Black Dawn - Chapter 27: The Light and the Dark

With war comes death. Lala stirs the others to go on, as the siege of Grendelock Keep demands the courage of all.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

 [Sad Winds] by David Fesliyan, [Drifting Minds] by Alexander Nakarada, [What Will Happen] via EmoMotiveRoyaltyFreeSoundtrack, [Neglect] by Lucas King, [Skylines] by Tarena, [I Never Met You] via DreamyRoyaltyFreeMusic, [Horizon Flare] by Alexander Nakarada,[Orchestral Suspense] by Dennix, [Blood Pumping] by David Fesliyan, [Agression] by David Fesliyan, [The Northern Path] by Alexander Nakarada, [The Devil’s Cell] by XX, [Various Others] via Storyblocks Audio

monster bite by LucasDuff, Water Splash by Raavj, Didgeridoo Monster Roar by Noxdl, Anoa Bison Combo.mp3 by Animadierer, [See Previous Episodes for all other effects]

 Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth, Bartlett, and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Breed, and Gulanis

Liam Taylor [Voice Actor] - Voices Grandmaster Strongthorn

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing, Extras

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aruthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust, Admiral Peelwarden

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot, Kithria Wraithchasm, and Ryuki Purplefist

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Gundak, Percin and Dwarf extras

Alexander Doddy [Voice Actor] – Voices Rail Markrune, Van Leadsword

Callum Garner [Voice Actor] – Voices Gewurmarch Rottbone

Dio Kerr [Voice Actor] – Voices Dustorn and Hiryoto Dragonfright

Jerron Bacat [Voice Actor] – Voices Goblins, Artho, Ninjas, Dark Elves, Extras

Big Boy Buff Boy [Voice Actor] – Voices Goblins, Hao Grimswallow, Extras

Brandon Woodcock [Voice Actor] – Voices Goblins, Clergy, Extras

Transcript

Sand and the Wing stood beside their dragons in the landing field. The fighting had been heavy, and the air thick with enemies. They’d been up so long, the dragons had found it hard to stay in flight. More than once Sand thought they weren’t going to make it back to the keep.

But they had. Most of his Wing—even Thunderclap was gone now too. And now that Sand’s heart had stopped roaring from the heat of battle, he felt lost as Turim’s friends stood about him.

He clenched his fist, throwing his lance over the edge of his riding shield with a metallic clatter.

How could it have happened? They’d been watching out for each other so closely. His chest ached. He shook his sweaty locks of hair to shake away the pictures of Turim hitting the ground. “So horrible,” he said to himself. The fall repeated in his mind.

Turim was dead. He’d left Sand behind to take care of matters on his own. When Sand considered this, he hadn’t been able to figure out many things. But there was one he was sure of: he was angry.

The rangers looked like they were in shock at his news. The guy called Strevan’s eyes shifted, but he didn’t say a word. Then they fell on the fairy sitting on his shoulder. She shook her head and hung it low, leaning against Strevan’s neck.

The dwarf, Aldor, bowed and rested his bearded chin on his pick. But maybe his pride and determination had won over, he lifted his chin and set his pick on his shoulder again. He stood quiet for a long while after.

Sinfa had tears in her eyes. They balanced there for a while before two tears dropped. She pulled her red cap down. Wiping her eyes, she turned away from the others.

The little halfling wailed openly. Her small body trembled with each sob and her eyelids were red.

But there wasn’t any more time for grieving—not right now—though undeniably Sand’s heart hurt more than any of these new friends of Turim’s. They’d just met him, he’d known him since the Academy when they were boys.

He turned to the Wing, looking over their condition. Breed and Bartlet sat to his right, drinking water, splashing their faces. Artho, and Kairn, the new rider, were to his left. Besides their emotion, all of them were weary, but the dragons had taken the worst toll of any.

“Lasertooth,” Sand called to his copper. “Are you alright? How are the dragons?”

“I’m as well as can be expected after the loss of the Commander,” said Lasertooth, trying to look up at him. “It’s my heart that hurts more than any wound I bear.”

“Mine too, my friend.”

Lasertooth craned his neck towards Sleekscale and Morning. He uttered a few guttural noises and Sleekscale and Morning remained silent. “The grief is deep, Lieutenant.”

