The Battle for Tarithnesti (Part 10)

07 Deepkolt 349 AC

EN ROUTE TO TARITHNESTI

Kysek, a look of thanks upon his face accepts the berries. “I know it’s not much girl but it should help you.” The elf holds the berries in his outstretched palm for her to eat.

Dusk wolfs down the berries in a single gulp. Her bleeding slows and some of her strength returns. She is by no means healed but looks like she can rejoin the fight.

Raven smiles faintly. "That's more like it." He faces Kysek, "I spoke with Ra'ziir. Tarithnesti is under attack."

Raven tells him everything he received through their telepathic bond—the beacon charging atop the Protector's Tower, dragons converging on the city, and their companions fighting desperately to buy the crystal enough time.

"Can you teleport the three of us?"

Kysek nods and reaches into his pack. He pulls out a scroll and breaks the seal. He reads the words on the page and they begin to glow. Sparks fly from the page and begin swirling around Kysek, Dusk, and Raven. The Knight of the Barrie Grange twists the gem set into the Ring of Gyges and draws both of his swords. He pictures the aerie where he spent so many hours with Dusk and speaks the last word of the spell.

The world falls away. There is a brief sensation of movement and then the three of them reappear inside the Aerie.

At least what's left of it.

Timbers lie splintered across the platform.
Sections of the roof have collapsed inward.
Feathers and broken beams litter the floor.
One side of the aerie has been torn completely open, offering an unobstructed view of Tarithnesti below. The sounds of battle echo through the city.

Kysek scans the aerie to ensure as best he can to be sure no enemies remain so Dusk can be safe. Once he’s certain, he hides her away in a corner and covers her with a blankets. “Remain still and quiet girl; I’ll return for you when the battle is over," he tells her. He then scans Tarithnesti for where he is needed most. He breaks into a silent sprint making his way to the beacon.

ON THE BANK ON THE THON-THALAS

Grotto continues to follow the guard captain and his troops to the city.

Ornforithalas and his scouts break into a trot, moving as quickly as they can while doing their best to remain silent.

About one-half mile from the edge of town, the elven captain raises a fist. The entire squad comes to a halt instantly. The commander crouches, studying the ground and finds fresh tracks. He motions two guards ahead. They disappear like ghosts in fog and returns a few moments later.

"Draconians, mixed force, platoon strength at least."

Ornforithalas nods and unslings his bow. He points to one group, sending them south along the river's edge. He takes the other half and curves around to the north. Grotto moves alongside him.

Soon they catch sight of their quarry. Ahead, moving along a game trail toward Tarithnesti, is a mixed company of draconians. Baaz march at the front with swords and shields. Kapaks fan out along the flanks, their yellow eyes constantly searching the trees. Grotto is able to pick out a half-dozen that he can't identify near the middle of the formation.

THE PROTECTOR'S TOWER

Cedron and the green dragon hang suspended above Tarithnesti.

The dragon clings to the tower wall with three bloodied claws, its ruined eye weeping crimson. Its chest heaves with every breath. One good eye remains locked upon the elf.

Cedron hovers opposite it, the Witching Cloak holding him aloft. His armor is torn. His arm throbs from the dragon's bite. The Harmonic Blade still burns with holy fire, humming in perfect harmony with the crystal above.

There is much debate among philosophers and priests alike as to whether it is faith, fear, or simple blind stubbornness that carries a person beyond the limits of flesh.
Cedron has no time to ponder the answer.

He simply prays. "Malazzarr... lend me your strength."

With a beat of the Witching Cloak, he drives forward. The dragon roars and snaps at him with jaws that had nearly claimed his life moments before but Cedron twists clear. The Harmonic Blade arcs downward in a blazing slash. The dragon jerks aside, but not far enough.
The enchanted blade carves through battered emerald scales, reopening wounds left by the pillar of fire and the Blade Barrier.

The holy fire erupts within the wound as the blade bites deep. The dragon's roar cuts off abruptly.

For a heartbeat, the enormous creature simply hangs there, as though refusing to believe that it has been mortally wounded.

One claw slips from the tower wall, then another. The dragon's immense body slowly peels away from the Protector's Tower and it falls, crashing into the river below.

Shadow stands on the chest of the white dragon, breathing heavily from his exertions. Out of the corner of one eye, he sees the green dragon fall. He looks around for other foes and sees the red dragon and its rider diving toward the Tower and its beacon.

