The dwarves growled at Galanör’s interference and, collectively, pushed him back onto his feet before Aenwyn. “That’s six!” she shouted over the melee.
Galanör deflected a killing blow with Guardian and decapitated his foe with Stormweaver. “Six?” he doubted, sure that Aenwyn had only saved his life four times since the fighting began.
Aenwyn dodged a Reaver’s sweeping sword and, in the same movement, yanked free a wild arrow protruding from its hip. “Six!” she confirmed confidently, before firing that same arrow point blank into her enemy’s face.
Any witty retort he might have responded with was stolen by the ear-splitting roar that cracked the sky in half. Galanör cast his eyes to the dawn’s red canvas above and searched for the greatest killing machine in the world. It was hard to feel relief upon spotting one of the undead Dragon Riders, but at least it wasn’t Malliath the voiceless. Narrowing his vision, the ranger tried to identify the specific Rider, be it Vilyra astride her dragon, Godrad, or Gondrith astride his dragon, Yillir. They were the only remaining two of Alijah’s fearsome generals but, from this distance, even his elven eyes couldn’t determine which of the two had entered the battle.
“Incoming!” a fellow elf bellowed from within the chaos.
Galanör didn’t need the warning - he could see the dragon flying down towards him. He turned around, barged his way to Aenwyn and grappled her to the ground only a moment before the monster snatched at any body it could. Looking up from the mud and blood, the ranger watched as the dragon ascended back into the sky, where it released elves, dwarves, and Reavers from all four of its claws. Their screams lay beyond Galanör’s hearing, but their fall was well within his sight. He would have watched them to their end but he was quickly set upon by more Reavers.
“Get up!” Aenwyn yelled.
The elven ranger came up following the tip of his swords, both of which skewered a Reaver each and pushed them back. Aenwyn guarded him while he dispatched them for good. Now he could see the Reaver dragon and the Rider on its back. Yillir glided low over the battle with Gondrith and his mighty hammer seated in the saddle. Careful not to diminish the Reavers’ numbers, Yillir chose victims on the outer edges of the fighting, where Captain Nemir’s forces were still penetrating.
Galanör watched in horror as Yillir’s tail curled down and dragged through the ranks of his kin. “We need to bring that dragon down!” he growled.
“How?” Aenwyn demanded, slicing through the legs of two Reavers. “I’m a good shot but one arrow isn’t going to bring it down!”
Galanör bashed the pommel of a hilt into an enemy’s helmet, knocking it clean from the horrific face beneath. Stormweaver flashed upwards and the Reaver lost most of its head. As it dropped to the ground, the ranger glimpsed something between the maddening fray.
“Maybe one arrow is all we need!” he called back. “We just need a bigger bolt!” Answering Aenwyn’s questioning expression, Galanör pointed one of his scimitars at the distant ballista.
“After you!” Aenwyn insisted.
It was a clear morning over The Moonlit Plains. The sky was still transforming as the dawn bid farewell to the night. It was a good day to change the world.
Alijah looked down on the sprawling battle that spread around the entire circumference of the dig site. Thanks to his bond with every Reaver, he already knew that Centaurs had joined The Rebellion. It was a pity, he thought. They were such a fascinating species with a long history in Illian and, indeed Erador. Now, however, the tribes of The Moonlit Plains would have to be purged for good.
Much closer to the battle, he spotted Yillir creating havoc among the elven contingent. He sent a mental command to Gondrith, instructing the Rider to add his hammer to the melee.
As Malliath flew directly over the dig site, Alijah considered his path to its lowest depths. There was nowhere to land around the edge of the site, a battleground in itself thanks to the dwarven prisoners in the throes of rebellion.
Get me as close as you can, he instructed, eager to see Malliath devastate the rebel forces.
If I land in the middle of that I will be surrounded by enemies, the dragon was quick to respond. I am immortal, not invincible.
The king hadn’t expected such reluctance from his companion but, as always, he was right. And Alijah knew he would struggle to focus on his task if he thought Malliath was being harmed. Alijah considered diving down, plummeting to the very bottom, and using magic to safeguard his landing, but he didn’t know what awaited him down there, nor in the realm of magic. He needed to be conservative.
Land in the east, he suggested, noting the edge of the battle was closer to the dig site. I will forge my own path to the doorway.
Malliath banked to the east and began his descent to the plains. Given the pain in his wings, it wasn’t the fastest descent he had ever made. The dragon glided round in a broad arc until his claws touched down on the grass. The rebels fighting on the fringes turned to behold the greatest threat they had ever faced. That threat looked back at them with purple eyes.
Try not to destroy too many knights, Alijah advised. We will still need an army when this is all over.
Malliath replied with his fiery breath, a jet of flames so excruciatingly hot that it melted the elven, dwarven, and Reaver armour alike. Entire Centaurs were engulfed, disappearing inside the blinding torrent, their screams drowned out by the raw power of the oldest dragon in the world.
Alijah climbed down his companion’s side and drew his Vi’tari scimitar, enjoying how the green steel caught the
