Don Bassingthwaite - World of traitors

Uukam and Biiri whirled, closed in on either side of Ekhaas, and brought their heavy swords around with a speed and force that turned elven grace into bloody tatters. Biiri’s blade cut the head from one elf. Uukam’s shattered the scimitar of the other and drove on into his chest. Red robes fluttered to the ground and torn flesh thumped down on top of them. Ekhaas’s song rose then faded away. For a moment, it seemed that the only sound was her and her companions’ breathing, the sound of triumph more certain and primal than any cheer.

Then the sound of the battle that still raged below the hill burst over them. The clash of metal. The shrieks of horses, the roars of great cats, the screams of the dying. Biiri’s sword, still raised, dropped. “Now we run, Ekhaas duur’kala,” he said. “Dagii commands it. You carry our muut.”

He moved to the earthworks at the brow of the hill to seize the crimson banner of the Riis Shaarii’mal, but when he reached it, he froze, staring down. Ekhaas rose from her crouch. Both she and Uukam went to stand beside him. Her ears flicked then went flat.

While they had fought atop the hill, the battle had shifted and surrounded them.

The reserve company that protected the bottom of the hill was a thin wall fighting raging opponents. The squares of the five companies that had first marched into battle were like sputtering flames, clinging to life. Even as she watched, two were extinguished completely as the elves surged and overwhelmed them. Bursts of lightning and fire flared here and there, wiping out more dar. What remained of the Darguul cavalry fought either with the reserve company or with the loose formation of the final company to enter battle, the Iron Fox. Maybe half of the Valaes Tairn warclan lay dead-but so did more than three-quarters of the Darguuls.

Along the seething border between dar and elves, Dagii fought Seach Torainar. The tall tribex horns mounted to the shoulders of Dagii’s armor marked the lhevk’rhu as surely as the flashing crystal in the high warleader’s helm did him. Bounding tiger leaped around wheeling horse. Hobgoblin sword and shield met deadly Valenar double-scimitar-two curved blades joined end to end through a single long hilt. Keraal fought close by, his whirling chain warding off any of the Valaes Tairn who tried to take Dagii from behind.

“Paatcha!” said Uukam in awe. “This is a battle worth dying in!”

“It’s a battle one of us must survive,” Biiri said. “Ekhaas duur’kala, if we don’t leave we’ll be caught.” He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away.

She shook him off. “We’re already caught. There are elves at the back of the hill.”

Uukam cursed and raced across the hilltop to the back edge, then cursed again. “A squad of our cavalry fight them, but more come. Our riders won’t hold for long.”

“We could fight our way through,” said Biiri, baring his teeth.

“And be struck down by Valenar arrows while we ran.” Trembling eagerness ran through Ekhaas. “Dagii makes a stand. The battle isn’t over.” She spun and thrust her finger at Biiri. “Bring the drum! Play!”

“I can’t!”

Uukam snatched the bloody brass rods from the hands of the dead drummer. “I can.”

“Then do it. Beat a pace like a loping tiger. Biiri, watch our backs.”

Ekhaas stepped up onto the earthworks so that she stood beside the Riis Shaarii’mal. She took three deep, slow breaths, then one that was very deep. She reached down inside herself, drew up the power of the song that twined around her soul, and sang as she never had before.

There had been words to the song she had sung for Biiri and Uukam. The tune had been familiar to them. What she sang now had no words, and the tune was ancient. Another duur’kala or one of the dedicated lorekeepers of the vaults of the Kech Volaar might know it. Ekhaas was certain that no one on the battlefield below had ever heard it, yet she was equally certain that it would fire the spirit of every dar, every true child of ancient Dhakaan, who did. The greatest glories of the past could never truly be forgotten.

Song rolled out of her belly and her chest as it had rolled out of duur’kala of old, but freshly infused with her magic-and from the first note, it seemed that what she sang was even older than Dhakaan, that it grew out of a primal need to fight for life and to triumph over death. The sensation was dizzying, but Ekhaas poured everything she felt into the song. Long hours of training in Volaar Draal had taught her how to project her voice, but even a duur’kala’s voice couldn’t carry unaided over the battlefield. A slim thread of magic stolen from the magnificent whole amplified and tied it to the rhythm Uukam beat out on the great drum. Both song and drumbeat rose into the sky and echoed across the plain, pure as sunlight and as powerful as a storm.

The battle paused, all eyes looking up at her in amazement, elven bright and dar dark. In the elves she could see a sudden tension, an instinctive mistrust of this martial music. In the dar, though, she saw exactly what she had expected. Wonder. Longing. Awe. Rage.

She sought out Dagii. The brass half-mask of his helm was raised to her-then he thrust his sword in the air. “Attack!” he roared. “Attack!”

The battle crashed back into motion. Dagii urged his tiger at Seach Torainar, but a ripple in the currents of fighting forced the two leaders apart. Quick-thinking elves launched a volley of arrows up at Ekhaas but the angle of the hill and a fold of the earthworks offered her protection. Or perhaps the song itself deflected the arrows. Ekhaas’s voice soared.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the glories of Dhakaan portrayed in the stories and artifacts that had come down through the ages to the Kech Volaar.

Carved cities and mighty fortresses.

Vast armies sweeping enemies before them-gnolls, elves, the dread daelkyr and their foul minions. Works of staggering majesty.

The magical songs of duur’kala and the wondrous creations of daashor.

The deeds of emperors and generals and warriors-heroes of the dar.

She channeled what she saw into what she sang, and her song was the song of the Empire of Dhakaan.

The beat of Uukam’s drum became the beat played by all the drums that had survived on the battlefield. The rhythm anchored Ekhaas to the fighting soldiers of Darguun. It carried her vision into living hearts, bringing a renewed energy to the goblin who rode his leopard against a Valenar horse, to the bugbear who laid about him with a steel mace that reaped lives as a scythe reaped grain, to the hobgoblin warcaster who beat his broken staff against the bleeding head of a staggering elf wizard. Ekhaas watched the reserve regiment at the base of the hill gather itself and throw back the Valaes Tairn. She watched the fragments of Darguul companies flow together, form themselves into wedges and force their way through their enemies to reach each other. She watched the Iron Fox Company, under Dagii’s command, take a position at the heart of the swirling battle.

And Valaes Tairn died-but so did Darguuls. Slowly, in spite of the valor of the dar, the battle turned back to the favor of the elves. A newly reformed company collapsed. A rush of elven cavalry drove the reserve company back to the base of the hill and shattered their lines. Beneath the swallow-tailed banner of stars, Seach Torainar whirled his double scimitar around his head and gathered elves for a rush on the Iron Fox. Dagii shouted and roared, urging his warriors into stronger lines to meet the attack.

“Maabet!” Biiri cried from behind her. “They’re through. They’re coming-the elves are climbing!”

The beat of Uukam’s drum faltered, then faded, and Ekhaas knew he had gone to aid in whatever defense Biiri could muster.