The Door Within (26 page)
The Paragor Knights had been watching all this, but before they could light and fire another flaming arrow, the other eight Knights of Alleble soared down from the sky and drove their dragons into the front lines of the enemy. Soldiers were thrown cartwheeling into the air. Others fell like dominoes.
Then, Kaliam, Matthias, Tal, Eleazar, Farix, Nock, Bolt, Mallik, and, of course, Captain Valithor leaped off their dragons, readied their weapons, and surged into the enemy’s foundering ranks.
So terrified at the onslaught of the unexpected assault, the companies of Paragory fled. In fact, the small force from Alleble clove a path right through the enemy. But Rucifel blew his war horn, and it seemed the Knights of Paragor quickly remembered their numbers were a hundred times those of their attackers.
Those fleeing turned, raising sword, axe, and bow. And the path that had been cut through the middle of the enemy army began to close like jaws of a steel trap. Aidan feared for his friends, ferocious in battle as they were, for they were about to be sealed off by their enemy like a small island at high tide.
Then, the drawbridge of Mithegard opened.
The army of Mithegard flew out, more than a hundred knights on horseback disgorged as if shot from a cannon. They were led by none other than the King of Mithegard himself !
“Go, Dad!” Aidan yelled.
“Now, Rucifel, the tables are turned!” roared the King, the lust of battle thick in his voice. “Let’s see now if you can wield a sword!”
King Ravelle spurred his horse toward Rucifel. The Paragor Commander stood defiantly near a catapult and let his gray cape fall to the ground. He drew not one but two long swords, and it seemed to Aidan that he laughed as the King approached.
The King rode at Rucifel until the last moment, and then he dove from his saddle and crashed, sword and shield, into the twin blades of his foe. But Aidan did not see what followed between King Ravelle and Rucifel, for Mithegard’s mounted soldiers clashed in that moment with the enemy legion, cutting off Aidan’s view.
“Alleb Knights, keep moving!” roared Captain Valithor, and Aidan turned and saw the great Captain of Alleble. He was surrounded by Paragor Knights, but Fury cut through his foes like a scythe through summer wheat. Free for a moment, he motioned to Nock and Bolt.
As if bounced from a trampoline, the twin archers sprang up out of the mass of fighting Glimpses.
Aidan watched in disbelief as Nock and Bolt ran across the heads and shoulders of the enemy knights as if hopping stone to stone in a shallow riverbed. Nock landed on the roof of a cottage, Bolt upon the highest beam of a catapult. There they opened fire.
With incredible speed, their pale hands snatched dark shafts from their quivers, set them to the strings, pulled, and fired. Their Blackwood Arrows flew razor-straight at the speed of thought.
So fast was their flight, so powerful the force behind them, the shafts went right through the bodies of two Paragor warriors and stuck in the chests of two more behind them. Four enemies fell in wide-eyed silence.
Then, there was an explosion. Or at least Aidan thought it was an explosion. In the midst of a sea of combatants, five Paragor soldiers were hurled into the air. But there was no smoke, fire, or thunderous boom.
Again Paragor Knights were catapulted. And again it happened. They were launched in bunches as if an invisible giant were brushing them aside. Then, Aidan saw the cause of these strange sights, and he grinned. It was Mallik and his great hammer!
With powerful two-fisted strokes, Mallik swept the hammer into his foes. That fearsome weapon was immensely heavy, but Mallik wielded it as though it were a staff of balsa wood. Swords splintered into shards and shields crumpled when the hammer crashed into them. None withstood Mallik’s heavy strokes.
Aidan saw no sign of the other knights from Alleble. He hoped they were all still alive, but even with King Ravelle’s knights, the forces of Paragory outnumbered them greatly.
Gwenne!
Aidan remembered. In the hypnotizing spectacle of the battle, he had forgotten that Gwenne was hiding in the cottage across the road. Aidan knew she could take care of herself, but he could not let her face the enemy alone.
Aidan slashed the air with the Son of Fury. It felt light in his hand. He paused a moment, took a deep breath, and left the safety of his hiding place.
