Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (49 page)

“If we keep the Koria portals open, at least
half of our units would have to be sent there to protect the people
coming through. Ryannon’s army is bigger than ours, I’m sure of
it.”

He looked to General Statlen, who nodded in
agreement.

“If we divide, we won’t survive.” He paused
as if planning his next words carefully.

“Statlen, we have to stand
strong as a people, we’ll need
anyone
who can to fight. Send those
who are unable back to town and equip the rest with weapons. Keep
your troops on the south end of the lake, between Westrim and the
east fields. Our priority is to guard those portals and get our
people through safely!”

Just then, Bridgette burst into the room.
“They’re coming,” she blurted. “We can see them on the hills!”

“General!
Go!
" Jonathan
commanded.

Bridgette huffed and panted. "There . . .
there’s so many of them,” she sputtered.

“Follow me, girls,” Jonathan instructed,
leading them out of the foyer and to a room that was full of
weapons and armor in all shapes and sizes.

Bridgette and Kahlie each were given a
sleek, dark charcoal grey suit that looked like smooth stone, but
weighed next to nothing.

Bridgette picked up a weapon that resembled
a bow and arrow. “I did take first in archery at Camp Hideaway,”
she smiled.

Kahlie, of course, reached for a sword.

“Audril, here." Jonathan handed his daughter
a suit similar to the others, but with some very distinct
differences. A bright silver, ornate metal work scrolled
intricately around the neckline, forming a plate of hard steel that
wrapped around the mid-section; the sleeves extended into mesh
gloves at the end. In the center of the abdominal shield, was an
etching—a picture of a beautiful, glorious angel. “This was your
mother’s,” he sighed, “it will protect you.”

Audril took the suit and climbed into it.
She grabbed a sword and looked to Jonathan who had just clicked the
last buckle into place on his armor.

“Get to the portals,” he ordered, hugging
her tightly. “Bring our people home safely, Atoh.”

Audril smiled, but worry was present in her
eyes.

Jonathan turned his attention to Kahlie.
“Don’t let anything happen to her, Kahlie,” he pleaded. Kahlie
gasped as he spoke the exact words that Gracielle had just before
the last battle. “Don’t worry. I . . . I won’t,” she stammered.

Without another word, Jonathan grabbed her
by the arms, pulled her to him, and kissed her squarely on the
lips. “Don’t let anything happen to you, either,” he grinned, as he
ran the back of his gloved hand gently down her cheek.

Bridgette giggled, and Audril smiled.

“Now, go on girls!” He took a deep breath,
and then added, “I’ll join you after I speak to Tabbit.”

T
he fighting was already in full swing when Jonathan appeared
at the northeast side of Mystad Lake. With him was a full
contingent of soldiers. The Mandelan Army had lined up a barricade
at the west end of the lake, but the Brashnellans were slowly
breaking through.

Audril, Kahlie and Bridgette were hurriedly
pulling people through the portals. Those who were willing and able
to fight were sent immediately to the Fifth Unit to receive armor
and weapons. Those who weren’t able were quickly escorted out of
the meadows and back to Mandela City.

Audril had just looked up and realized
Jonathan was approaching, when suddenly, all hell broke loose. The
Brashnellan Army made an aggressive push forward, broke through the
line, and burst out onto the field. Ryannon’s soldiers, as though
trained to do it, immediately headed for anyone who wasn’t armed.
Every Mandelan who had weapons was forced to come to the aid of
those who couldn’t defend themselves. Audril, Bridgette and Kahlie
rushed to the other side of the field, leaving the people at the
portals to come through into the chaos of a full-fledged war.

Adding to the tumult, the people coming
through the portals began screaming and yelling. Those who had
already come through the portals were frantically reaching back,
yanking others from the old world as fast as they could.

“What is it?" Bridgette shouted. “What’s
going on?”

“I’ll find out!” Audril responded, as she
stabbed a Black Warrior. She pushed him to the ground and sped
across the field.

