Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 43

Their foes had become as familiar to Dathion as the allies who fought with him. The wolf-like creatures loped ahead of men who jogged in loose ranks. It was what came behind the men that remained uncertain, a truer danger than the masses ranked before them.

Dathion could see the Erynyan force was heavily outnumbered, hundreds against a thousand, maybe more. Dathion resorted to prayer, whispers, and pleas to gods who had forsaken his previous cries for help.

Or had they?

What was the song? Could it be divine in nature?

This theory he had never considered until now. He paused in his revelation, a smile stealing across his lips, then he closed his eyes and prayed some more. And as he opened himself to the silence within the privacy of his prayers, sounds receded around him. Wrapped in an eerie silence no one else shared, the familiar song played softly - becoming his once more.

When Dathion reopened his eyes, everything appeared sharper. He could better resolve the shapes moving toward them. Smears became men. He could even discern the weapons they held. Bows and axes, swords and spears. Behind them came more of the leaders Dathion had seen before, men with inky tattoos, larger versions of the demons, and again, the billowing, shifting shape of the one who lorded over them all. A space grew around that entity as though even its minions feared to venture too close.

It all seemed strange to Dathion. Battle was somehow becoming familiar. He raised his arms, looking down along his skin to his hand, not sure what he searched for. Maybe he expected to see golden light bathing his flesh, like it had once clung to his sword. He drew the Sword of Llanos from its sheath, examining the blade. Such fine workmanship, unparalleled in his other Asillian sword, the metal glittering like silver where the dying sun glinted across the blade. Intricate runes scrawled words of significance, or power - at least to the understanding of the Elves. Even after all this time, the metal looked new, and the inscriptions fresh, like they had just been engraved. Again, he willed golden flame or ripples of power to arc around the blade. The sword responded with stoic defiance, the metal of its surface slumbering, despite Dathion's calls for it to flare into life.

Anger welled in the depths of Dathion's core. If the sword would not burn for him, he did not need it. He still had the song, though now it sounded angry and violent. Bitterness mixed with the blood in his veins, as he spurred Asheron forward. Swiftriders already rode to meet their foes, well in front of the barricades. At Dathion's side, Shanisha raced, running stride for stride with Asheron's canter.

Up ahead, Dathion saw the Swiftriders unlimber shields strapped to the sides of their mounts. The shields were long and low, with a flattened recess in the middle of the upper surface. The Swiftriders placed crossbows on the curved tops of their shields, bracing the weapons. The rest of the shield rose to both sides, protecting their heads, as they lowered their faces over the crossbows to sight their weapons.

Their horses moved parallel to the charging foes, unleashing a volley of bolts that tore through the wolf demons. The long, loping strides of the beasts only served to hasten their demise, throwing them into the deadly bolts lancing into their ranks. Many fell, but the Swiftrider numbers were few. A single volley is all they could safely manage, before wheeling their horses, racing to the safety of the pickets ... fleeing back past the onrushing Dathion ...

"Fall back, Prince!"

As Swiftriders flashed past, a pair tried to grab at Dathion's reins, though instinct and whispers to Asheron kept them out of reach. Dathion heard curses and his name screamed from across the battlefield. That voice he recognized - Salidon. The time had come to play his hand. Dathion's mind was finally clear, his choice made.