The Grand Crusade (59 page)

Dravothrak spat Procimre’s head out, bouncing it through one of the Aurolani light cavalry units. He then folded his left wing, slewing his body around to the right. Sidrachuil’s dive carried him just to the left, narrowly missing the green. The gold-striped tail did hit, however: a flailing blow that crushed scales over Dravothrak’s spine. Dravothrak’s left hind leg spasmed, extending and clawing at air.

At that moment Adachoel hit him from below and tore at his belly. The gold’s slashing claws ripped away lighter green scales. Black blood began to well up in the wound. Droplets rained down and smoked, and spring grasses withered where they landed.

Despite the wounding, Dravothrak twisted in the air swiftly. With a flick of his right forepaw, he snapped Adachoel’s right wing. The gold dragon flapped hard, but uselessly, the broken wing fluttering raggedly. Adachoel screamed, then smashed into the ground again, this time on his left flank. Something snapped with a report crisper than a draconette shot. Adachoel clawed at the ground, struggling to regain his feet, but sagged back onto one rear haunch.

With the speed of a stooping hawk, Sidrachuil slammed into Dravothrak’s left side. Claws tore at scales, but that was just insult added to injury, for the impact had already crushed scales and bones beneath. Dravothrak fell from the sky.

If a last-second flapping of his wings did soften Dravothrak’s landing, Erlestoke could not tell. When the dragon hit, the ground shook beneath the prince’s feet. Horses reared and plunged, soldiers were knocked to the ground. Over on the Aurolani side, the drums stopped and a half-dozen draconettes shot. Dravothrak did land on his feet, but his belly hit hard as well. Flames shot from his mouth and nostrils as the impact knocked his breath from him.

Sidrachuil took no chances, but cruised past and hit Dravothrak with a pillar of fire. The flames laced the fallen dragon’s left flank, and where scales had been broken, flesh sizzled. Dravothrak roared and rolled to the left, smothering most of the flames. His head came up and his return blast of fire caught Sidrachuil beneath the tail. The striped dragon’s cloaca bubbled and blistered. But the wound, while painful, was not life-threatening.

At the base of the hill where he had landed, Dravothrak regained his feet and curled his tail around to protect his belly. He kept his body low and watched warily as Sidrachuil circled. He hissed something in dragontongue that Erlestoke could not recognize, but the tone dripped with contempt. There he was, bleeding, black wounds smoking, his armor broken and his belly leaking, defying his offspring to come down and fight.

To Erlestoke it seemed obvious that the only way Dravothrak stood a chance of defeating Sidrachuil would be for the younger dragon to descend.And for him to oblige would be foolish, but pride can promote so much foolishness.

Sidrachuil made another pass and wreathed Dravothrak with fire again. From within that conflagration a fiery lance rose, but missed the striped dragon’s tail. Dravothrak beat his wings and extinguished the fire, but had trouble furling them again. Raising his head, he snarled defiantly at the flying dragon and spat flame at him.

That attack never even came close to hitting Sidrachuil.

The striped dragon rolled in the air, then furled his wings and landed solidly on the hilltop. His claws digging deep, he shrieked at Dravothrak. Again the words needed no translation, for the venom in the tone told all. Erlestoke could have imagined his using that tone with his father and wondered what Dravothrak had done to make Sidrachuil hate him so.

Sidrachuil roared, then leaped onto his father. Claws scored some scales and

ripped others away cleanly. Sidrachuil’s head darted down, biting Dravothrak at the base of the neck. Fire appeared around his mouth and Dravothrak shrieked. The larger dragon rolled onto his back and kicked out with his hind legs.

That attack boosted Sidrachuil into the air and back up the hill. He landed on his rump, with his tail flicking up between his legs. The scales over his breast and belly had been grooved and gouged, and some were gone altogether. Had the blow to Dravothrak’s spine not damaged one of his legs, the attack could have easily eviscerated the younger dragon. Sidrachuil glanced down at his own ruined middle and howled, but even that painful cry ended victoriously.

Below him, at the hill’s base, Dravothrak struggled to rise, but he could not. The bite at the base of his neck ran black with blood and burned in several places. His left rear leg dragged and his right foreleg was not working. Though Erlestoke could not see much of his belly, black blood ran from beneath him in an oily sheet that withered grasses. His every motion became weaker until his last attempt to raise his head did nothing more than shift his muzzle a couple of feet.