Shadow exhales slowly. "How many dragons do these people have?"

His enchanted heels click together once more.

He launches back into the air, he points toward the oncoming rider. "Nasty Surprise, the rider." The enchanted dagger immediately banks away from the dead white dragon and races toward the rider. The armored figure crouches low against his mount as the pair dive toward the beacon.

Shadow's left hand disappears into a pocket. His fingers emerge holding a small pinch of pale, reddish sand collected in the Eastern Desert of Shem, on the world of Hyboria, nearly two years ago.

He smiles. "Never leave home without pocket sand."

Shadow barks out an arcane incantation and thrusts his hand at the dragon and its rider. Water is ripped from living flesh with horrifying speed. The dragon bellows in pain, drowning out any screams the rider may have made.

He silently thinks about his remaining spells. There aren't many, especially if more dragons appear. The Dragonarmies had committed far more to this assault than anyone had anticipated.

"Spewer, “Fire at will, but stay in my cloak. It will protect us some but I dressed for winter, not summer.”

The red dragonrider lowers his lance. A single touch on his mount's scale shifts the wyrm's trajectory oh-so slightly as the pair make ready to deal with the immediate threat facing them. The great wyrm folds its wings and surges into a full charge, the air roaring around it as it hurtles straight toward Shadow.

The Nasty Surprise darts at the rider, plinking off of his armor without effect.

The lance strikes with the force of a battering ram. Its steel head punches through the drow's defenses and drives clean through him. The impact lifts Shadow bodily from the air. For a heartbeat he hangs suspended on the weapon's shaft as dragon and rider thunder past.

The rider wrenches the lance backward as the dragon races on, ripping the weapon loose in a crimson spray. The dragon banks, readjusting its course to take it directly to the Protector's Tower and its beacon.

Ra’ziir hauls back on the reins, urging Redclaw to climb before directing the griffon into a dive. Wind roars past his ears as they plunge toward the red dragon and its rider. They see Shadow drop off of the lance.

"Go after its eyes if you can," the bladesinger shouts to Redclaw. The griffon's beak opens in eager anticipation as Ra’ziir begins to sing. The Bladesinger's words roll off of his tongue. He raises his free hand and glowing darts blast forth from each of his fingers. The missiles swoop and swerve, unerringly finding their target and pelt the dragon in the back of its head and neck.

The red rolls over, its back and rider facing the ground. The dragon's eyes flash green and for a moment, a memory of Ra’ziir shoveling handfuls of sand into his mouth in the desert of Anauroch. He shakes his head, warding off the mental assault.

With Grumbar’s Razor trailing smoke behind him, the bladesinger launches a deadly flurry of attacks. Enchanted obsidian slices through armored scales. Blood flows freely from four new wounds in as many seconds. Redclaw's beak hooks in one of the gashes his master inflicted and tears, opening the injury even further.

The baaz on the ground sees the green dragon fall into the river. It studies the cracked wall for a second and points his ring at the damaged area and triggers it again. Invisible force pours forth.

BOOM!

The conjured wall of stone shudders violently. More cracks spiderweb out from the point of impact. He turns toward the kapaks. "Break it open!"

The draconians look at their broken makeshift ram lying on the ground. They scramble forward and begin picking up chunks of masonry shattered by the green dragon. They begin hurling them at the damaged wall. The repeated impacts echo through the tower's lower halls and the cracks slowly widen.

The Protector's Beacon reached the end of its long crescendo. The crystal atop the tower no longer pulsed. It burned. A deep, resonant note sounded, so pure and powerful that every elf in Tarithnesti felt it in their bones.

The crystal flashed. Then, it IGNITED.

A blinding column of sapphire-blue light erupts from the heart of the beacon, lancing skyward with the force of a star. The beam tears through the clouds. It climbs impossibly high, stretching to Solinari, bathing the white moon in azure light. Every defender of Tarithnesti felt power flow into their bodies, strengthening limbs, enhancing reflexes, and bolstering their endurance. 

Across the battlefield, every combatant instinctively turned toward it. The kapaks at the tower's base stopped throwing stones. The baaz lowered his ring.
Even the dragon hesitated.

Friend and foe alike stared upward and for a moment everything was still.