Hoping to make his way to the cottage on the other side of the road, Aidan stumbled through the battle. All the knights seemed too busy fighting one another to notice Aidan.
Then, Aidan heard a great ringing clash to his left. There was a guttural, desperate scream, a nauseating crunch, and a strange sucking kind of gasp. And something wet sprayed across Aidan’s face.
Aidan stumbled to one knee, stood slowly, and wiped at the red spray. He looked down at the chain mail of his gauntlet and saw angry smears of deep red. He turned his head as if in a trance and saw a fallen Mithegard soldier. The Glimpse lay on his back. His ivory skin was filthy with grime and painted with his own fresh blood. Transfixed on the motionless stare of the dead Glimpse’s eyes, Aidan did not notice the Paragor Knight standing there with a bloody war axe.
Eyes gleamed red from the sockets in his skull-like helmet. His huge body heaved, and with both hands he raised the heavy axe. He took one step over the fallen Glimpse. One step toward Aidan. And he brought the axe crashing down.
The next thing Aidan knew, he was shoved forcefully to the ground. He found himself looking up at Farix, who had caught the falling axe blade in his bare hands. In a flash of motion, Farix twisted the axe and flipped the enemy onto his back. He brought his elbow down hard upon the Paragor Knight, and the knight lay still.
Breaking the axe over his knee, Farix yelled, “Keep your wits about you, Sir Aidan. As our Captain says, ‘Stay in motion, if you want to stay alive.’” And with that, he raced away into the storm of steel and flesh.
Aidan blinked.
Gwenne was right . . . Farix
is
a weapon.
He shook his head and stood. He had been spared from death for the moment, and he did not intend to be caught unaware again. Ducking blows and sidestepping struggles that suddenly blocked his path, Aidan finally made it to the stone cottage where he had last seen Gwenne.
The heavy wooden door to the building had been torn from its hinges. Aidan raced inside, looking for the trapdoor. There was nothing but a fireplace and an overturned table and chairs in the first room he checked. Then, in the center of the floor of the next room, he found it. But the trapdoor was wide open, hacked off its hinge and thrown aside. Aidan looked down into the basement room. The stairs down were spattered with fresh blood.
“Gwenne!” he screamed, knowing with heart-crushing certainty that his friend would not answer.
A
idan ran frantically down the stairs beneath the trapdoor, but the cellar was empty. There were, however, signs of a great struggle. An overturned table, broken glass, and a toppled bookcase—but what riveted Aidan was an awful spray of blood on the wall.
Aidan flew back up the stairs. He searched and re-searched every room in the house. They were all empty.
The cold, still eyes of the dead Glimpse in the road invaded Aidan’s mind.
“No!” he roared, swinging the Son of Fury recklessly at a vertical wooden beam. The beam split and the top portion fell. Dust rained down on Aidan, and the roof protested loudly. “No, you can’t be dead, Gwenne! You can’t be.”
Aidan trembled in the cottage doorway, and all the doubts and fears rushed in and began to make themselves at home. And for a moment, it was as if they had never left. Aidan heard voices in his head.
His father’s:
“Believing in something doesn’t make it real!”
Grampin’s:
“If what you believe in turns out to be a lie, then you could end up humiliated . . . or worse.”
Valithor’s:
“Try to understand, Aidan. What Paragal intended for evil has become the foundation for much that is good.”
Nothing
, Aidan thought.
There was no result, no future that could justify Gwenne’s death. How could King Eliam allow Gwenne’s family to be murdered by Paragor’s armies? How could he let her survive as an orphan and give her hope, only to let her be killed anyway—It wasn’t just unfair—it was . . . evil!
Rage boiled up within Aidan. Rage at his parents for making him move. Rage at Grampin for making him believe. Rage at Gwenne for making him think he was something he was not. And rage at King Eliam or whoever caused all of this to happen. Hot tears burned trails on his dusty cheeks, and he trembled and heaved as if he would be sick.
He could not save Gwenne, and he could not make it all go away. But there was something he could do.
His eyes smoldering, he wiped away the wet streaks and burst forth from the cottage . . . with the Son of Fury in his hand.
