The Final Battle; thus far...
Before them stood it seemed a thousand gryphens, each with a dusk-raider on its back, each spelling doom to any that dared cross their path. Behind them was the meager army of rebels that they had managed to put together over the past year. Each a friend, each full knowing that many of them would not live see the end of the battle, if any of them. Each ready to defend the man or woman at their side to their own death, that their cause might be fought just a moment longer. That their deaths might not all be in vain. That their children might be saved from the hands of a tyrant, the hands of death.
It was as if in slow motion that the leader of the battle, Sahaquiel, raised his sword, the beast beneath him rearing up with a loud cry of war. Jacob could see the cry of "forward!" but could not hear it. He watched as the rest of the group charged forward around their leader, Sahaquiel remaining in the center as his troops did his bidding. Jacob could see the glint of insanity that comes with the true power of leadership, when your followers listen blindly; each word spoken, the faithful, meek bleating of a sheep in a lions den. His long black hair blew back in the wind behind him; stark, ice-colored eyes surveying the scene around him madly. Then without warning, his beast launched into the air, powerful wings beating only three short times before gliding to the front of the line.
Then reality hit him.
This was it. This was the battle they had been waiting for. To wipe out the last of Orosos' followers. He turned his head to the side, looking to Allan beside him. Allan looked back, nodding once. Then, as one, they raised their swords into the air, letting out a long, powerful cry for war. Their horses reared, then charged forward, their small infantry following behind them, each shouting their own rage, each encouraging the others onward.
There was no turning back now.
Jacob looked over to Allan, who pointed back at him and then to Sahaquiel. Jacob nodded, knowing that Sahaquiel was his to kill; it was his right as a father. But before he could do that, they would have to dig down to him.
"The coward," Jacob muttered under his breath, "locking himself in there behind them all…"
But Jacob could not dwell on these thoughts long. Soon they were all as close to the raiders as they could get, and it was either kill now or be killed. Jacob held his shield up on one side of him, slashing out with his massive sword with the other arm. It was difficult, far more difficult on horseback than on the ground, even with the many hours of practice he had gone through. He settled on knocking raiders off their mounts if they were too close to easily kill. He trusted those on the ground to deal with them, as the Raiders were almost useless on foot.
The Raiders had one thing going for them that was both an advantage and a disadvantage; they, unlike The Circle warriors, all fought with the same style. They weren't made to be used against different types of weapons; they were spear wielders, made for use against swordsmen. While this was a good tactic, The Circle was not your average army. Each person within it was unique, and therefore were best with different weapons each. Each had their own style and preferences, making them all highly skilled with their own weapons. Some of these however, were impractical against spears.
Jacob quickly blocked a jab by throwing it off to the side, then stabbed through the chest of a Raider, throwing it off his gryphen and onto the ground. Suddenly Celia jumped up onto the gryphen, pulling her bow off from across her back as she turned the creature around.
"I can't let you two boys have all the fun up here!" she yelled across to him, shooting an arrow at a Raider, then grinning at her success as it fell to the ground. "I think I'm going to get Jese and Sabra on these things too, then work up higher for the next wave."
That was something Jacob hadn't even thought about. What would come next after the Raiders? He slashed out, his blade hardly slowing as it sliced through soft stomach. Would they even see the next wave? He glanced behind him, seeing that some of the rebels were having trouble even getting close enough to the Raiders to do any damage.
"Allan!" Jacob called out, "nock them off their mounts! The others can't even reach them!" Then Jacob started using his blade like a mallet, hitting with the side of the wide blade, watching Allan do the same.
He let out a loud cry of wrath, hearing the rebels behind him roar with him. Every time he voiced his anger and hatred for the Raiders and his passion for their cause, those behind him yelled back and fought on harder. It was a simple way to encourage them, but it worked. Over and over he cheered them on, stabbing, slashing and throwing Raiders to the ground. As disgusting as it was, blood and broken bodies raining to the ground, he no longer cared. There was a fire raging within him, and it could only be put out with the deaths of Sahaquiel and Orosos, and the end of this war.
