Michael Mathias: Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

From the ground, the half dozen men and the wide-eyed breed giant who was handling the rope came lifting up off of the ground. Some of the men stumbled and fell away, letting go of the line. The breed had tied the other end of the rope around his waist. He took a long leaping step, and when the others let go he was pulled high into the air. Vrot fought through his pain and lifted the huge half-breed up into the sky. A moment later, Flick gathered his wits, and with a clever spell, turned the spear into water. Bzorch roared out in frustration as the last coil handler went tumbling out of the sky with the rope trailing behind him. He crashed into the Dakaneese lines and luckily died from the impact before they could swarm over him.

The black dragon peeled away on surging wings and carried his protesting rider out over the vast expanse of marshland. In only moments, they were nowhere to be seen.

It looked to everyone that the dragon was fleeing due to the spear. The battle started to turn then. Jarrek’s men actually started to force the Dakaneese back toward the gates.

The Dakaneese retreat didn’t last long. Within the turn of a glass Vrot was back, his glands somewhat replenished after drinking in the marsh. While the dragon rained more acidy breath over the battle, Flick killed men and dwarves by the dozen with his powerful destructive spells. The battle raged on, Jarrek’s men steadily retreating eastward. King Jarrek was heartened when he finally set his eyes on Commander Escott’s force. It was clear that they were retreating too. It didn’t look like they had taken nearly as many casualties as Jarrek’s group had.

The zard, without any form of real military leadership, had kept advancing into Escott’s archers’ volleys. The number of skeeks pressing them had been reduced significantly. Every now and then a big geka, carrying four or five of the braver zard, would burst through the lines of Escott’s ranks and wreak havoc, but it was the thick swarming clouds of dactyls that were giving them the most problems.

When commander Escott saw Jarrek’s thinning numbers easing back toward his, he cringed. The remainder of their force was nowhere near the city’s gates anymore. This section of O’Dakahn’s wall was relatively deserted. He knew that it wouldn’t last, though. If they got backed up against the wall they would be surrounded. Hot oil and arrows would eventually come raining down from above with the dragon spume and that would be the end of it.

Escott hoped that Jarrek had a trick up his sleeve, but he had no idea what it would be. Soon enough he would be able to ask the gore-splattered Wolf King himself. It wouldn’t be long until both of them were backing into each other.

Mikahl finally managed to get out of the cloud of dactyls that was harrying him. At first he thought it was his maneuvering, and Ironspike’s magic, that won him free, but then he saw the sleek black dragon coming in sharply and realized that the dactyls had fled from it. They had no desire to be splashed by the wyrm’s wicked slaver.

Mikahl made an evasive move to get clear of the speeding creature, then checked himself to make sure that he was shielded as well as he could be. After that, he sent a fireball streaking at the dragon. He had no choice but to peel away from his current position. Vrot altered his course and flew around the fireball as if he were water flowing around a boulder. A gout of spew went splattering across the archers at the front of Commander Escott’s side of the battle. Mikahl had to look away as their bodies began dissolving. In a surge of disgusted rage Mikahl sent a trio of fireballs at the dragon in a triangular pattern. Vrot came around the first one and took the second hard in the hind quarter. The third nearly took Flick off of the dragon’s back. The bald wizard held on for his life as Vrot twisted and shivered the pain from his scales. Vrot let out a roar. Flick had just righted himself when the agile black wyrm was forced to pull up into a stall to avoid one of Bzorch’s whizing spears.

The breed giant cursed savagely and slung his big crossbow over his shoulder. He couldn’t believe the dragon was able to stop in midair like that. Quickly, he began coiling up his line. It was the only one he had left. It wasn’t easy carrying his own rope, but he was managing it. He had two spears and one line left, and a focus of will that is only attainable by a predator on the hunt.

There was a Dakaneese arrow sticking up out of the breed giant’s back and a ragged cut across his waist, but he didn’t seem to notice them. His intensity was frightening, even to the men of his own company. For a long while, several Highwander men had fought around Bzorch to keep him protected while he reloaded, but when Vrot swooped low the breed shouldered his way right out of his own protection and stalked into the enemy’s ranks. With his club like fist and terrifying growl, he cleared his own path through the mayhem. Occasionally an arrow would streak into an enemy who was trying to make a move on the big creature, but it didn’t matter-the hulking half-blood seemed to be, for the most part, battle blessed.

King Jarrek sighted commander Escott and began working his destrier that way. A Dakaneese soldier carrying a long sword made a darting charge at his mount, but the well trained horse saw the man coming. It bucked sideways and then nearly pitched Jarrek over its head as it back-kicked and caved in the breastplate of the attacker. No sooner than the horse’s hooves found the ground again, Jarrek spurred the animal forward to avoid a big screaming dactyl that had been skewered by one of the archers. It crashed into the space where he and his horse had just been, taking out several men.

Jarrek chanced a skyward glance and caught his breath. Mikahl had engaged the dragon. Jarrek hadn’t expected the sky to be filled with swamp birds. The archers were doing the best they could, he saw, as another of dactyl came half flapping, half spinning down into a cluster of soldiers.

Jarrek took in the city wall to the south. Archers were gathering along its top. They were sending long arcing volleys of arrows out into the fray. He glanced to the north and saw that hundreds of skeeks, all riding their quick, ferocious geka lizards, had closed off the only way left to avoid being pinned against the barrier. Jarrek realized his mistake. One of the first rules of battle was to never underestimate your enemy. Now, here they were being pushed back against O’Dakahn’s wall by Ra’Gren’s soldiers, Shaella’s skeeks, and her wizard’s dragon. The reinforcements Queen Rachel and Queen Willa had dispatched were still days away. Not only had King Jarrek failed his enslaved people, many of whom were still in chains beyond the huge city wall, he had led all these men who had come to fight for his cause to their deaths. The intensity of his regret almost outweighed the anger he felt at himself for being such a fool.

Overhead the dragon roared and Jarrek mimicked the sound from some place deep within himself. Angry beyond reason, he charged his mount into the heat of the battle.

“Follow me!” he ordered a group of mounted Seawardsmen. “We’ve got to get through or we are done!”

He decided that he would either carve a way out of the press or die trying. The men, seeing his intent, disengaged from their current battles and followed him, each knowing that the endeavor was next to impossible.

Commander Escott saw the realization of the situation come over King Jarrek’s face. The Red Wolf had miscalculated, and now he was attempting the impossible. Escott spoke a prayer to the sun gods of his people and then ordered a dozen of his cavalry to follow the Red Wolf. A moment after they rode into King Jarrek’s wake, the commander sent half a score of men after them. If the old Red Wolf was willing to sacrifice himself to carve them a way out of the trap they had fallen into, he was going to try and make sure that the sacrifice wasn’t made in vain.