Leilavin waited with impatience on her face. "We must go, Mistress. There is no time to lose."
Nyori followed her toward the sounds of chaos.
Chapter 66: Alaric
Alaric's jaw tightened as he surveyed the battle. Incredulous as it seemed, the humans persevered in their attack. Despite the rain of cannon fire and winged death from the diving Dhamphir, the army actually scaled the palace walls. Catapults fired hooks attached to rope ladders, while crowds of soldiers pushed other wooden ladders until they slammed against the walls. His soldiers attacked with the Crafts, using Scintilla to direct fire and Transference to push back against the siege tools, but the majority of his forces were not soldiers. Many were terrified of the roaring, milling army that besieged them, and fought in uncoordinated, chaotic fashion. Others were in the throes of the fear that the Reaver radiated. Alaric knew it was somewhere on the top of the wall, mindlessly killing. He stroked the pommel of Mothros. Soon.
Even worse, there was at least one experienced Craft wielder among the humans. Alaric saw flames being redirected, and his archers pulled or flung from the walls by blows of Transference. He suspected Krolo had failed, and the newborn Sage was somewhere in the sea of attacking bodies. If so, the man had adapted to his powers quickly, and was more powerful than Alaric had anticipated.
As if in answer, one of the wyverns exploded, taking out a chunk of the wall and several of Alaric's soldiers in the process. The bodies and debris rained down into the press below. One after another, the other wyverns followed suit. Whoever directed the strikes of Transference realized that obstructing the mouths of the wyverns made them explode when fired. Alaric tried to pinpoint the wielder before the central wyvern was struck. He caught sight of a black-garbed figure standing away from his fellows. As he amplified his vision, Alaric recognized him from his former link with Dradyn. It was Shiru, the mysterious mentor of the other foreigner, Han.
Alaric focused, allowing him to see the blazing aura that rippled around Shiru. Shockingly, he was as powerful as any of the Gifted, perhaps even rivaling the Co'nane. Alaric gathered his own focus of Transference and Scintilla, preparing to destroy his unknown enemy before he could sense the attack.
The main wyvern exploded directly below Alaric, nearly flinging him from his perch at the terrace. The detonation caused the metal tubes carrying fiery pitch atop the ramparts to split as well, adding to the gout of sizzling fire. The wyvern groaned and tilted dangerously forward until it broke under its own weight and plummeted, wreathed in smoke and flame. It carved a great gash in the wall as it fell, showering liquid fire over the soldiers who could not move in time. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as they choked on their screams.
The humans that escaped the fiery bath became a stampeding herd once more, and with the Ulfhenar in their hairy hides they almost looked like beasts lumbering forward. They were so eager that some ran into the pools of boiling pitch, bursting into flames even as their comrades used their bodies as stepping stones to brave the fire.
Alaric gritted his teeth, hastily retreating from the acrid, billowing smoke. He focused Levitation, experiencing the customary battle between elemental forces as the earth sought to drag him down, but Alaric's focus only increased until his body hovered in midair. He continued to focus the Craft, penetrating the cloud layer and ascending to the highest tower of the palace, where the din of the battle muted. Tendrils of mist clung to his form as he rose into the sight of the sun.
He knew he would find her there, waiting for him.
He landed lightly inside the rampart. In the east, the sun painted the mountains fire as it heralded the morning. "The wall is breached, Serona. The humans have free entrance into the palace."
Serona appeared unruffled as ever. "I felt a powerful surge in Tropos. Someone has severed the threads that were woven to keep the cloud cover in place. The sun will pierce through any moment now."
"I know." That meant Rhanu had figured out at least some elementary uses for Titien. A disturbing thought, but only one atop a mountain of many others. Alaric wondered about the timing. The mere fact that two of the Pieces of Six were in the same area was unfathomable. There had been much effort to keep the pieces from ever being wielded in the same part of the world again.
"These humans fight for a cause that rouses their spirits and courage, and a desperation that all creatures have when they are faced with their destruction. I expected no less. Drowan leads the reserves against them now. They are weakened by their forward attack, and a push will topple them."
Serona nodded. "You have prepared well."
"Not well enough. I should have anticipated that we have few in the Sects who are true soldiers. Killian hurt us badly when he kept the Malic Sect out of the battle. Our people are powerful, but erratic. We will have to lead the final wave ourselves."
"I will lead the Blood into battle." Serona eyed the sword at his side. "You know what you must do."
He nodded in grim satisfaction. "Yes. There was never another way for this to end. For the last time, I must destroy a Reaver." He leaped lightly to the top of the rampart, and turned to gaze at her once more. The wind caught his white cape and flailed his silver-tinted hair.
"Should I fall, you will know."
Serona's eyes blurred as she took a step toward him. "Should you fall, I will not be far behind. We are one, in life and in death."
Alaric turned away and dropped off the edge of the tower.
He fell with his arms at his sides, plummeting like a hawk upon its prey. His mind flickered with unchecked memories. Serona's luminous face smiled from each and every one of them.
As he passed through lightning and cloud, he saw the battle rage below him. He plummeted toward the tiny figures, past blurred windows and towers until the ground loomed, until he could see the faces that looked upward in shock. Only then did he straighten and focus Levitation to slow his fall.
The air screamed and scorched in protest as it tried to resist his unnatural manipulation. For an instant everything stilled as he slowly lowered. His cape flailed upward, his white raiment and mail shone brightly.
When his feet touched the blood-spattered soil, a whistling roar came down with him as though he carried a thousand winds in his arms. The force exploded outward, flattening everyone within fifty paces by a scorching blast of air and flame.
He unsheathed Mothros. The glowing blade hummed eagerly, as though impatient to be wielded. He knew only too well that it was. He focused Tropos to amplify his voice like the utterance of thunder.
"Assemble the Co'nane."
The Blood Legion advanced from the bowels of Aceldama with Captain Sithe at their head. They looked upon the murderous army before them as a man would a herd of cattle he meant to butcher. Their silver and gold-chased armor appeared useless in battle, yet swords, axes and arrows were turned aside by the gleaming metal. They attacked with long, slightly curved swords and with the Crafts. And where they struck, men died swiftly.
The advancing army was forced to part as the Co'nane cut viciously into their ranks. But the sheer number of oncoming soldiers was formidable. The Ulfhenar howled like beasts as they surged at the front lines. High on battle fever, they attacked the Co'nane regardless of the damage, which was severe. A third of their numbers died within moments, but still they advanced, managing to pull some of the gleaming Blood soldiers into their numbers, where they fell upon them with blades and axes that were quickly painted red.
A burly Norlander advanced toward Alaric with a bear-like roar. "It be only right that you face mighty Theron, wraith. We shall see whether you deserve to be called a king."