Their Shiningscales were covered with wounds where blood had dried and scales had been torn. They’d all lain down on the field, their chests heaving. Pressing his hand against him, Sand could feel Lasertooth’s rise and fall.

“What do I do?” he asked himself angrily. The dragons needed rest. But should he take the Wing—his Wing, he supposed—into battle with the Chromabacks on foot? Was it madness? What would Turim do?

He knew they were his to guide now. He knew he had to keep his head on straight if he was going to keep them alive. “But staying clever and in charge?” he shook his head. “That’s sure as The Hells the last thing I want right now.” Like Turim always said, he could be hotheaded and disruptive.

“If only I could hear him say it now,” he mumbled to himself.

Then he heard a small voice from the grass below. It was the halfling, barely a foot away.

“We’ve got to keep fighting,” said Lala, staring up with big brown eyes, rimmed with pink.

“Miss Truffleroot, I—” Sand started.

Lala cut him off. “My village was destroyed by those evil dragonites. They killed my mum. They killed my pa. And then they threw me in that cage, and I felt myself slip into the darkness of my thoughts. I didn’t think I’d ever escape that. But I did. Turim helped keep my spirits up. He brought me out of that black place. He gave me the courage I needed. And that’s what we have to have. Courage. I didn’t think I really had it until now. But I do. And I’m angry.” She grit her teeth and balled her fists. “And I’m going to fight like I’ve never fought before.”

Sand shook his head and let a faint smile pass his dry lips. “I think you said what I needed to hear.” Turim had the courage to fulfill the oath they’d sworn, ‘to the end of our days’ they’d said. Now it was his turn.

The other companions came up around Lala.

Sand looked northward along the row of landing fields. Grandmaster Strongthorn was descending into a courtyard there. Sand had seen the Black Division’s dragons inside the keep as he landed. Grandmaster Strongthorn must’ve too—he and Smokewind had come down in about the right place. He didn’t know what the Dragon Army would do next, but maybe he and the others could manage one thing at a time. Besides, he wanted news from Grandmaster Strongthorn. The last he’d seen him, he was miles out from the keep—almost to the enemy lines. Maybe he had a plan.

He spoke to his men with a hoarse, but strong voice. “We have enemy dragons to drive away! Our own are worn out and need time to rest. You’ve flown a long time today, and you’ve fought a long time for us. It’s time we did some blade-work of our own.”

“You know we’re with you, Lieutenant,” grunted Artho. The wingmates gave signs of agreement.

Sand turned and gave heed to the companions. “These here are Turim’s allies. What do you say Miss Truffleroot, will you come with us?”

Artho, Breed, Bartlett, and Kairn came up behind Sand. They looked to each of the allies now as well.

Tartara glanced up at Strevan, a glint of hope in her eye. “We must, Strevan,” she quietly whispered, “or all will be lost. It might still be lost, but don’t you want to try and keep it?”

Strevan nodded and gazed back over his shoulder at the others who stood behind him. “Tartara and I will go with you. But I can’t speak for the rest of us, sir.”

Aldor tromped forward, his pick on his shoulder. “Aye, boy! We can’t just let Turim’s death go unpunished. And maybe Darf’s too. I ain’t standing for that.”

“No,” said Sand, his heart rising again. “We can’t, can we.”

Then all eyes went to Sinfa and Lala. They looked at one another and nodded slowly.

“I’m going,” said Lala with confidence. “Now’s the time for deeds—great deeds.” She seemed grim and determined.

Sinfa slung her auto-crossbow over her shoulder and strode forward to Aldor and Strevan’s side. Tears had stained her soiled cheeks, smeared by the back of her gloves as she’d hastily wiped it away. But her jaw was set, tough as nails. “If I was left back,” she said, choking back a knot in her throat, “you’d feel my bolt in the back of your skull. You can be sure of that.”

Aldor gave a subtle start. He turned his head to look at her for a moment before his gaze returned to Sand.

“Take care Lasertooth!” shouted Sand to his copper mount. “Bring the others to find us when you’re rested and ready for more!”

