mounts, or whipped through the ranks with his powerful tail. Flick blasted flesh, dirt, and bone into rubble with his wicked pulses of kinetic energy. His wizard’s fire lingered on the flesh of man and steed alike. Without the High King to contend with, the amount of destruction they were allowed to wreak was substantial.
King Jarrek fought with berserker-like intensity until he was forced to stop and gather his wits. He couldn’t believe that they had discounted Shaella’s wizard and his ability to rally the skeeks, much less get them to O’Dakahn so quickly. In hindsight, he realized that the threat should have been obvious. The marshland that separated Westland from Dakahn was their natural habitat, and unlike a human enemy that would be bogged down in such terrain, the zard and their gekas were suited to it and traversed it easily.
It wasn’t the zard that Jarrek was fending off now, though. The long rested Dakaneese soldiers from inside O’Dakahn’s wall were having their way with his travel-weary men. He wasn’t sure, but it appeared that his force might have been outnumbered by as many as five to one. He had no idea how many more men Ra’Gren had inside.
He had to do something drastic, and quickly. The dragon was too much for them. He didn’t know what was keeping Mikahl from a coming to their aid, but he guessed that the situation probably wasn’t much better where the High King was fighting.
An idea struck him, and he found the ring of soldiers guarding his apprentice mage and gave the terrified young wizard a series of orders. A few moments later he rode past Bzorch, and was nearly thrown from his saddle as the big breed giant walked right into his path. Bzorch didn’t take his eyes off of his target. He was just waiting for the dragon to get in range. His huge hairy coil-man followed closely, being sure not to let the rope tangle.
King Jarrek got himself situated and moved around them. He passed along his orders to the commanders of the battling troops and slowly the entire battle began migrating eastward away from the open gates. The way Jarrek had the men and dwarves spreading out put the Dakaneese into an advancing formation. It forced the two opposing groups to take up sides of a battle line instead of fighting in random knots and clusters. It also made it easier for Flick and the dragon to attack them, which is exactly what Jarrek wanted.
Ra’Gren roared with delight when he saw King Jarrek pulling his men back. The big white-haired seadog’s armor was covered in gore. His once white destrier was a dozen different shades of red and prancing anxiously for more. He could only gape though, when a streaking spear launched up out of the fray ahead of him, causing King Jarrek’s force to let out a hearty cheer. Ra’Gren twisted and looked up to see Flick scrabbling for purchase on the dragon’s back as it twisted and writhed in the sky. A spear had punctured the dragon’s shoulder where its left wing met its neck and body. The barbed spearhead had come out the top of the dragon’s back. Ra’Gren saw the long rope attached to the spear pull taut, but a sharp pain along his calf, where a stray sword stroke bit him, reminded him that he was in the middle of a battle. Immediately, he began working away from the front. His will to be in the heat of things was fading now that Flick and his dragon were in no position to protect him.
A great roar filled the air. Vrot, with no spew left in him to blast through the rope, gave out a screeching call of frustration and pain. Then the rope yanked tight against the spear that had torn through him. He sucked in a deep whooshing breath and, with fangs gritted, pounded his wings, trying to carry himself clear.
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.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
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
