg. Dathian, Jahrra couldn’t help but notice, focused his entire attention on the red-haired elf. His arms were crossed over his chest in a pose that anyone else would consider casual. But Jahrra had been looking at his face. Each time the healer prodded a sore spot, Haedron would suck in a breath or flinch. Although he controlled himself very carefully, Dathian’s mouth would twitch, or his brow would scrunch into a furrow.

  Jahrra grinned widely. If her friend had any idea how expressive his face was, he’d be horrified to know he gave so much away so easily. And if Haedron bothered to look his way, Dathian’s secret would be out. It was a good thing, then, Jahrra thought, that Haedron most likely felt the same way. Unless she had completely missed something. Part of her wanted to leave the two of them alone, so they could have some privacy once the healer was finished with her ministrations, but she was desperate to check in with her friends. Eventually, Dathian glanced away from Haedron long enough to spot Jahrra and Dervit. His eyes widened in surprise, and he excused himself, ducking out of the tent.

  Jahrra didn’t wait until the flap had fallen back into place before throwing her arms around her friend.

  “Thank Ethoes you are okay!” she cried, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

  Dathian coughed against her tight embrace and when she let go, he gave her a wry grin. “You forget that I’m a trained warrior of Dhonoara, even though I choose to live the life of a scholar.”

  Jahrra punched him lightly on the arm. “Well-trained or not, there is no guarantee of coming out of a battle alive.”

  His expression sobered at that. “Very true.”

  Desperate for any topic that would distract her from the memories of the battlefield, Jahrra glanced very obviously around Dathian towards the tent and drawled, “So, do you and Haedron have that tent all to yourselves once the healer leaves?”

  Dathian’s eyes went wide as a blush stained his cheeks.

  Jahrra struggled not to laugh at her friend’s discomfort, and Dervit grew suddenly interested in a patch of lichen growing on a nearby boulder.

  “Jahrra,” Dathian grumbled sternly, his face flaming even hotter.

  “I’m sorry!” she said in a harsh whisper. “I couldn’t help myself. And honestly, Dathian,” she added, reaching out to place a hand against his forearm, “after this horrible day, and looking ahead at what awaits us in Ghorium, I can’t help but find joy wherever it is offered.”

  Dathian’s embarrassment faded, and he gave his friend a warm smile. He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I make no promises that my love life will play out to your fanciful, romantic notions, but if you wish to read more into it in order to ease your heart in
these coming days, then I cannot hold it against you.”

  “I am not reading more into it, and I have no fanciful, romantic notions,” Jahrra countered with a dignified sniff.

  Dathian only grinned and shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, Jahrra. One of these days, you’ll be in a similar situation, and it will be my turn to tease you.”

  Jahrra bit her lip to fight another smile, then replied in a tone that mimicked his from a moment ago, “Whatever appeases your fanciful, romantic notions, Dathian.”

  They both laughed then, and Jahrra and Dervit invited Dathian to join them on a hunt for food.

  “Just let me tell Haedron, and the healer,” he added pointedly, “where we are going.”

  Jahrra placed a hand to her heart and gave a dramatic bow, which Dathian ignored.

  Ten minutes later, the trio was sitting around a large cook fire, ladling stew from a huge cauldron and chatting with the other soldiers. And for an hour, at least, Jahrra was able to keep those fresh memories from her first foray into war at bay.

  -Chapter Seventeen-

  A Skirmish Won and Tempers Lost

  By the time Jahrra and Dervit returned to their own campsite, twilight had settled over the woods and the mountains looming above them. Dathian had returned to his tent with a bowl of stew for Haedron and a look shot in Jahrra’s direction that told her to hold her tongue. She only smiled innocently and said a quick hello to the auburn-haired elf before departing. She was grateful for the diversion of Dathian and Haedron. In a world gone dark, they provided that beacon of hope and brightness she needed to stay strong, the guiding light to get her to the end of this battle and fight to overcome the evil waiting for her.

  As she and Dervit made their way through the various camps, they stopped to greet the soldiers and offer a friendly hello or an introduction for those they did not know. And during those conversations, their own light spilled forth - their own reasons for fighting against the Tyrant. Jahrra gathered that radiance into her heart, using her allies’ shared memories to bolster her own courage and will to do what she must.