“Indeed we shall, Lieutenant,” replied Lasertooth. His voice was tired, but he looked proud. “Be careful.”

“Let’s go,” Sand called. “Unless we want to lose more men!”

Sand, his Wingmates, and Turim’s companions headed out through the gates of the dragon stable adjacent to their field, and onto the packed road beyond. Their pace was quick, nearly a run.

Sand noticed many left their battle-worn dragons on the fields to rest. He also spotted a lot of knights running in the same direction. Maybe they were making for the Grandmaster too?

In a clatter and thump of a loose band of skirmishers, they soon reached the courtyard. There was a stray Chromaback or two laying dead near the stables. But most of the keep itself was still in good shape—so far.

A blast of flame ripped through the night, and Sand skid to a halt. The others slowed and stood behind him.

Grandmaster Strongthorn held tight as Smokewind’s claws swung and teeth fiercely snapped. Several Hawk Knights were on their Shiningscales behind them.

The Grandmaster’s lance leapt forward, again and again, driving itself through enemy rider and dragon wing alike. In a few moments, Grandmaster Strongthorn and his guard had slain the Dark Knights and their dragon mounts, leaving the area clear of all living enemies for now.

“It doesn’t look like the Grandmaster needed us,” said Breed, letting his sword slip back into its scabbard.

Bartlett’s big hands did the same. “The night’s still young.”

“Grandmaster!” Sand called out.

He wasn’t looking forward to giving him the news. He thought Grandmaster Strongthorn had seen Turim break away from the Wing, but he wasn’t sure he’d seen him die.

Grandmaster Strongthorn looked towards him. He scanned. Then his brow rose, his mouth tightened, and his eyes seemed older than they’d ever been. “No… it can’t be. Where’s Turim, Lieutenant Rocketblade?” He said this last part like Sand was being accused of something.

Sand came to a halt before Smokewind and bowed his head low. He shook it slowly, pushing back the pain he felt again at this reminder. “Gone Grandmaster. Gewurmarch Rottbone slew Commander Gliderlance.” He tried to be more formal, knowing the Grandmaster would appreciate the privacy.

But Grandmaster Strongthorn sank in his seat. All nobility and sternness slipped from his features and form. “I knew. Or at least, I was afraid I already knew. I tried to follow Turim, but I—I couldn’t. There were too many—”

Sand wondered what it might be like to lose a son. But that only made him think of his pa, and how heartbroken he’d be.

Turim’s death wouldn’t be pointless. Sand knew he had to keep going, or what they’d all fought for would be lost, and their lives would be spent for no reason. And that, he wouldn’t accept. For Turim. For the Genovans. For his father. For poor Grandmaster Strongthorn who’d lost the boy he’d called ‘son’.

Grandmaster Strongthorn sat still and silent. All eyes looked up at him. But at length, he straightened his resolve and stiffened his posture. “I know the pain you must feel Sand, and I’m sorry for it. But I have news.” The others behind Sand stirred. “The Black Division has gathered at their lines on the Plains of Sirik. I’ve heard reports that Gewurmarch Rottbone rallied them with words, and now they’re coming.”

“What?” said Sand. “I thought we’d at least have tonight to rest? To grieve!” He caught a shout before it came out too loudly.

“No, Lieutenant,” answered Grandmaster Strongthorn, unbuckling himself. “I wish that was true. The Chromabacks have already crawled within a thousand paces of the Golden Ridge. Soon the enemy will approach, and be upon our eastern wall.”

 Sand shook his head. “Damn.”

“We’ll spend our proper grievances later, Sand,” said the Grandmaster earnestly. “I promise you. Mine are as deep as any.”

Then Sand heard the sound far out on the plains. It was the braying of the black horns, brazen, and evil. The night siege of Grendelock Keep was about to begin.

* * *

All around him was darkness. As the life slipped from Turim, a warmth worked its way through every inch of his body. The loss of all that had ever made him sad or discomforted, uneasy or fearful, simply drifted off. He remembered lying on the cold earth, on the bloodstained grass of the Plains of Sirik, but all else fell away into obscurity. Darkness often brought discomfort to the living. But the darkness in death brought Turim quite the contrary.

