Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Six: Retreat

Quick jabbing strikes from the Centaur warrior’s spear repeatedly found targets behind shields and between pieces of armor. Blood splatters covered his arms and hands with glistening wetness, while he worked the spike relentlessly. Changa stabbed upward with his weapon, dispatching a winged lizard before he turned to withdraw with the others. Before the Centaur, a Nyen attempted to block his retreat and died, skewered by a spear thrust.

Risking a glance back, Changa discovered the first horn blasts meaning. Hidden by a dark haze were a great many Nyen, Kang, Slythe, and Giants running towards them. Abruptly, a dark blackish-purple cloud filled the air, which was followed by a thunderous bellowing roar. The Centaur warrior felt as if he had been hit in the chest by a massive blow. Shaking his head for a moment, he watched human, Centaur, and enemy corpses rise and arm themselves. As at Drennard, the dead before him were now attacking.

An earsplitting roar echoed through the air, forcing Changa to glance back. The shadows behind him were too dark to tell what had arrived. Whatever it was, it was close, and this was all the Centaur needed to persuade him to flee the area. In the next minute, he was darting between and around the enemy, putting distance between himself and the roaring beast. Through the smoke, galloped Donovan on horseback, with a soldier seated behind him. Another quick thrust from the Centaur’s spear brought down a Kang who was attempting to close with Donovan’s horse from behind.

Finally, the last survivors galloped past Changa. He raced away from the approaching enemy reserve force and the undead. A Giant attempted to take him down from behind, with a massive battle-ax. Its gleaming arc barely missed him. The hulking figure roared in anger and frustration. Cutting rapidly to the side, the Centaur sought to lure the pursuers after him. Those in pursuit were not buying it, however. Through the smoky haze, the undead dragged two wounded off their mounts. The episode was followed by a lagging Centaur warrior, who was downed by many weapons rising and falling. The enemy was making swift work of any wounded they caught.

Taking care not to get too close, Changa once more retrieved his bow and an arrow. Drawing the string back, he released quickly. The shaft brought down the lead pursuer. His second bowshot caused another to crumble in the dust. Fluidly, the Centaur drew back the bowstring and released the third arrow, and a Nyen’s temple sprouted feathers. The pale body collapsed in a dusty heap. Somewhere behind him, a bellow of rage sounded, causing the Centaur archer to risk a hasty glance behind him. Dancing to the side, he barely avoided a war club thrown by another Giant. The massive club struck the ground beside him with a loud thud, pelting him with loose dirt.

Swallowing hard, Changa continued to gallop parallel to the pursuers. “Get out of here!” his mind screamed.

Drawing back his bowstring once more, Changa aimed and sent an arrow speeding on its way. The arrow stuck in a lumbering Giant’s face. The Centaur could never have guessed the devastating results his actions would unleash before him. Enraged, the Giant immediately whirled about, striking out blindly with his massive war club.

The living pursuers panicked, wildly seeking to avoid the cloud of devastation erupting around the massive figure. Enthralled, Changa stopped and watched from a safe distance. Before the enemy could escape the violence, more than a dozen still forms lay on the ground. The disheartened pursuers panicked and fled the insanity. In effect, the Giant had stopped any formal pursuit by their evil adversaries.

A Giant wearing a black helm, with bright red feathers strode powerfully forward. It could only be General Anktar. He stepped up to face the hulking behemoth, who was still venting his rage. The helmed Giant with red plumage bellowed something which must have been an order. The crazed Hulk roared something in return and charged the black helmed Giant. With a mighty crash, they collided together.

The enraged Giant swiftly struck the black helmed one a glancing blow with his war club. Before the berserker could attempt another strike, the black helmed Giant replied with his massive iron sword. The blade cut deeply, sending blood spurting from the crazed Giant’s neck. With a bellow, the goliath dropped his club. In a blur, the black helmed giant’s greatsword cleaved the head cleanly from his foe’s body. The headless body fell slowly to the ground, in a dust cloud.

General Anktar took a step towards Changa, roaring in anger. He stood unmoving, deciding if it was worth attempting another shot while tapping the arrows in his quiver with a finger. The general slowly pointed his great sword at the Centaur, before turning to the Giant he had slain. With a flourish, he wiped his great blade clean on the corpse before him. Moments later, he walked back towards the burning town.

King Tarran slowed to a halt on a wooded hilltop, a modest distance away from Mern. “Assess the wounded; we’ll not attempt another charge in our current condition. We’re lucky to have escaped at all.” His father sat there for a moment, with head lowered before turning to face them.