One of the Paragor Knights spotted Aidan immediately. With a lustful screech, the beastly Glimpse charged and raised his sword high, his intent to chop Aidan in half. But he made a fatal mistake, for he did not expect skill from one as young and short as Aidan.
The Twelfth Knight knew that his enemy would throw himself off balance with such a mighty high-to-low chop. Aidan simply sidestepped, and in one motion he snapped the Son of Fury and thrust it into the Glimpse’s side. Aidan winced as his sword went quickly in and then back out.
Within minutes, seven enemy knights had fallen by Aidan’s hand. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw a familiar face. He still wore the long, weather-beaten cloak, and it fluttered in the wind as he barked orders to other knights. But the knights who followed his commands did not wear the silver armor of Alleble or the blue and gold of Mithegard.
“Acsriot!” Aidan said aloud. His adrenaline surged, and Aidan rushed forward toward the traitor. Several blades slashed Aidan’s way as he ran, but he brushed them aside as if swatting flies.
He came upon Acsriot like an unexpected storm, raining down blows, snaps, and thrusts. But Acsriot was not without skill. He parried each attack away, then took a quick step backward.
“You!” Acsriot rasped. “You survived as well?”
“Yes, I survived!” Aidan yelled, throwing a quick snap at Acsriot. The Son of Fury traced a circular arc from outside in. Acsriot blocked it, but Aidan’s sword slid off his block and put a notch in the black vambrace guarding Acsriot’s forearm.
“Whelp!” Acsriot spat. “Think you that one week’s training is enough?”
“I may not be as skilled with the sword, nor as strong as you, but my heart is pure, devoted to King Eliam the Everlasting, and I am not alone!” Aidan said.
Like lightning, Aidan struck with his best move, the moulinet— throwing Acsriot a half step off balance. In the split second that Acsriot needed to right himself, Aidan lunged forward with all his strength and drove the Son of Fury straight through Acsriot’s breastplate.
But when Aidan looked up, he saw that Acsriot was not dead. He was not even wounded, for Aidan’s sword had not pierced his enemy. Acsriot had, with the speed of a lightning strike, knocked the thrust wide so that it sawed across the armor rather than through.
Acsriot laughed. “You see, I saw your move in your eyes before you made it. If a moulinet is all you can manage, then you are without hope!” Acsriot’s blade seemed to come at Aidan from every angle. Aidan stumbled, blocking recklessly and unable to regain the balance to attack. Acsriot was driving him backward, and there was nothing Aidan could do but retreat. His arm ached from the blows, and he dropped his guard just slightly. Acsriot saw and stabbed forward. He missed Aidan’s eye by a fraction of an inch but opened a gash on his right cheekbone. Aidan felt the warm blood trickle down his face.
Acsriot came on again. His sword flashed and stabbed, forcing Aidan up a hill near one of the catapults. The Twelfth Knight had run out of room. With a swift hacking motion, Acsriot knocked the Son of Fury from Aidan’s hands. The blade flew end over end and landed with a dull clang on the road, far from Aidan’s grasp.
Aidan awaited the final thrust. Acsriot, the traitor, would win— plunging his sword through Aidan’s chest. And it would all be over.
But Acsriot did not kill Aidan. Instead, he picked up an iron-tipped spear from a fallen knight and drove it through Aidan’s shoulder armor into the heavy wood of the catapult’s base.
“I could have run you through,” snarled Acsriot. “But I have learned from my master to savor the kill. And so I will not allow you to die without watching you suffer first. Have you heard of morti-wraith venom?”
Aidan’s eyes went wide, and he struggled to free himself. But he was pinned.
“I see that you have,” Acsriot said, and he laughed. Stepping backward down the hill, he turned slightly and motioned with his sword to three Paragor archers perched on a distant roof, with drawn bows aimed directly at Aidan. “Wriggle all you want, little Dark Skin. Your end, your painful end, is near.”
Aidan watched as the archers let their arrows fly. The crimson-shafted, poison-tipped arrows were racing through the air when two dark blurs streaked horizontally through their path. Two of the red shafts were snapped, splintered in the air by the swifter arrows from Nock’s and Bolt’s longbows.