Then he believed he saw something. Time seemed to wind on faster than the swiftest afternoon when one’s at ease in the comforts of leisure, and slower than the wait for a wonderful festival that’s many months off. “So very strange,” he thought.

A pin of light grew bit by bit. He wondered what it might be, but he also cared very little. He had all the time in the world now that he was no longer a part of it. He was curious, but not so much that he couldn’t wait patiently. Patient? He felt more patient than he’d ever known possible. “Is time even passing?” he wondered.

When at last the light seemed to open up before him, it enveloped him, and he saw his own shape again. His body was now mended. “If I can call it my body still,” he considered. His armor, helm, and sword lay around him though, shattered and broken in pieces. Was he lying on the ground? He couldn’t be sure precisely what it was.

The light itself was the whitest of any he’d ever seen, and it shone so intensely bright that he could soon see little else. Still, it didn’t hurt his eyes to gaze into its radiance. “Another oddity.”

Until then, all had been completely silent. No wind, no birds, no creaking of beams, no quiet groaning of his joints even. Then a soft voice suddenly spoke, and Turim gave a start.

“Stand before me, Turim Gliderlance,” it said.

Turim saw no one. The voice seemed as though it had come from all around him. The sound of it filled him with emotions—with love, courage, strength, and compassion all at once.

He effortlessly rose to his feet. With surprise, he couldn’t feel any weight to himself. At last, he mustered the courage to speak, “Who calls? Your voice is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. I beg you, speak again.”

Then he saw a figure standing before him. Or at least, it seemed as though some of the light had dimmed into the form of a figure. It was still the brightest being he’d ever seen, but it wasn’t wholly white anymore.

Slowly the figure became a golden swirl of robes, and then he could see a face of smooth, pure features. It had the shape of a woman, gently curving, and gracefully moving toward him. He stood motionless.

At last, he finally saw her in all her glory.

“I am a messenger,” spoke the voice again kindly. And now Turim was fairly certain the voice was coming from within this being.

He couldn’t move for a long time. He wanted to simply stare into her eyes and gaze on her golden, shining form. She was beauty itself. From her back flowed a magnificent pair of wings, with soft down at the base, and sharp, perfectly formed feathers toward their ends. She stretched them outward and pulled them back in, and they seemed to encircle everything Turim could see, or hear, or feel.

He gathered the wit to speak again. “A messenger? No, milady. You can’t simply be a messenger. Your magnificence is beyond compare. You bring me more comfort than I’ve ever known. I can’t believe you’re but a messenger.”

Her mouth curved and she gazed with what seemed like fondness on Turim then. “The One has sent me with a message. So I am not, maybe, a simple messenger, as you have said, but the task of delivering a message has been presented to me and I have accepted it—so I am a messenger nonetheless. But if you wish for something to call me, I think your guess is right. I am the one called The Golden Damsel.”

Turim dropped to his knee and bowed in awe. “You—you’re Light, Brilliance, the Whitest Angel,” he said, hoping his words were fair enough, but not sure why he felt such a need to please her. “You’re the Protector of Light. The protector called Lumina.”

It was written that The God’s followers, the winged angels, watched Caball, loving it as their own, swearing to protect it. They were many in number and varied in their likeness and craft, and The God had given them the ten elements to form and guide His worlds in their existence. Each element had been assigned to one of the seraphim, the protectors. And here was one of those seraphim, the Protector of Light.

“That I am, Turim Gliderlance,” said Lumina. “The God has given me the task of speaking to you of His will, and of His purpose for you. Please, stand before me now.”

Turim slowly rose to his feet, though it seemed far more difficult this time.

“The God has watched Caball in these dark hours. He bids me tell you—if you do not return, all its magnificence and beauty will be lost. Its souls shall be set forth at once, and a terrible conflict shall ensue. That we cannot allow. Caball’s doom has not yet come, and we still have a chance to save your world.”

“Doom?” asked Turim hesitantly. “Our world is doomed?”

“As are all,” said Lumina with a soft laugh. “For all things must come to pass in time. Yet always we work to keep your home a safehaven for you. Don’t fear, Caball’s Armageddon lies many ages off still. That is, if we take action at once.”

