Page 379 of Of Empires and Dust

Dahlen hefted the spear, turned, sighted his target, and hurled. The weapon slammed into an Urak’s chest as it pulled itself from the first trench. He’d have a bow if there had been one to spare. Spears were simpler to craft and had multiple uses. There simply were not enough bows to go around and not enough arrows for all the Uraks.

A blinding flash erupted to the right, and arcs of purple lightning spiked into the Uraks swarming around towards the western wall. Everywhere Dahlen looked it seemed as though the Urak tide would be held at bay. Broken bodies lay in the first trench, piling higher and higher. Flames burned amidst their ranks where Dorman and Bahkter's lightning had torn them open, and arrows fell like rain from the walls. But slowly, the horde swallowed the first trench and swarmed into the second,trampling over the bodies of their fallen. For every one that fell, two took its place, unrelenting.

The creatures hurled their torches as they charged over the second trench. The first few fell harmlessly against the walls, but more and more rose up and over. A torch whirled past Dahlen’s head and landed on a thatched roof behind him. Thankfully, rain had fallen for days, and the thatch was slow to ignite. But it would. More torches soared over the battlements, landing on rooves and dropping to the ground below.

As fires started to come to life, they were snuffed from existence, seemingly by nothing, smoke drifting upwards. That was when Dahlen noticed the Alamant, Oaken Polik, charging back and forth like a madman, waving his hands.

Dahlen took another spear from one of the runners, turned his attention back to the charging Uraks, and split a creature’s skull with heavy iron and wood. They would reach the walls. And when they did, the Bloodmarked would smash everything to splinters and the fighting would truly begin. For now, he would settle for thinning their numbers.

Erik stareddown at the field of torches below, fires blooming all about the city walls. Tarmon, Lyrei, Vaeril, Dann, and the elves all stood around him, along with Syminil, chief of the Dvalin Angan sent with the army, and the two Rakina: Harken and Atara.

“They number at least ten thousand strong. Likely more.” Thurivîr squinted. “The night obscures them. It would be prudent to wait until they have crushed themselves into the city walls. I see trenches below, a pair, both spiked. The bodies are piled high already. If we wait until half their number is across,we can crush the rear and leave the van exposed, caught between the walls and trenches, steel at their backs.”

How the elf could see anything like that in the night, Erik couldn’t fathom. Likely that moonsight Vaeril had taught Calen in Drifaien.

“It is a sound tactic,” Baralas agreed.

“If we wait, we’ll be saving a city of ash and bones,” Atara said, her hand resting on the sword pommel at her hip. As they’d crossed Illyanara, the elf had thrown herself into the heart of every battle. She was the only soul Erik had ever seen who he believed could match Aeson blade to blade.

Erik clenched his jaw as he stared down at the city, flames slowly bursting to life across the walls.

“And if we don’t, we may join them. Urak armies do not assemble in these numbers without Shamans amongst them,” Thurivîr said. “We would do well to appreciate the situation we are in. This is by no means an assured victory. You’ve seen how these creatures fight beneath the Blood Moon.”

“We must exercise caution, lest we throw lives away,” Baralas agreed once again.

Dann moved forwards astride Drunir, his gaze fixed on the city below. “If my parents are alive, they are within those walls. Everything that is left of my home is there.” He looked to Tarmon, who sat astride an enormous Blackthorn dense with muscle. “I will not wait. Not if it means leaving them to die. Even if I charge alone, I will not wait.”

“You will not be alone.” Erik pulled his mount up alongside Dann. The man had earned the name Baldon had given him a thousand times over. Sureheart. “Never alone. Not while I breathe.”

Vaeril drew the star-pommelled sword from its scabbard, the pink moonlight blazing on the polished steel. “Vandasera, Sureheart.”

That was all the elf needed to say. Oathsworn. Vaeril, Erik, Lyrei, Alea, Dann, Tarmon, Gaeleron, and Calen. Vandasera. Each of them bound by purpose, bound by an unbending loyalty to one another. Erik would die for them; they were his family. “Vandasera.”

Queen Tessara bowed her head to Vaeril. She no longer wore her elaborate silken clothes and cut gems. The queen was clad in black steel ornamented with gleaming silver. A silver star adorned her breastplate, and she held a long glaive in her fist, the shaft stained black. She glanced at Thurivîr and Baralas before inclining her head to Vaeril. “The warriors of Vaelen march with their champion. You lead, Vaeril Ilyin, and we shall follow.” She turned her head to Dann. “A home for a home, Sureheart.”

“I will follow you,” Atara said, turning to look at Dann atop Drunir.

Beside her, Harken Holdark grunted, nodding in agreement.

“I have my orders. We marched here to save the city of Salme,” Tarmon said. “I will not stand by and watch it die. If you wish to do so, Thurivîr, I will not stop you. But let your honour be marked for it. Baralas?”

The Ephorí for Ardurän cast a glance at Thurivîr and drew his sword. “The elves of Ardurän hold fast to their vow. We will charge with you.”

“I do not forsake my vows,” Thurivîr spat. “I simply value prudence in the face of battle.”

“Call it what you will, but allowing others to die while you stand and watch sounds more like cowardice than prudence to me.” Tarmon pulled on his reins, the giant black beast of a horse shifting beneath him. The thing made even the other Blackthorns look small. He gestured to Ingvat, who rode towards him. “Spread the message. We march. No horns until my signal. I don’t want them to hear us before they can see us.The cavalry will hit hard in the centre, along with the Angan. Those on foot will fall in around us with the archers thinning the flanks and raining voidfire down into the trenches. Go.”

As Ingvat rode away, Tarmon looked to Vaeril. “You will lead the mages. Do as you see fit.”

The elf nodded sharply.

Tarmon looked to Atara and Harken. “Where will you best be of use, Rakina?”

“Wherever it is bloodiest,” Harken answered, giving a toothy grin.

“With me then,” Erik said, inclining his head.

Once the word had been spread through the army, the march began down the hill. The cries of battle echoed in the empty night: crackling flames, clashing steel, dying wails. It killed Erik to not break his mount into a gallop and charge full speed into the Urak rear. But they needed to get closer and allow the archers and mages to get within range.

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