Jonathan and his soldiers reached the
portals just a moment before she did. “It’s flooding!” he yelled.
“They say there’s a huge wave!”

At that moment, she
realized that the vision she’d been shown by Lantalia wasn’t
symbolic or a warning. It was an actual, literal fate. The water
was streaming into Old Lor Mandela and it was minutes away
from
real
destruction. “Dad,” she shrieked, “we have to get them
through!”

As the battle raged on behind them the
Brashnellans began to cheer and point at the sky. There, about
twenty feet in the air, perched on the massive pewter back of
Syltar, was Ryannon. He flew overhead, raining vystorans down on
the Mandelans below. They dropped to the ground in droves writhing
in agony before dying.

“Stop him!” Jonathan yelled toward his
troops. “Take him down!”

The words had no sooner left his lips than
an arrow swooshed through the sky and pierced into Syltar’s side.
Jonathan glanced toward the direction from which the arrow had
come, and saw Bridgette holding her bow up high. She quickly
reloaded, and launched another arrow, this time narrowly missing
Ryannon’s head.

“Ugh,” she sighed and stomped her foot,
“how’d I miss that?”

Syltar shrieked out in pain and squirmed and
twitched. The giant creature’s cloak-like black wings slashed
through the air as it twisted suddenly to the side with such force
that Ryannon slid off and fell hard to the ground. Syltar plummeted
to the ground landing in a loud thud just a few feet away from
Ryannon.

This would have been the opportune moment
for the Mandelan soldiers to capture Ryannon, had something
completely unexpected not happened. The very second his body hit
the ground there was a brilliant blast of light, and Old Lor
Mandela flashed into view—suddenly visible—floating alongside East
Mystad Field, right where the portals had been. It was as though
the hundreds of small portals suddenly combined into one enormous
planet-sized portal—one that didn’t expand or collapse, but stayed
constant and wide open. Hundreds of thousands of shocked people
stood at the edge of Old Lor Mandela staring at the near
mirror-image that had appeared before them. Hundreds of thousands
of shocked people stood on the battlefield of New Lor Mandela
staring back.

Audril looked toward the distant hills and
mountains of Old Lor Mandela. There, swelling behind them was a
colossal, thundering wave.

“Run!
” A general aiding in the evacuation on Old Lor Mandela
bellowed with all his might.

Everyone on the old planet broke into a full
run, barreling through to New Lor Mandela in an attempt to flee the
giant wave that was now cascading over the hilltops, and crashing
into the valley below.

Several people fell and were trampled by the
stampeding mob. Others were washed away as the relentless wave
swept over them. The flood waters rushed across the fields and lake
on Old Lor Mandela, colliding with a bang into an invisible barrier
that now seemed to be separating the two worlds.

The distraction had given
Ryannon the time he needed to recover from his fall. He rose to his
feet, and in an unnaturally amplified voice, roared,
“Killlll themmmmm!”

The Black Warriors descended on the unarmed
Mandelans like wolves, obeying Ryannon’s command and killing
whoever they could. Men, women, children, crippled and elderly; it
didn’t seem to matter to the ruthless Brashnellan Army.

Panic consumed Audril as she watched the
horrible scene unfolding on the battlefield, combined with the
mountain of water pounding the invisible wall, washing away the
hundreds of people who had not been fortunate enough to have made
it through.

Just as panic threatened to render her
immobile, someone ran behind her, bumping her on the shoulder as
they went by.

“Look out, Blue!”

She spun around to see Glaron engaged in a
duel with a Brashnellan soldier.

“Where’d you come from?” she shouted as she
moved toward another Black Warrior. “Where are the Trystas?”

Glaron spun around and thrust his sword
backwards. It plunged directly into its intended target’s chest. “I
don’t know! But don’t worry, they’ll be all right! They can breathe
under water for a while.”

He spun to the side to
face another attacker and added, “Ultara found out I let you go!
I’m in serious . . .
Whoa . . .
dude!
”

A Brashnellan jumped out in front of him
with a vystoran sleeve. He dropped to the ground and rolled out of
the way, just as the Sleeve discharged. The vystoran splattered
against the back of the warrior Audril had been fighting, and he
collapsed in a shrieking heap.