Some seventy-five were found to be unable to carry on without help. Bandages were applied, even as saplings were cut to build drags for the severely wounded. King Tarran, Changa, Maska, and Donovan sat upon their horses, watching Mern burn to the ground. The four of them stood silently together, with faces filled with grief-filled anger. Many other brigadiers, Centaurs, and Militia joined them, finding solace in numbers.

“Did anyone get a glimpse at what was bellowing in the black cloud? I couldn’t get a good look, but I knew I had to run—to get the hell out of there,” King Tarren took off his helm. He ran his right hand through his sweaty graying-brown hair.

Donovan raised his head. “I—I saw a huge beast with wings, swoop in and land further back in Mern. It was what was roaring so loudly. What I have to tell you is going to sound insane, but it looked like the dragons on the old scrolls.”

“Good Lord, Donovan—a Dragon, you say? Here, in Etmindor?” Maska asked pointedly.

The Centaur Chieftain starred at his second son. He looked for all the world as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard.

Donovan turned to face everyone and shook his head. “No—I haven’t lost my mind. It was massive. It must also be what is raising the dead. Right after it landed, it roared, and all the dead started to rise.”

“So, was it as big as a raken?” King Tarran asked while scratching his head.

“Much bigger. It would dwarf a raken,” Donovan commented. He unstrapped his water skin and took a few large swallows before fastening it back down.

“Dwarf a raken in size? It would have to be huge,” Emec said in a lowered voice as if he feared the creature would overhear him.

Many men commenced murmuring, as an undercurrent of fear swept through them.

“Easy, easy men. We have no idea what has joined the party the dark brother has prepared for us. If it truly is a Dragon, it is a creature we have only known in legends and tales,” Maska commented. He retrieved some dried meat from a leather saddle-bag, bit off a hunk, and started chewing.

His father appeared deep in thought as if pondering what Donovan had said. King Tarran unfastened his water skin and took a long drink, and dampened a spare dressing cloth, and wiped his face. Silently, he secured the vessel and turned to face them.

“I believe the more important question is, how do we kill such a beast? If we are to believe what we’ve heard, and I do believe it, this huge thorn is going to prick us again and again.”

Changa looked toward Mern and noted the sky was growing overcast, and it looked like it would rain. Perhaps ten minutes later, a soft rain started falling from the lead-gray clouds, adding to their general discomfort. The flames engulfing the town seemed unaffected by the dampness, as they were now burning out of control. The young Centaur shifted while c*****g his head to determine what was making a slight hissing noise.

“Where’s the whistling sound coming from?” King Tarran asked. His father was looking around them, with a puzzled expression on his face.

Four dark objects fell from the sky, to impact the w**d-covered soil next to them with loud heavy thuds. The forms struck a small clearing, less than ten feet from where Donovan and his father were sitting astride their horses.

“What in damnation?” Donovan yelled. The prince fought to regain control of Shadow, who was wild-eyed and skittish, on the verge of bolting.

Everyone close by was milling about, half-startled out of their minds. Sir Alfred, Mathew, and Maska stepped forward to inspect what lay in the weeds. Donovan heard the sharp intake of breath from more than one of them.

“It is two heavy knights and their horses. The one over there is Sir Roger; I recognize his silver hip-flask. The other is Sir Steven; he always used the fancily engraved hand-axes.” Sir Alfred turned to face them with a face filled with rage.

Mathew mumbled to himself, and Donovan couldn’t understand what he was saying. Horror-stricken, he turned to face them. “It took their heads, why in heaven’s name would it do this? They both were escaping; I saw them leave. Why would it drop them almost on top of us?”

Far above them, a thunderous roar echoed, filling Donovan with fear again. He knew why the Dragon had done this and struggled to get the words out. Another roar filled the sky, more distant towards Mern. The prince rode forward to stand beside the two dead heavy knights. He sat there, while the cold rain ran down his back and swallowed hard. There would be no easy answer to this problem.

“The Dragon was telling us; it knows we are here. It told us it would take what it wants, from who it wants, when it wants.” Prince Donovan sat still upon his horse and looked at his father and Maska. “Great evil has risen and challenged our right to exist. Now it is up to us to figure out how to respond!”

All the men drew closer, mumbling among themselves. King Tarran and Maska looked at him, at a loss for words as they looked down upon the dead horsemen.

“Tarran, we’re going to have to find a way to handle this beast,” Maska stated. He strode over to Donovan. “I believe your right!”

Their mauled fighting force’s survivors tended each other’s wounds, as best they could.

Everyone watched the flames engulf Mern. Changa stared helplessly, filled with heated anger. Some men cried out in rage, while others sobbed. With heads lowered in defeat, they started to make preparations for the wounded.