Turim breathed deeply. The statement confused him and left him with questions, but he trusted her. He couldn’t help but trust her. Instead, he continued with another quandary that sprang to mind. “Am I not passed from life then?”

The seraph’s wings stretched. “On the contrary, Master Gliderlance. True, Gewurmarch Rottbone has slain your body, but The God wishes for your soul to return now. You have been given a gift of life that none before have been given upon Caball—a second chance. You have a part to play yet in Caball’s salvation.”

Turim thought this over for a few moments. He’d never considered himself one of great importance to The God. He didn’t think he was particularly pious. “Why me?” he asked. “What can I do?”

“It’s not simply what you can do, but what you can inspire in others. You have lived your life not for yourself but for those about you, never straying from the path you have set for yourself. You believe you can achieve something through your strength, and you have never given over your free will and expected the world to move of its own accord. For it does not—not wholly at any rate. You have taken responsibility for your actions—be they good or ill—and that is a noble and just thing.” Lumina pressed her palms together a moment as she spoke before him. “And never have you judged another beyond simple thought, for that is not the purpose of those who dwell upon Caball, nor what is right. Through your choices, you are placed in a body upon the world so your soul grows with knowledge and experience.”

Turim felt as though he’d gained a comprehension greater than he’d known. “It’s unfortunate some take those experiences and use them for ill intent.”

“True,” agreed Lumina with a tilt of her head. “The God shall pass judgment upon each soul in the end, but until that time, they shall be free to live a good or evil life if they so choose. That is why they have been given that choice.”

“I have found some feel differently,” Turim said with a frown.

“There are many who would call themselves—or would be called by the people of Caball—clerics or saints, who do not truly understand what The God wishes for those who dwell upon Caball. But forgive me, I mean not to speak so harshly of the people of your world. Most simply find it difficult to understand what The God has shown the ancients to write and tell, for oft folk choose to interpret things in the queerest manner.

But do not fret for the people of your world in this way, for these are not your concerns now, but His own. We now wish your attention turned again to the Dragon Army.”

Turim felt the warmth inside him slowly ebbing. He didn’t want it to go. “Lady of Light. Please, it pains me to return to that cold world. Where I am now gives me the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever experienced.” He paused a moment, then sighed. He didn’t particularly feel like there was a choice to make now. “Still, I’ll do whatever’s required of me. Tell me what The God wants, and I shall do my best.”

“I am sorry you cannot come home yet. Your pain will bring you growth, and in growth there is strength. You must return, so take solace in that.”

“Now?” asked Turim.

Lumina smiled with pity and motioned aside. “Don the armor that we have crafted for you. It has been forged from what remained of your father’s. Your new suit shall be borne by none but you, Turim Gliderlance.”

Turim turned slowly. His eyes fell on a magnificent set of armor that lay neatly now in the mist and light surrounding him. He took it up and pulled it on. It felt lighter than chiffon, but stronger than adamant. He looked for his helm but saw none.

“No longer shall you bear the helm of a knight, one adorned with the talons of old,” said Lumina. “I will also bid you; join the few other paladins at your keep, when there is time.”

He could do that. With the strength he felt, he could do all of it—anything.

Turim pulled a dark blue cloak around him and stood before the angel with his head bowed slightly. “What of my blade, White Lady?”

Slowly Lumina turned around, her golden robes alight on a slight warm breeze, smelling of sweet spring. As she came about, she bore in her hands a great golden mace.

Its hilt was wound with the finest leatherworking, and its shaft more solid than steel. But it was shimmering gold. Great, powerful studs surrounded the head, and it seemed to glow with a light like that of Lumina herself.

“This shall be your weapon now, Turim—the Aureate Mace—borne once by one of the greatest of angels: Omnisus. He fell in battle, outnumbered against thirteen million demons, two millennia before your world was created. He slew many demons in that battle. This weapon has been kept safe since that time. And now, The God has bid me gift it to you. Keep it well, for never before has one upon Caball wielded it.”

Lumina handed Turim the mighty Aureate Mace. It sunk into his hand slowly, but he bore its great size like a giant, and it felt lighter than it appeared. “What am I to do now, Bright One? You’ve told me so much, and yet so little. What’s this mace for? What am I supposed to do about Gewurmarch Rottbone and the Black Division? How is Meineken in his struggle against the Dragon Army’s navy? Was our guess right? Did our cavalry arrive in time?”

