Kastali Dun

Bedelth kept in close formation with his king. They flew towards the the mass of soldiers forming ranks near the beach. At least fifty thousand had made it to shore. They aligned into tidy formations, split into blocky grids, with spears and swords and shields at the ready. Flags flew, the banners waving in the wind.

Every marching step was done in unison. It was a well trained army. One that intended to claim their city. Thank the gods the ships had been destroyed, with their siege weapons.

Their own forces numbered half of what Oshea's did, standing at the ready outside the city's walls. They'd considered withdrawing their forces into the city, but it would have made for cramped quarters, and a prolonged siege. Everyone was eager to end this thing sooner rather than later.

Had there been more warning, they could have called troops from further away. They were at a disadvantage. A mere twenty five thousand mustered troops, with another two thousand city militia inside the city.

"There are sorcerers in their ranks," Reyr warned, not a moment too soon. A plume of shimmering air shot skyward then spread. More columns of shimmering air shot upwards, then spread like mushroom tops, joined together, and blanketed the soldiers.

"It's some sort of shield," Verath observed.

"I thought we'd killed them all," Koldis muttered. "Wasn't that the purpose of destroying their ships and risking Claire?"

"They snuck some ashore," Jovari observed.

"Let's see what we're up against," Talon commanded, suppressed rage dripping from his tone.

Bedelth roared in answer, following his king as they dove towards the enemy soldiers. Their bodies were met with a solid wall, a shield. The impact jarred his bones, sending pain shooting through him. He roared again in anger, the sound echoed by his brothers. Most of their wings were picking off the few remaining ships Claire had failed to destroy. Talon had ordered three additional wings to flank them. They all met the same barrier.

They tried again and again to get through, battering at the invisible wall with their claws.

"We'll have to do this the simpler way," Reyr announced, spotting the front lines, the empty gap where the Osheans approached Dragonwall's army. "Who is up for a little swordplay?" Reyr's question was sent to every Drengr in the area.

Challenging, eager roars split the air. The king's wing soared off towards the front lines, followed by their flanking wings. Bedelth braced himself, diving. Dragonwall's soldiers rallied when they saw their king approach, shouting and cheering. They landed on two feat, completing their shifts midair.

Talon quickly issued orders to the flanking wings turned human, spreading them along various parts of their armies. He gave additional orders to his Shields, forming them into pairs. Jovari and Koldis to split away, moving farther down the lines. Bedelth and Verath teamed up, taking over another unit of soldiers, placing themselves on the front lines. Talon kept Reyr beside him, taking the central force.

"Our enemies think they can take our homes," Talon roared, his voice booming over their legions of soldiers. "They think they can claim what is ours."

Angry voices lifted in response.

"We will not let them!" Talon roared. "We protect what is ours!" The king hefted his Sveark, the challenge obvious. Behind him, rows and rows of soldiers did the same, crying out in unison. "For Dragonwall!" The cry was echoed down the lines as Talon surged forward, soldiers at his back.

His shields mimicked the motions.

Bedelth shot forward, Verath at his side. "Shall we see which of us causes the most destruction?" he called, offering Verath a challenging grin.

"You're on," Verath growled, hefting his Sverak. They had just a moment to brace before the enemy lines clashed. The magical barrier put in place by the enemy sorcerers swept over them, but could do little more. It was meant to protect the Osheans from aerial attacks and would do nothing against the mass of soldiers on the ground.

For a brief moment, Saffra's face swam into his mind. He was fighting for so many reasons. But the deepest reason, was her.

He let forth a battle cry, then swept his blade around, decapitating the first Oshean that neared him. Before their head rolled, he was already snapping forward with a quick thrust, sending his blade between the seams of armor shielding another solder's abdomen. The soldier cried out and crumbled. He didn't stop. His feet danced, blade swiping and thrusting.

Minutes ticked on. Soon, blood splattered him. Some of it was his own, minor slices and grazes of an enemy blade. In human form, the Drengr wore no armor—didn't bother with it. There was little that could kill them. The enemy might have used Ice Metal for the arrowheads of their dragon lances, but they hadn't bothered with it for their infantry weapons. They'd planned to pit their foot soldiers against other humans, not Drengr.

A normal steel blade wouldn't be enough to remove a Drengr's head. Such blades broke when confronted by a Sverak, with a single blow aimed in the right way. It made the fighting Drengr look like gods.

"I'm at eighteen already," Verath cried. They fought shoulder to shoulder, as if they'd done this a thousand times before, each in sync with the other.

"Fourteen," he growled, watching the next soldier topple. Verath was better with a blade. Not as good as Cyrus had been, but perhaps as good as Reyr. He refused to admit that Verath might best him. No, he'd wait until the battle was done and their counts tallied.

He knew his brothers were engaged in similar contests. Projections were exchanged between them. He caught glimpses of Talon's Sverak lashing out, newly crowned with its beautiful black stone, the bonding ceremony gift Claire had offered. Beside their king, Reyr fought ruthlessly, careful to guard Talon's back just as much as his own.

