Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

Max glimpsed one archer literally covered by the creatures, which had almost carried the screaming man away before Bob obliterated them with a vicious swing of his cudgel.

To the east, Max spied a troop of deathknights charging along the cliffs. He urged YaYa at them, hurtling over the ground at dizzying speed to intercept the undead cavalry before they utterly overwhelmed that section of the line. The archers had also seen the threat. A hundred Zenuvian arrows were loosed, slamming into the riders leading the formation. Three deathknights burst into green flame, careening off their steeds, which stumbled over the cliffs. But a score of horsemen still remained, bearing down upon the trench. Two more fell as Lucia’s firebursts exploded suddenly before them, but the others tightened their formation and galloped at a furious pace to overrun the trench.

With a roar, YaYa broadsided them like a locomotive, shattering bones and crumpling armor as the creatures and their horses were launched over the cliffs. But YaYa went with them, her momentum carrying her far over the edge. Max felt a terrifying weightlessness and hugged her neck, bracing himself for the inevitable, sickening plunge.

But no plunge occurred.

The ki-rin merely galloped over the empty air. Glancing down, Max saw the rocky beach and crashing surf far below. A furious melee was taking place on the beaches below as the Harbor Guard held the Enemy back from the cliff stairs that would bring them up to the main campus.

There was no time to help them. There must have been a hundred such scenes taking place across Greater Rowan. Leaning forward in his saddle, Max held tight as YaYa made a sweeping turn that took them far out over the waves as she circled back and charged toward the battleground at Trench Nineteen.

The scene unfolding before them did not appear real. It was too horrid and beautiful for Max’s mind to process. It was a living painting, an explosion of color and light and scale where battalions and mounted companies were no more than toy soldiers scattered across a vast panorama of smoke, sun, and ruin.

Huge storm clouds were circling over Westgate while in the south Max glimpsed a pluming cloud of superheated smoke. There was a flash. From Rowan’s casting towers came huge bolts of lightning that lanced across the battlefield, destroying the Enemy’s siege towers and catapults in crackling explosions that showered the land with broken timber and debris.

YaYa reached the cliffs, running on solid earth once more. Max struck down an oni as they passed, the gae bolga shearing right through its heavy shield. A host of vyes fled before the ki-rin as they crashed back into the fray, scattering like jackals before a lion. Arrows whistled overhead as horns sounded from Northgate. Fresh cavalry came galloping forth, reinforcing the Wildwood Knights in a thunderous offensive.

YaYa fell in with them, charging to the fore as they drove the vyes and ogres back over the scorched earth and ravaged countryside. The Enemy’s initial assault was breaking, retreating to protect Prusias’s golden palanquin and regroup with the battalions he’d held in reserve.

At a signal flare from Rowan, Max and the knights checked their pursuit. They slowed to a trot and watched the Enemy’s withdrawal. Fatigue was overcoming Max. His radiance had dimmed to a flickering halo of light about his brow. Even the gae bolga had grown silent, choked and sated from the carnage.

Max was wearier than he had ever been. Dismounting, he saw that his shield was punctured and scored in a dozen places. He tossed it aside, walking around to examine YaYa. The magnificent ki-rin was panting heavily and still growling from deep in her throat. Her black coat was spattered with so much mud and gore, it appeared as though she’d charged through pools of the stuff. Stroking her muzzle, Max rested his head against her chest before stepping back to gaze up at the sky.

The wind had cleared much of the smoke, but not all. Some billows still drifted on the breeze, carrying west across a deepening sky tinged with brilliant streaks of red and pink. Max blinked dully at the fiery orange ball sinking low over the western wood and tried to reconcile how the day could possibly be ending. The attack had begun at dawn. Could so much time have passed? It seemed mere minutes since Scathach had ridden out to answer the rakshasa’s challenge.

Squinting, Max gazed about, but he could not find her. Not along Trench Nineteen or at the command tent or among any of the mounted cavalry. Terrible thoughts flitted through his mind. His pulse quickened and he stepped around YaYa for a better view of the battlefield. It was hard to pick out details among the devastation, and the sun’s rays cast long shadows that obscured much of what he was seeing. Already, the dead and dying were being carried away on stretchers. The Enemy’s forces were left to the ravens and gulls, which were settling in alarming numbers.

Max heard cheers from the trenches and from high on the citadel’s battlements and the towers of Northgate. In the distance, Old Tom was chiming the hour as though students were being summoned to supper. One of the Wildwood Knights was calling to him. Max glanced at the man who asked again if he would care to ride back with them. Shaking his head, Max anxiously climbed back up onto YaYa’s saddle. Taking his spyglass, he surveyed the field again.

As he swept the glass along the cliffs, Max stopped breathing.

An Appaloosa was cantering, tossing its mane and bucking wildly as though it had gone mad. The horse was without a rider.

In his shock, Max barely registered a strange chittering. YaYa gave a sudden start, sidestepping abruptly as something slithered past in a whirl of clicking legs and probing feelers. Glancing down, Max’s fears and sorrow were transformed into frantic, disbelieving terror.

The creature was a pinlegs.

And its lights were flashing red.

Max rode swiftly back toward the citadel, shouting at everyone—every knight and soldier—to flee inside Northgate. Spying Sarah near Trench Nineteen, he yelled for her to blow the signal for a retreat. She hesitated, staring at him like he was crazy until he repeated the order. Taking her horn, she blew the call.

“Pull back!” yelled Max, literally herding people toward the gate and telling other commanders to blow their horns and signal a retreat. Gazing up at the battlements, Max searched anxiously for any familiar faces among the multitude. At last he saw Nigel leaning out from one of Northgate’s towers. Max called the man’s name over and over until he finally looked down.

“Get a message to Ms. Richter!” Max shouted, cupping his hands. “Sound the retreat!”

“What—why?”

“NOW!”

Nigel disappeared and Max wheeled YaYa away, urging everyone—everyone who could run, walk, or crawl—to get inside the Northgate as fast as they possibly could. Thankfully, people were beginning to respond, to leave their positions and trot uncertainly toward the citadel. But many stopped and looked skeptically over their shoulders, unclear why they were being ordered to abandon the fields where they had just triumphed.

Max could feel the atmosphere changing. The breeze was dying away, but huge clouds were gathering from all directions to obscure the first stars of evening. There was a charged, metallic taste to the air, and even YaYa snorted nervously, swiveling her shaggy head as though searching for an unseen threat.

At last Max heard the great horns sound from within the citadel, a shattering call to retreat as hissing red flares shot out from every casting tower. From inside the walls, even Old Tom’s chimes were ringing an alarm as though Armageddon had come.