“Time.” Lumina smiled again, then leaned forward and kissed Turim on the forehead. “Alas, we are out of time. Worry not for the battle near Tusokan, it fares as it is meant to. Know that it is well. Now, my blessing shall go with you, and more importantly, The God’s blessing is upon you. Return to Caball. Arise once again, Turim Gliderlance, and forever shall you drive back the darkness!”

And then, once again there was nothing but black shadow, and Turim felt himself falling.

* * *

Atop the wall, Sand heard the elven Hawkeyes call down from the towers, and word swiftly passed along the rows of knights and bowmen atop the battlements. The Black Division was coming. There wasn’t much time and they’d be there.

He pushed forward, his Wingmates gathered with him. Further down the wall were Turim’s other companions—Lala, Sinfa, Aldor, Strevan and Tartara, Rail and what was left of the Rangers of Ys, and Grandmaster Strongthorn, who was now striding up and down the length, encouraging and checking on company statuses. More imposing than that though, behind each dragonrider, perched upon the battlement like great guardians, sat the riders’ dragons, scales glinting. Their wings outstretched and seemed to envelop everything. Sand probably wasn’t the only one missing his dragon—there were plenty of them resting—he only wished Lasertooth and the others could be there. He felt bare without them, and moreso without Turim to lead them.

“He and I were always supposed to be knights together,” he thought. But now Turim was gone, and he still had his duty to protect his country. It made him angry, because his duty on the wall right now, put aside his emotions. “Come to think of it,” he told himself, “obligations and duties in general, force people to put aside their emotions—what they really feel—to get done what needs to get done.” He clenched his jaw in determination. “The fewer responsibilities I have, the better. If I make it through—”

His thoughts came to an abrupt end as he saw The Black Division approaching under the moonlight. Dragons moved much slower on land, but they came, crawling along like winged geckyns—only much, much larger.

“Ready up, men,” Sand called to his Wing.

His muscles tensed. He stood breathless. At last, the enemy drew within bowshot. The archer’s captains watched, waiting for the precise moment. Then, man, elf, halfling, and sprite repeated “Fire!” across the battlements. A rain of arrows sprang from the wall as the Chromabacks began their climb up the Golden Ridge.

Shafts splintered and clattered against scales. With their bellies down, the dragons were tough marks. Eyes were almost their only exposed weakness. A Chromaback fell, then another. But there were too many, and even a whole company downed wouldn’t make much of a dent.

However, as the arrows filled the air, a curious event began.

Sand looked over to see Lala. She approached the battlements, pushing past some of the bowmen and Turim’s other friends so she could see. “Aside please.” She was quiet. He barely heard her. She stood there a moment, but he watched as she reached up and climbed between two pillars of stone on the wall.

And then she began to whisper what appeared to be a prayer. Sand shook his head, wondering if he was seeing this all properly. Her arms raised, and the moonlight made her a silhouette against the sky—small, but a sliver in the eye that couldn’t be ignored.

“Be caref—” he started to reach for her.

In the deep of sky, there was a flash, a small light, far off and unnatural. It reminded Sand of a falling star that one might miss if they turned their head at just the wrong moment. Then, as if it had been there all along but none had seen it, from just beyond the wall appeared a mighty behemoth, with a mane of sharp, bristling hair, dark as a raven, and skin thick and purple. It was larger than any dragon he saw in the field—at least ten times the size of the scaled beasts. It stood on four legs and perched on a spur of rock that jutted out from the Golden Ridge.

As it roared its challenge to its enemies, it leapt down the face like a wild cougar, bounding toward the Chromabacks that came at it.

When Sand felt the air drying his tongue, he closed his mouth. He looked back at Lala. She didn’t smile. She focused on the beast. The others who stood by looked on her with just as much astonishment.

Aldor whistled, “What in The God’s name.”

Sinfa only nodded wide-eyed, clutching her auto-crossbow.

“Now let’s see who’s going to get stepped on! Destroy these dragons!” Lala commanded her creature. “They’re not going to wreck our homes and our lives anymore!”