The mass of Dusk-Raiders seemed to be endless, now that they were out on the field and fighting them. He didn't dare look on ahead, for fear that he wouldn't be able to see the end of it all, yet he couldn't look behind him either, not wanting to know how many of his own had already fallen. The only thing he could do was kill the ones closest to him, or nock them to the ground for others to kill.
Then Jacob noticed something amazing. When the raiders were knocked off their mounts, it wasn't uncommon for the gryphens to eat them, yet the massive creatures wouldn't touch the rebels. They wouldn't even try. As he slammed the flat of his blade against another of the raiders, just barely able to hear the crack of ribs as the hard metal slammed into it, he understood why. All across the creatures body were whip scars, slashes, some still bleeding and raw and new. He looked at the belt of the next raider and the next, seeing that each had a thick, leather cat-of-nine-tails latched to their sides, to urge their beasts forward.
Gryphens were not unkind by nature, but they could be made to hate a man through pain.
Realizing the advantage this gave them, he worked his way through the cloud of Raiders to where Allan was bashing them down to the ground with sickening slaps and crunches. He watched carefully as the man swung out blindly, just barely catching a blow with his own sword, jarring Allan back to his senses just enough for Jacob not to be killed.
"Oh hello, Jake! How are you? Wasn't expecting company this afternoon, but as you can see," he slapped another Raider to the ground, "I seem to have picked up a few unwanted guests!"
"Allan, the gryphens are helping us. They hate the raiders as much as we do, look," Jacob said, slamming his blade against the back of one of the black cloaks, watching the raider fall to the ground in front of its gryphen, and suddenly it's head was torn off and thrown half way across the field. Then the creature simply stood there calmly, watching the chaos around him.
"Woah! Hungry little critters," Allan said, swinging out his blade again.
"Celia already took one of them. Seems they like us better than their old masters. I think we could get a mounted unit if we tried," Jacob said, cutting his sentences shorter as he slashed through the neck of a Raider. "I'll get the archers on mounts!" he shouted, slowly working his way through the mass of bodies, not knowing nor wanting to know which side they belonged to.
"What about Sahaquiel?" Allan shouted over to him.
Jacob paused for a moment, letting the insanity raining down on all sides of him, then yelled back, "I'll let you know when I have his head!" Then with a roar, he charged back into the battle from his thoughts, and swung his blade out wildly.
It was as if in slow motion that the leader of the battle, Sahaquiel, raised his sword, the beast beneath him rearing up with a loud cry of war. Jacob could see the cry of "forward!" but could not hear it. He watched as the rest of the group charged forward around their leader, Sahaquiel remaining in the center as his troops did his bidding. Jacob could see the glint of insanity that comes with the true power of leadership, when your followers listen blindly; each word spoken, the faithful, meek bleating of a sheep in a lions den. His long black hair blew back in the wind behind him; stark, ice-colored eyes surveying the scene around him madly. Then without warning, his beast launched into the air, powerful wings beating only three short times before gliding to the front of the line.
Then reality hit him.
This was it. This was the battle they had been waiting for. To wipe out the last of Orosos' followers. He turned his head to the side, looking to Allan beside him. Allan looked back, nodding once. Then, as one, they raised their swords into the air, letting out a long, powerful cry for war. Their horses reared, then charged forward, their small infantry following behind them, each shouting their own rage, each encouraging the others onward.
There was no turning back now.
Jacob looked over to Allan, who pointed back at him and then to Sahaquiel. Jacob nodded, knowing that Sahaquiel was his to kill; it was his right as a father. But before he could do that, they would have to dig down to him.
"The coward," Jacob muttered under his breath, "locking himself in there behind them all…"
But Jacob could not dwell on these thoughts long. Soon they were all as close to the raiders as they could get, and it was either kill now or be killed. Jacob held his shield up on one side of him, slashing out with his massive sword with the other arm. It was difficult, far more difficult on horseback than on the ground, even with the many hours of practice he had gone through. He settled on knocking raiders off their mounts if they were too close to easily kill. He trusted those on the ground to deal with them, as the Raiders were almost useless on foot.