There was no room for mercy in a battle like this. The Osheans were here for one purpose, that of conquering his beautiful capital city. They were here because the worm of a sorcerer, Kane, had stirred things up. Kane was probably bitter about losing all those dragons in the north.

Thinking came easier with each stroke of his blade. Something about the movements calmed him. Focused his mind.

He could do this for hours.

A rapid change in the air set the hairs on his arms on end. He had just a moment to blink and process, before a concussion of air rushed past him. He staggered, bracing. Beside him, Verath moved his body into a bracing stance. The soldiers around them weren't as lucky. They toppled backward, losing their footing, stumbling to the ground.

Suddenly, he and Verath were the only ones standing in their near vicinity.

"The sorcerers!" Verath shouted, right as Bedelth made the same realization. "There!" Verath didn't point, because already enemy soldiers swarmed around them. Instead, he shot Bedelth a quick projection. A sorcerer lurked nearby, placed strategically within the Oshean ranks.

There was no time to strategize.

Bedelth hissed as a blade sliced his leg. The deep gash sent him staggering. Verath's grip around his arm got him upright again. He lunged, driving his blade through his attacker's shoulder, ripping it free, then slitting his throat. Blood splashed his hand, leaving it sticky as the rest of him had become.

Just as soon as one body went down, there was already another in place. He and Verath were surrounded. Suddenly, they'd gone from fighting with ease, to fighting for their lives.

His breath came in staggered gasps.

He caught projections from the others, stuck in similar circumstances. The kingdom soldiers that had been attacked with magic were slowly getting to their feet, but some weren't fast enough. Those who were, took up arms once more as they shook off their confusion. Just as soon as they were back in action, another concussion of air sent waves penetrating deep into Dragonwall's ranks.

"If we don't get that sorcerer," Verath growled, "we're dead!"

Together, they redoubled their efforts, fighting dirtier than ever. He kicked out, shattering kneecaps, using every bit of surprise to remove a head from its shoulders, or sever a hand at the wrist. He caught a glimpse of the sorcerer again, backing further into the ranks of the Osheans.

"Cover me," he shouted at Verath. Before his brother could answer, he lunged, ducking and sprinting through a gap in the solders. Verath grunted behind him; a quick projection showed he'd taken a blade to the shoulder. It would take a lot worse than that to bring down a Drengr, especially a King's Shield, especially Verath.

With an extra burst of speed, Bedelth lunged, ducking and then rolling, scattering several soldiers. His blade swept around before the sorcerer spotted him, slicing clean through the sorcerer's legs. The man roared, his eyes going wide with shock and disbelief. Bedelth stood. "Your first mistake was marching on Dragonwall," he hissed, lifting his blade, looking deep into the sorcerer's eyes. "Your second was crossing a King's Shield." He drove his blade into the sorcerer's gut, quick as an adder, before the sorcerer could chant any magic to offer protection. Then he slid it free and removed his head. The body crumbled. He was already moving again, sweeping around to take out several soldiers crowding around Verath.

"I'm counting the sorcerer as two," he shouted, earning a small smirk from Verath, whose focus was intent on the soldiers. He looked worse for wear, but he'd survive.

The sorcerer's death allowed this section of Dragonwall's soldiers a reprieve from the magic. At the sight of the dead sorcerer, his ranks of soldiers rallied, roaring and banging weapons against their shields. Some of them chanted his name, "Bedelth! Bedelth! Bedelth!"

And damn, it felt good. The boost to his ego gave him a burst of added energy. He felled three more opponents.

Slowly, step by step, minute by minute, they made progress, pushing back the lines. He sent quick projections to the others, boasting of his victory against the sorcerer. Soon, they followed up with similar victories of their own. Each sorcerer's death made the enemy soldiers easier to cut down.

The Drengr Fairtheoir were connected by their oath to the king. Brothers in all but blood. And each victory felt good, no matter whose it was.

It was that same connection that alerted him to Dallin's approach. The purple Drengr gave a quick update to the king, informing him that Claire was resting, sleeping off her exhaustion, before landing at Verath's side. Bedelth gave the young Drengr a quick nod and said, "I'm already at one-hundred-and-fifty-two. Verath is at..."

"One-hundred-and-seventy-one."

Bedelth hissed, irritated that he'd fallen behind. Still, he said to Dallin, "You've got some catching up to do."

Dallin took the challenge and jumped into the fray. The three of them, flanked by the kingdom's soldiers, pushed deeper into the Oshean ranks. Years from now, soldiers would tell their families stories of how they'd fight beside Bedleth, Dallin, and Verath. How they'd watched the king's own Shields wreak havoc upon the enemy. How they'd taken down soldiers with a single blow of their Sveraks. How much honor could be felt in standing with them. Those stories would morph and grow into legends, and he'd be forever immortalized.

For now, he focused on the matter at hand.

