Willan and Captain Merrodon raced at full speed to the battlefield. As they arrived at Trez, they saw nearly a thousand soldiers in the distance—probably accompanied by Siruth—fighting fiercely to hold back the approaching army. Merrodon hastened to coordinate the new arrivals and those who had stayed behind, working to put as many catapults and archers into action as he could, and evacuating civilians to the north—far from the battlefield. In the meantime, Willan searched for a weapon and quickly found a long sword from the Ælf soldiers. For a minute he stood and looked around to get his bearings.
They were in a square in the center of Trez, a residential neighborhood with several hundred thousand upper-class residents. The buildings were low, with diamond-shaped roofs, unlike the tall square residences of Baliz. The roads were wide—which had facilitated their arrival riding on tharls—and relatively busy, considering the circumstances. From where he stood, Willan could see guards evacuating civilians to another residential neighborhood that bordered the palace to the northeast. To the south west, a little far from the battling Ælves, four Ogres were destroying houses with their bare hands. That meant there were at least nine Ogres in total—four leading the army and five at the back.
Willan continued to observe the troops from a distance. The thousand allied fighters were equipped with axes, swords and lances. Merrodon was about to bring in two thousand more ready for combat. They would be three thousand men facing off against twelve thousand soldiers, half of whom had already invaded Trez. It was clearly not enough.
But the captain of the guard hoped they would be able to amass two thousand more foot soldiers and four thousand archers from the castle in the next four hours. If they held the invaders there and got additional help from the Orgads, they would be three times as numerous and could maintain their position until the chimera intervened—or even drive back the enemy. They could win.
Willan tightened his grip on his borrowed sword and ran towards the battlefield. As he got closer, he realized how far the enemy army extended. The roads in the distance were packed with soldiers. He was glad not to see any civilians. At least the guards had managed to clear the area out in time.
He ran for several minutes before reaching the main road where most of the combatants were fighting. He was about to plunge into the battle when he noticed an alley where a few Ælves were resisting a pack of Goran soldiers. He did not hesitate and rushed over to give them a hand.
Once he got closer, he understood the gravity of the situation. The Ælves were defending a little girl with her leg trapped under the rubble. Willan immediately began to fight, drawing the enemies’ attention to him. He parried countless blows and tried in vain to dissuade the Goranian soldiers from fighting. They did not seem to hear him though. He kept defending himself for a moment, then noticed one of his opponents getting too close to the little girl and decided it was time to plunge his sword into the soldier’s stomach. It felt strange, yet Willan did not stop. He saw his first victim fall and took down three others with an ease he had never known. He realized the sword he had borrowed was much lighter than the one he had used when training with Larzac. He stabbed a few more soldiers, and his efficiency motivated the Ælves to do the same. Soon, nearly all their enemies were on the ground. Hope filled their hearts. However, just as Willan was about to take the last of them down, the soldiers he thought he had killed stood up. They were injured but alive. His eyes widened in shock. Their clothes were soaked with dark blood, their open eyes still fixed in blank, empty stares. How could they still be alive?
The Ælves were petrified now. Willan plunged back into battle, not stopping to think. The more he continued the more the sensation of his blade slaying his enemies felt very strange. He had never killed another human being before, but he knew from his hunting experience that his sword was not cutting through flesh. It felt more like fresh soil!
When the supposed Goranians rose for the second time, he realized it was a lost cause. They needed to get away as fast as possible! The Ælves had finally managed to free the little girl from the rubble, so he ordered them to flee. He grabbed a second sword from them and was soon slicing through twice as many soldiers as before. He threw himself headlong into the battle, driven by all the rage he felt: rage against life, against this world that had taken Aluna from him. He managed to take down several soldiers, but he was hit on the arm in the process. He was breathless with relief when he saw the Ælves and the little girl had run south. Dealing one last blow to one of his opponents, he turned and fled, too.
Oddly, his enemies did not pursue him. They continued at their steady pace in the opposite direction, towards the center of Trez. Willan was confused by their behavior but kept running. He reached the main road he had turned off earlier and saw the battle was still in full swing. The Ogres had destroyed more houses and kept marching forward into the center of the neighborhood, undisturbed by the clashes around them.
The number of assailants was not decreasing, and now Willan understood why. They were invincible! These soldiers would remain still for a moment after being struck, but they would later rise again, like dead creatures brought to life by some magical force.
The prince furrowed his brow in irritation. The outcome of the battle was not as sure as he had predicted. Even when the archers and the Orgads came to lend a hand, they would still be at a disadvantage. They could not win. Unless . . . the chimera! It was one of the four most powerful magical creatures in Iriah and could surely defeat their enemies, even if they were invincible. What they had to do now was hold off the attack while they waited for it. However, he needed to tell the captain of the guard about the situation first. Willan rushed into the center of Trez.
∾
It did not take long to travel through the magic portal, but Errynaël still had enough time to reflect on the situation. She knew her decision to invoke the chimera had been hasty, but she also knew the peace she had promised could not remain just a pretty ideal in her citizens’ minds. She had to protect them at all costs, and if she had to use a magical creature to do it, she would.