Dravothrak’s chest rose and fell once more, then the green dragon lay still.

Sidrachuil raised his head to the sky and roared loudly. Fire shot high and Adachoel, crippled though he was, joined him in celebrating. To the north, the Aurolani drums began again, pounding out with ceaseless regularity.

Preyknosery screamed angrily and launched himself skyward. The Gyrkyme’s call rang with agony and resonated deep in Erlestoke’s chest. Dranae, though inhuman, had been incredibly human. Erlestoke realized he had become friends with the dragon, and that their friendship had transcended their different natures. Seeing Dranae in his dragon form, and not seeing his manform dead, gave Erlestoke a moment of detachment, then the full impact of the loss slammed into him.

Fury and despair warred in his chest. Erlestoke, hearing the enemy drums throbbing powerfully, threw himself into that fury. Despair would just suck the life from him, and that he could not afford. Anger hurt less and, even better, fueled his desire to make Dranae’s killers pay.

The prince grabbed the bugle from the signalman and raised it to his own lips. He tried to blow an alert, but all he got was a weak squeak. Disgusted, he tossed the horn back to the signalman. “To arms, for the third time. Do it!”

The bugler nodded and blew the alert perfectly. Up and down the southern line other bugles echoed the call. The southern formation stiffened as men moved back into line. They checked their armor, checked their weapons, and prepared for whatever their leader would demand.

Erlestoke marveled at their devotion. He supposed it could have been that each and every one of them assumed that the dragons from the other side would just hunt them down if they ran. But then he decided his warriors finally understood that if they did not oppose Chytrine here, there would be no escape. A line had been drawn, and the Aurolani could not be allowed to cross it. For if they

did, all of Oriosa and all of the world would fall. In that light, it didn’t matter if they were going to die; their task was to take as many of the enemy as possible with them.

Sidrachuil roared one more time, his throaty rumble mocking the southerners. Erlestoke drew Crown and wondered how it would fare against a beast that size. A thrust through an eye might work, or perhaps there was enough of a gap on his chest for the blade to reach his heart. Erlestoke wasn’t thinking he’d survive too well being bathed in dragon blood, but avenging his friend might well be worth the experience.

Suddenly that roar switched to a squeak, then a squeal. Erlestoke looked up from his sword and saw the hill around Sidrachuil boiling, almost the way sand jumps on the head of a drum. Brown and red, yellow and black, humanoid creatures emerged from the earth and swarmed over the dragon’s haunches and tail. Some had reached a wing and others were climbing up his flanks.

UrZreth.ilThe prince’s heart started to pound faster.The Bokagul havejoined us!

The urZrethi went after Sidrachuil as if they had been created for the sole purpose of killing dragons. Though tiny by dragon standards, they were incredibly strong. They had all shifted the shape of one arm into a wedge that could be driven beneath a scale, and the other a hook. Their toes had spikes, allowing them to pull themselves beneath the dragon’s own armor. Though Sidrachuil clawed at them and beat on his own flesh, smearing some of them over his scales, blood began to flow from countless other places. More and more urZrethi seeped from the earth and swarmed over Adachoel, too, dragging him down.

Even more urZrethi appeared in the foothills—legions of them. All of them had changed themselves for battle. Their skins had thickened into spiked armor. Their arms ended in hooks and blades and spikes. As they gathered, Sidrachuil tried to leap into the air, only to fall to the ground and roll helplessly toward his father’s corpse. The Aurolani drums faltered.

“Blow an advance,nowl”Erlestoke leaped into the saddle and reined his horse around. The bugler complied with his order, but it was hardly necessary. Already the human lines had begun to surge forward. The cavalry on the right wing hooked toward the east. The heavy infantry moved forward, solidly packed, and forded the river without breaking formation. The lighter infantry had a bit more trouble, but the Aurolani did not hit them before they could reform, thereby losing their only real chance at disrupting the southern force.