Once again, he felt a surge of magic, a tingle against his skin. This time, it came not from the air, but something beneath his feet. A shudder within the earth. It cracked open and split apart, traveling through the ranks, all the way to the city wall, where it slammed against the city's barrier, cracking it open. The giant gash sent soldiers screaming and toppling into the earthen depths. Bedelth, Dallin and Verath had just a moment to jump aside, momentarily separated, before they lost their footing. He stumbled, regaining his balance amidst the quaking earth. Tremor after tremor followed, making it nearly impossible to stand.

"Another sorcerer," he bellowed, pointing with his sword towards their newest enemy. A look came over Dallin's face. He knew before he could shout otherwise, that the young Shield had taken up this challenge for himself. He shared a single look with Verath across the giant gash in the earth, before the three of them took off running. Dallin gained distance, leaping over the gash with inhuman speed. He rolled then came upright, taking off again. Bdeleth and Verath covered him, striking aside Oshean soldiers to give Dallin a clear path.

This time, the sorcerer saw him coming. It was only Verath's quick thinking, a muttered counter spell of protection, that drained him but kept the sorcerer from striking Dallin before Dallin's Sverak lifted and sliced clean through the barrier of protection around the sorcerer. Sveraks could slice through rock, why not magic too? Talon would be interested in that fact. He sent a quick projection to the others.

The sorcerer had a blade in hand. He shoved it into Dallin's side as the young Drengr stole a killing blow, right into the sorcerer's chest. Dallin stumbled back and ripped the blade free, roaring with victory before sliding it into his bandolier as a prize weapon. Verath gave a whoop of surprise, clapping Dallin on the shoulder. Bedelth offered Dallin a nod of approval—all there was time for—before the three of them turned back to back to take on the fresh wave of Osheans surrounding them.

A few projections told him that some of the Osheans had made it to the crack in the city wall and were pouring through, where they were met with the city's militia. It was a narrow gap, and would allow the militia to cut them down more easily. He didn't have time to worry over it. There were still too many Osheans on the battlefield.

The clash of weapons echoed through the air. The sound mixed with the cries of battle, shouted by both sides. Death was usually quiet, but sometimes it could be heard in the form of a final, anguished scream. Then there was the smell. Gods, it was overpowering. Dirt and blood and sweat. Most soldiers at death's door lost control of their faculties; that added to the stench, too.

Only in the stories did a thing like this seem real. He'd never fought in such a battle, on foot, against countless soldiers—not even the Gobelin ranks had been this organized and thorough. Yet, battle was in his blood. He was more than a Drengr. He was a warrior.

A flash in his periphery showed King Talon and Reyr fighting back to back, in much the same way as he did. He wished he had a moment to watch his king. Even a brief glimpse told him that Talon was a sight to behold upon the battlefield, his massive frame towering over enemy soldiers.

"I'm at seventy-three!" Dallin proudly announced. Automatically, Bedelth and Verath both shouted their counts, well over four hundred now, but Verath was in the lead. A few minutes later, he proudly proclaimed the moment he reached five hundred.

They'd carved through half the ranks of the Oshean army.

His focus began to slip. There were times he missed a target, or got sloppy. Were he human, he'd be long dead. Two more sorcerers confronted them. Verath finished them off, roaring with victory each time.

The scent of fire began to seep into his nostrils. He had a vague awareness that parts of the city were burning. Enemy soldiers that had broken through. A few sorcerers from other parts of the field had managed to split additional openings into the city's outer wall.

A roar from the sky announced the approach of the remaining wings. He wanted to weep with relief. They had defeated the last of the ships Claire had missed. A quick burst of flame near the back ranks of the Oshean army told him all he needed to know. They'd killed enough of the sorcerers to weaken the enemy significantly.

Night had fallen when at last, they'd closed ranks enough to fight beside King Talon again. A mixture of joy and pride burst through Bedelth at reuniting. This was what it meant to stand with his king. There was no one in the world he preferred to be with on the battlefield.

When at last, they'd surrounded their enemy, Talon shouted his offer for surrender. Not a single sorcerer stood. Only, perhaps several hundred enemy soldiers remained. Talon offered mercy—though he'd sworn he wouldn't. The soldiers didn't take the offer. With a final roar, Dragonwall's remaining army swallowed up what was left.

It was this final stand that sent a message to the rest of the world. Kastali Dun had never been taken. It would never fall. Neither would Dragonwall. The monarchy was strong, so long as there were those who supported it with willing sacrifice. When the victory cries split the air, Bedelth watched as Talon crumbled to his knees, body bloodied but whole, and wept with relief.  

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Happy Friday, Bookdragons!

Is it over?? Can we breathe again? Unfortunately not. It is not over. And we cannot breathe again. Remember Kane? Remember that contingency plan??? 

Sorry in advance.

But this was fun! I almost didn't write this chapter, until I realized there was so much more to the battle than just fighting in the sky. It was needed and seemed to polish off things nicely. I considered upping the stakes in the battle itself, but knowing what would come as it came to a close, made me realize I didn't want to be too cruel. So...brace yourselves for next week.

See you then!

Mel