Glaron wasted no time in dropping both the
Warrior he’d been fighting, and the one who had shot the
vystoran.

“Glaron! You don’t understand,” Audril
shrieked. “It’s about to blow!”

“What? What do you mean?” They were only a
few feet apart, but had to yell loudly to be heard over the
din.

“Old Lor Mandela!” Audril pointed toward the
old planet which was now engulfed in water; a giant liquid wall
stretched from the ground to the sky. The invisible barrier, which
had been keeping the huge wave from dropping down on top of them,
now seemed to be deteriorating, as streams of water began to
trickle through the weak spots. The impending annihilation via
tidal wave seemed to be having little or no effect on the
Brashnellan Army, however. They fought like machines seemingly
spurred on by the gloominess of the situation.

Audril glanced over her shoulder to where
she’d left Kahlie and Bridgette. They were both battling
ferociously—as was her dad. As she watched them, she, herself, was
met by an attacker. She fought him off with relative ease and then,
seeing that her dad was dueling two Brashnellans at once, took off
across the field to help him.

Suddenly, the roar of the water dropped in
volume almost down to nothing. Audril stopped running and looked
nervously toward Old Lor Mandela. The wall of water was shrinking.
The flood was starting to recede!

As the massive wave retreated she noticed
that—miraculously—there were still hundreds of people standing
where it had just been. They banged and kicked against the barrier,
which was all it took. Within just a few seconds, the weakened
barrier completely gave way and the frightened crowd moved in a
collective run toward New Lor Mandela.

A low rumble sounded in the distance.

“Get off! NOW!” Audril
shrieked and bolted toward them.
“Move!
Move! Get out of there! HURRY!”

Glaron ran up behind her and caught her by
the shoulders. “Boo, what’s going on?” he bellowed. “What’s that
noise?”

The rumbling amplified.

Audril struggled loose
from him and took off running again. “We’ve got to get them out of
there! It’s gonna blow!
The planet’s going
to explode!”

“What?”
Glaron gasped.
“No! The
Trystas!”
He broke into a frantic run,
speeding right past her.

“Glaron! NO! Get back here!”

The rumbling grew louder and louder and was
now shaking the ground like a powerful earthquake. The battle had
virtually stopped, as no one could move from the careening spots on
which they stood.

The group of soaked Mandelans had made it
through, but several of them were now just inches inside and unable
to go any further. Glaron fought to get past them but was held back
by the swaying planet and the mob of people.

The rumbling became a growl; the growl
became a roar; the roar escalated to a ghastly shriek; and then
suddenly, in a cloud of choking magenta dust, there was a massive
catastrophic explosion.

Glaron dropped to his
knees.
“Noooooo!”
His anguished cry was the last thing Audril heard before a
forceful shock wave ripped through the field and sent everyone
flying.

Audril barely noticed she’d been thrown. The
moment she was able to move again, she pulled herself back to her
feet.

“Ahhgghh!” she cried, as a jolt of pain
surged through her right leg. It buckled at the knee, and she
almost lost her balance and fell over again. She tried to survey
the damage, but the air was still clouded with thick dust. What she
could see were the dark forms of bodies lying motionless everywhere
around her.

As the air finally began to clear, the
horrific scene became even more terrifying.

The Brashnellan Warriors were almost all
back on their feet, moving together toward one side of the
field.

Very few of the Mandelans had regained
consciousness.

Audril tried to take advantage of the dust
that was still settling by crouching down behind it and moving from
body to body, shaking the crumpled forms in an effort to revive
them. The pain in her leg was searing and her hunched over posture
made it all the worse. It stabbed in throbbing rhythm with each
step she took.

“Come on, wake up,” she whispered as she
shook a lifeless Mandelan soldier.

“Hey,” came the welcome sound of Bridgette’s
louder than necessary whisper. “Are you okay?”