Peace . . . for so long, she had believed all they needed to preserve it was honesty. With that in mind, she had worked to build good relationships with her neighbors, even though she had been careful not to fully trust anyone. However, the outbreak of the last war had proven her wrong. She had been stunned when the king of Goran sent a messenger demanding the return of some treasure she had allegedly stolen from him. Not understanding the charges against her, she had naturally suggested an audience with the king to discuss the matter. Her neighbor had refused to talk and sent a large army to her kingdom, demanding the immediate return of his treasure. She had never been told what the object was. It was tragic that a war had started for no reason and dragged on nearly five years. Eventually King William came to the same conclusion and sent her a message asking for a truce. Errynaël had suspected the reason behind it was the lack of Goranians willing to fight, but wanting peace above all, she had agreed to sign the truce. Her neighbor had maintained it ever since. Until now . . . she thought, emerging from the dark passageway.
They stood before the large glass staircase leading to the highest room of the main tower, where the magic seal was kept. The queen went first and the others followed in silence.
After a long time, they reached the top of the staircase. A glass door awaited them, with a single oval-shaped lock. The queen grabbed the jewel she always wore around her ankle and inserted it into the lock. The door swung silently open and they went inside.
The room was bright, with two mirrored walls showing their reflections. Another door the height of a Mini-As stood out because of its silver lock, highly visible against the room’s flawless white. The queen watched the druids form a circle. They were the most powerful men in Crystallia, trained from a young age to serve the interests of the kingdom. For the most part, they had no families, lacking either the time or inclination to find wives. As a widow, Errynaël understood the depth of their sacrifice and secretly sympathized with them.
She went to the door, drew a silver key from the collar of her dress and turned it in the lock. It opened with a creak, revealing a pedestal displaying a large square stone with a glowing blue masex inside it. She touched it and the stone rose, levitating and traveling to the center of the druids’ circle. Errynaël took her place between them and announced the beginning of the ritual that would summon the chimera and certainly save them all.
∾
Forging a pathway through the battle, Willan had to slaughter dozens of soldiers and nearly got himself killed several times in the process. He soon found himself in the heart of the battle, face to face with a horde of warriors, his path blocked by an Ogre. Thankfully, the enemy army did not seem to be after him. They just kept marching straight towards the center of the neighborhood. He knew if he followed them, he would eventually get to the captain.
Yet he never found him. Before he could make it back to the square where he had left the man, the day grew long. Fighting became harder. Worn out, he nevertheless continued to battle and slow the progress of their adversaries. His exhaustion led to another cut from an enemy sword, this one on his left arm, which weakened him further. He was on the verge of giving up and just seconds from being struck right in the chest when a crystal projectile pierced his opponent.
Willan turned to see a barrage of arrows raining down on their assailants. More than a thousand Orgads had come to their rescue. Never in his life had the prince expected to see something like this. Women brandished bows and struck their targets right in the heart, sending dozens of soldiers crumbling to the ground. Clearly the Orgads were formidable archers.
He made the most of his allies’ sudden appearance and took shelter behind a building to gather his strength. From there, he observed the battlefield. Even more reinforcements had come to join the fight: a tide of foot soldiers had appeared out of nowhere, while nearly four thousand Ælves armed with bows and catapults were assailing their enemies from the rooftops. Soon an Ogre fell under the force of the onslaught, crushing many of its own allies, but also several Ælves. Willan closed his eyes to shut out the horror of the scene, trying to disconnect from the screams and the crunching of bones he still heard.
He hoped the chimera would be able to intervene quickly. Their side definitely had more soldiers now, but it would be difficult to hold the invaders off until nightfall.
The prince looked up at the sky and saw the sun sinking in the west; it was nearly dusk. Four or five hours must have passed since the queen had returned to the palace. If the ceremony took six or seven hours like the books said it did, it should be over soon. Meanwhile, the numbers were almost equal and they could keep up the fight for a while. Still, at what cost? Ælves were falling one after the other, and the same could not be said of their enemies.
In fact the fallen Ogre stood again, crushing friends and foes alike as he rose. However, he barely kept his balance for a moment before wavering once more. Willan, holding tight to his swords, came around the side of the building to get a better look. The Ogre was far away, and he had to run from house to house to get closer while still avoiding the fight. Once close enough—and after he had taken down a few soldiers who had been loitering between the buildings—, he saw that his eyes had not been deceiving him. The Ogre lay on the ground, lifeless. From where he stood, Willan could smell smoke. He looked up to see if his allies were using flaming arrows.
They were not.
He hurried south to try to figure out what was happening. As he got closer, smoke filled his nostrils. Holding his breath, he stopped hiding and ran into the middle of the street. He mowed down several enemies with his left hand and soon saw charred bodies piling up one on top of the other.
Ahead of him, the soldiers who had been marching single-mindedly into Trez started turning away and gathering around something bright. Willan ran up just in time to see an enormous expanse of flames engulf the two dozen bodies surrounding it. He and the Ælves around stopped and looked over, astonished.
Where had the fire come from?