The Raiders had one thing going for them that was both an advantage and a disadvantage; they, unlike The Circle warriors, all fought with the same style. They weren't made to be used against different types of weapons; they were spear wielders, made for use against swordsmen. While this was a good tactic, The Circle was not your average army. Each person within it was unique, and therefore were best with different weapons each. Each had their own style and preferences, making them all highly skilled with their own weapons. Some of these however, were impractical against spears.
Jacob quickly blocked a jab by throwing it off to the side, then stabbed through the chest of a Raider, throwing it off his gryphen and onto the ground. Suddenly Celia jumped up onto the gryphen, pulling her bow off from across her back as she turned the creature around.
"I can't let you two boys have all the fun up here!" she yelled across to him, shooting an arrow at a Raider, then grinning at her success as it fell to the ground. "I think I'm going to get Jese and Sabra on these things too, then work up higher for the next wave."
That was something Jacob hadn't even thought about. What would come next after the Raiders? He slashed out, his blade hardly slowing as it sliced through soft stomach. Would they even see the next wave? He glanced behind him, seeing that some of the rebels were having trouble even getting close enough to the Raiders to do any damage.
"Allan!" Jacob called out, "nock them off their mounts! The others can't even reach them!" Then Jacob started using his blade like a mallet, hitting with the side of the wide blade, watching Allan do the same.
He let out a loud cry of wrath, hearing the rebels behind him roar with him. Every time he voiced his anger and hatred for the Raiders and his passion for their cause, those behind him yelled back and fought on harder. It was a simple way to encourage them, but it worked. Over and over he cheered them on, stabbing, slashing and throwing Raiders to the ground. As disgusting as it was, blood and broken bodies raining to the ground, he no longer cared. There was a fire raging within him, and it could only be put out with the deaths of Sahaquiel and Orosos, and the end of this war.
The mass of Dusk-Raiders seemed to be endless, now that they were out on the field and fighting them. He didn't dare look on ahead, for fear that he wouldn't be able to see the end of it all, yet he couldn't look behind him either, not wanting to know how many of his own had already fallen. The only thing he could do was kill the ones closest to him, or nock them to the ground for others to kill.
Then Jacob noticed something amazing. When the raiders were knocked off their mounts, it wasn't uncommon for the gryphens to eat them, yet the massive creatures wouldn't touch the rebels. They wouldn't even try. As he slammed the flat of his blade against another of the raiders, just barely able to hear the crack of ribs as the hard metal slammed into it, he understood why. All across the creatures body were whip scars, slashes, some still bleeding and raw and new. He looked at the belt of the next raider and the next, seeing that each had a thick, leather cat-of-nine-tails latched to their sides, to urge their beasts forward.
Gryphens were not unkind by nature, but they could be made to hate a man through pain.
Realizing the advantage this gave them, he worked his way through the cloud of Raiders to where Allan was bashing them down to the ground with sickening slaps and crunches. He watched carefully as the man swung out blindly, just barely catching a blow with his own sword, jarring Allan back to his senses just enough for Jacob not to be killed.
"Oh hello, Jake! How are you? Wasn't expecting company this afternoon, but as you can see," he slapped another Raider to the ground, "I seem to have picked up a few unwanted guests!"
"Allan, the gryphens are helping us. They hate the raiders as much as we do, look," Jacob said, slamming his blade against the back of one of the black cloaks, watching the raider fall to the ground in front of its gryphen, and suddenly it's head was torn off and thrown half way across the field. Then the creature simply stood there calmly, watching the chaos around him.
"Woah! Hungry little critters," Allan said, swinging out his blade again.
"Celia already took one of them. Seems they like us better than their old masters. I think we could get a mounted unit if we tried," Jacob said, cutting his sentences shorter as he slashed through the neck of a Raider. "I'll get the archers on mounts!" he shouted, slowly working his way through the mass of bodies, not knowing nor wanting to know which side they belonged to.
"What about Sahaquiel?" Allan shouted over to him.
Jacob paused for a moment, letting the insanity raining down on all sides of him, then yelled back, "I'll let you know when I have his head!" Then with a roar, he charged back into the battle from his thoughts, and swung his blade out wildly.