Riv froze in the air, hovering, speechless.
“Asroth,” Meical breathed.
It felt as if the whole world had stopped. Was holding its breath.
For a moment Riv felt… scared. A wyrm uncoiling in her belly, fear slithering through her.
He looks… unstoppable. No Ben-Elim, no warrior, not even Balur One-Eye, carried the same aura of malice and menace.
“Who is first to die?” she heard Asroth call out, his long axe circling his head.
The shield wall in front of Asroth did not move, though to their credit they did not turn and run, either. And then Asroth was striding forwards. He loomed over the first row of the shield wall, Riv seeing shields tighten up, warriors bracing themselves, setting feet and leaning shoulders into their shields.
Asroth swung his axe, a cracking, splintering sound as the blade hacked into shields, an explosion of timber and blood, screams, and three or four warriors fell, shields and flesh sheared by the axe. A warrior at the edge of the axe’s reach stumbled forwards, her shield snagged. Asroth’s second swing chopped into her at the waist, a wet, sickening crunch and she was hurled to the ground, her body almost severed in two. Asroth put one boot on her corpse and wrenched the axe blade free.
The shield wall moved, warriors stepping forwards to fill the gap left by the dead, countless years of drill making the act subconscious.
“ADVANCE!”
Riv felt a flush of pride and respect for whoever called that.
The shield wall took a step forwards, towards Asroth, and another. He stood a moment, as if surprised, then swung his axe again, more screams, shields and warriors shattered and broken, a spray of blood, but the shield wall did not falter. They stepped forwards again, closing on Asroth, and spears stabbed out, grating on his mail.
Asroth roared, a rage-filled sound, his right leg going back as he swung his axe again, more White-Wings hurled from their feet, blood spraying.
Horns blew from Ripa’s tower. She looked up to see Ben-Elim leap into the sky, hundreds of them, white feathers glowing red in the sinking sun. They swept down the hill, towards the plain and Asroth.
A cry rang out from the Kadoshim and half-breeds behind Asroth, wings beating as they rose higher in the air, powering towards the Ben-Elim.
There was another roar, louder and deeper than Asroth’s, filling the whole field, and Fritha’s draig lurched forwards, lumbering into a run. It smashed into the wall beside Asroth, hurling a dozen White-Wings through the air, trampling a dozen more.
The acolytes behind Fritha yelled and broke into a jog, shields up, charging at the White-Wings.
Riv shook herself, a spell had been lifted, as if she’d been mesmerized by Asroth’s appearance.
Now she just wanted to kill him.
She looked a Meical and Hadran.
“Let’s end this,” Meical said, and the three of them shared a grim smile.
Without another word, their wings spread wide and they flew towards the battle.
The acolytes hit the White-Wings, a concussive crash echoing, warriors thrown to the ground, most of the White-Wing shield wall holding. The din of battle rang over the field again.
In the air the Ben-Elim and Kadoshim met above the warriors on the ground, an aeons-old rage palpable as they clashed, the battle breaking down into a myriad of individual conflicts as Ben-Elim, Kadoshim and half-breeds swirled around one another, spears and swords stabbing, feathers and wings slashed, blood pouring from the sky like rain.
Kadoshim and half-breeds saw Riv, Meical and Hadran, a dozen, maybe more, and they hurled themselves at them. Riv snarled, a fierce joy sweeping her.
She tucked her wings, a burst of speed, and spun between two Kadoshim, swords slashing. The clang of steel on one side, a spray of sparks. On the other side her sword bit through mail and flesh, mail links shattered and blood flowing. The wounded Kadoshim screeched, lurched in the air and then gave out a gurgling scream as Meical’s sword chopped into its neck.
The world condensed to a swirl of noise and fractured images as Riv snarled and raged and killed.
She heard a voice calling out, filtering through the red haze that filled Riv’s mind.
“ASROTH!” Meical yelled. Asroth paused in his death-dealing and looked up. Silver hair spilt over his shoulders. He smiled and raised his axe at Meical, an invitation.
Meical closed his wings and dived.
“No,” Riv whispered. We have to attack Asroth together.
A pulse of her wings and she was flying after Meical, but then a weight slammed into her side, a leather-winged half-breed crashing into her, the two of them spinning through the air, locked. The half-breed had a spear in one fist, a knife in the other, and Riv felt white-hot pain lance along her thigh. She could not bring her swords to bear, snared in a spinning dive, not knowing which way was up or down. A glimpse of a snarling face, black-stubbled hair, and Riv punched her sword hilt into that face, again and again. The half-breed fell away; Riv stretched her wings and pulled out of the dive, hovering in the air.
She saw the half-breed dropping, then its leathery wings snapped out and it was rising, turning to look at Riv. A woman, her nose and lips pulped and bleeding from Riv’s sword hilt.
She still gripped her spear and knife.
A long, black-bladed knife.
Drem had told her of a half-breed with a black-bladed knife.
“Morn,” Riv said. “You slew Keld.”
The half-breed smiled, blood on her teeth.
“Aye, and now I’ll do the same to you.”
“Come and try,” Riv said, curling her lips, holding her short-swords wide.