The behemoth dove on several of the dragons. It took several in a gargantuan bite, forcing them into the air. With a swat then, it crushed many against the rocks like flies.

Tartara flew to Lala’s side. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

“I only just found the confidence to try. I was scared before. But not anymore.” Lala returned her focus to her behemoth. It had slowly begun to wander when she lost concentration, though that hadn’t stopped it from wreaking havoc on the enemy. “No ma'am, not anymore.”

Sand drew forth his sword from its scabbard. “Blades at the ready, boys!” he shouted and swung a practice arc.

Various calls to arms sounded several times, running down the battlements. Then the ring of a thousand swords filled the air like an eerie song of war.

As the first Chromaback crawled up the rampart, a shout came from Grandmaster Strongthorn himself. “Stand now and stand forever! Pierce like the talon of the hawk!”

Dragons roared. Steel struck against steel. And the bowmen continued sending their arrows into the night.

The air above the Knights of the Hawk filled with breath, as the Shiningscales belched powerful flame, gas, lightning, acid, and searing ice into the darkness. They knocked their hated cousins from the walls and the slain fell crashing down the rock-face, smashing into one another as they went. A volley of breath elements rained from the Chromabacks too, and many Knights of the Hawk and their dragons were killed in the conflict between the two tribes.

The Black Division powered over the forward battlements with mighty wingbeats and took hold along the wall. There, they clashed with the Shiningscales, and the sound was like the ending of the world. Roaring. Crashing. Screaming. The Shiningscales did their best to protect the knights from the evil dragon’s assault.

Maybe it was because it was what Turim would’ve wanted—probably what he would’ve ordered—but Sand felt the need to protect Turim’s allies. They’d begun the fight in clear groups, but soon he and his Wing were scattered amidst them. They were fair fighters. The God, some of them were great. But they’d fought hard to bring Turim home, and Sand felt like it was his duty to return the favor. To keep them alive.

A Dark Knight lance sparked aside, deflected by his pilfered shield. He almost lost focus when Tartara flitted past him, but he drove his blade deep. Another dragon blasted the Chromaback off the wall with a jet of flame. He looked up to see the fairy attacking dragonriders, dodging in and out of the rangers’ arrows. He should’ve been nervous, but he knew that she stood a fair chance against the dragons because of her small size.

Out above the ridge, she pierced a dragon eye. It screamed and fell. She blinded another. The Chromabacks paid little attention to the fairy until it was too late.

Strevan line.

On his left, Aldor fought bravely with his pick, felling Dark Knights and dragons as they landed nearby. “Why have I sat idle in my mine for so long when such evil was gathering?” he bellowed.

Sand wasn’t sure who he’d been talking to, but had wondered the same thing about the dwarves plenty of times before.

Strevan stood back to back with Sinfa. Rail and several other rangers still fought further off, some of their forest griffons beside them.

“Curse it all,” yelled Sinfa, “I’m running low on bolts!”

Another thunk, thunk, thunk came from her crossbow contraption, sending a volley into the chest of a dragon as it breached the battlements.

“Then be careful,” replied Lala, lowering her hands. “Only shoot ‘em when you know you can hit ‘em.”

At last, Lala must’ve been too tired to hold the behemoth on the ridge below. It was gone, yet it had slain and eaten more than Sand could count. But then there were several wolves and grizziaks around them, so she must’ve had enough strength for that. Sand assumed they were hers. Who knew what all she could do? The creatures raced up and down, tearing at dragons’ legs, leaping to their backs to rip the Dark Knights from their saddlemounts.

But servants of the Dragon Army were everywhere. Chromabacks took the northeast tower. Dark Knight squads ran along the wall, unhindered, cutting down Knights of the Hawk and their archers. Death was everywhere. And soon the Knights of the Hawk were overpowered and driven back into the keep. The stairs at either end, and at various points along the wall, were filled with clusters of knights being killed at the hands of the enemy as they tried to retreat.

“Fall back to the courts!” shouted Grandmaster Strongthorn. “Fall back. Leave the battlements!”

It was bleak. The golden hawk-horns rang out in the cold.

The enemy had taken the wall.