On Erlestoke’s troops came, not hurrying, waiting until they could get into range for their charge. The prince realized that he could issue orders, but they would not matter. Every warrior in his force had gone from hope to despair, then the certainty of death. There was not one of them that did not think three dragons opposing one was somehow unfair, and Dranae’s willingness to fight for them was a sacrifice they could not dishonor. This was their land, these were

invaders, and by all the gods and then some they were going to rid their land of Aurolani vermin once and for all.

The Aurolani plan had doubtlessly been to retreat to their defenses, so the shift of drumming to an advance seemed to catch some of their troops by surprise. They started forward, then the drums ordered a charge. It made sense, given they were uphill and would have momentum. Howling and screaming, the Aurolani poured down in a rush.

General Percurs snapped an order, and the Alcidese Throne Guards set themselves for the Aurolani charge. Shields came to the fore; spears were leveled at the enemy. Soldiers prepared themselves for the shock of impact, but even the strongest were driven back as gibberers crashed into their shields.

Many of the Aurolani were wounded by spears, and often impaled, but more got past their stuck brethren and hammered at the Alcidese shield wall. Behind them came hoargoun. Their clubs battered men aside, sending their limp bodies wheeling through the air. Crushed helmets and dented shields arced, and spears flew in the opposite direction. Pierced hoargouns faltered, then fell, only to be hacked to pieces as men moved forward.

Blood slicked the grasses. Bodies twitched and writhed on the ground. The two armies struggled along a line, with blood splashing those at the meeting point. The wounded fell back and fresh soldiers took their places. Out on the flank, cavalry turned and drove, slashing their counterparts and having their horses disemboweled by frostclaws. A man leaped from a dying horse’s saddle, stooped to raise his legion’s standard, then fell as a gibberer rode past and decapitated him with a heavy stroke.

Erlestoke watched the battle unfold. The urZrethi legions stalked forward, pressing the Aurolani eastward. They began to roll up the flank, which thinned the ranks on his own left wing, allowing them to move forward and accelerate the process. Calling to him the cavalry that had been backing the left wing, Erlestoke rode out and around to the east. There his right wing’s cavalry was holding the flank, so his bodyguards poured behind them and slashed straight toward the enemy command and reserves.

Drums pounded and a reserve battalion of Aurolani cavalry swept out from around the command pavilions toward his formation. The Oriosans who had come with him from Saporicia had formed themselves into the Prince’s Guards, and they stiffened their formation around him. With them came lighter cavalry from Hawkride and Midlands. Though the southerners outnumbered the Aurolani, the frostclaw riders did not swerve or shrink from their duty. On they came as southern lances swung in their direction.

Some frostclaws leaped high and forward before the cavalry smashed into each other. They sailed into the midst of the guards, slashing with claws, their riders laying about with flails or swords. Those at the point of the charge were knocked back or pierced. Screaming and thrashing they went down, to be trampled into a pulp.

Ranks of the guards were peeled away by the assault, but the core bored on, reaching the outer ring of Aurolani command pavilions. Horsemen rode through, slashing at tents and ropes. They laughed happily, chopping down fleeing gibberers. Erlestoke rode in their midst, looking for Anarus, knowing only he and Borell had weapons that could slay asullanciri.

Distantly he heard a sound. It came from the north, back from where Preyknosery had reported the maze of trenches and tunnels. Erlestoke had heard the noise before. It took him a moment to recognize it, and as he began to shout at men to turn back, a force blew him from the saddle.

What he had heard was the sound of a skycaster launching a thunderball. The short, squat dragonel launched an iron ball full of firedirt and other debris that, if all were timed right, would explode in the air. In setting up the command pavilions, which they fully expected to be overrun, the Aurolani had plenty of time to calculate the precise charges and fuse lengths that would make the thunderballs spray their deadly cargo right on target.

Erlestoke landed hard and his helmet bounced back toward the lines. He came up on one knee. All around him men and horses were down and bleeding. He became aware of a dozen cuts over his flank and back, but he’d clearly been at the outer edge of the blast. Other thunderballs exploded elsewhere, but the cavalry had already begun to withdraw. More importantly, to the west, urZrethi were advancing quickly into the trenches. Their advance had come swiftly and had cut off the Aurolani line of retreat.And if the urZrethi are not suited to fighting in tunnels, no one is.

“Highness, are you all right?” Borell came crawling over toward him, sword in hand, dragging his left leg.