Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(113)

But something huge swooped down from overhead. Wings the size of a boat’s sails framed a lithe body that was all bone, muscle, sinew, and scale. A pair of reptilian jaws clasped over the giant’s head, biting down hard, crushing the creature’s skull. The wings flapped and the dragon tore the giant’s head from its body, once more rising into the air. Nikolas saw it had a scar on the side of its face in the shape of a crescent.

The giant fell to the ground, toppling like a tree. Nikolas climbed back to his feet as he saw another dragon plunge down on the enemy with claws outstretched to grab an ogre, claws rending its shoulders and jaw turning sideways to tear open its victim’s throat. Two furies picked up another giant by the armpits, flying high into the sky. Nikolas followed them with his eyes until they were distant figures, the ogre struggling in their grip. They finally let go and the ogre came crashing to the ground with earth-shattering force.

Flying creatures were suddenly everywhere, ripping into the once-indomitable force at the rear of Nikolas’s army. He watched in wonder, uncomprehending how or why they were here. Then he shook himself and turned back to the line.

‘Reform!’ he cried. ‘Shield to shield!’

With the threat from behind gone, the discipline of the Xanthian hoplites’ training came to the fore. Nikolas ran to join them, pushing through the ranks and roaring for them to hold.

The line came together. But the sun king’s men sensed victory and pushed on relentlessly. Nikolas had lost his spear and shield and now had only his sword. The enemy pushed forward. The Xanthians gave ground. The tide would turn one way or another at any instant.

A screaming warrior came at him, thrusting a spear at Nikolas’s head. Ducking under it, Nikolas lunged forward and slashed at his opponent’s unprotected knees. The warrior’s screaming changed pitch as he fell. In a momentary lull, Nikolas saw that there were no longer any giants or ogres fighting with the sun king’s men. He looked up. Winged creatures were fighting each other in the skies, writhing and rolling as dragon fought dragon and fury fought fury.

Bodies were everywhere. The ground was stained red with blood. Nikolas suddenly found himself fighting two men at once, and when he looked for help he saw that every man around him was occupied as each force tried to make one final surge and achieve victory.

He pushed a spear away with his sword and lunged, feeling the blade bite deeply as he struck a stocky Ilean’s throat. But then his second opponent, a man as muscled as Nikolas himself, slashed down with a curved sword. Nikolas managed to avoid the blow, but he felt sudden fire as sharp steel sliced the back of his sword hand.

His sword dropped from his fingers. Seeing his enemy without shield or weapon, the big warrior’s eyes lit up with triumph as he prepared to make a final killing strike. Nikolas waited for the end.

Then, swift as a bird, an arrow flew past Nikolas’s ear. The Ilean cried out and put his hands to his face, trying in vain to clutch at the shaft that sprouted from his eye. As he fell and another enemy took his place, a second arrow tore into the next Ilean’s face.

‘Forward!’ came the cry from one of the officers.

‘Forward!’ The men took it up.

‘Forward!’ Nikolas roared as he raised a fist to the sky. ‘Counting march!’

Linked shield to shield, the men started to count.

‘One!’ They took a step forward, pushing back the enemy line.

‘Two!’ They grunted as they moved again.

‘Three!’ The enemy fell to spears and swords.

Finally, the army of Ilea broke.

They ran for the city and Nikolas saw that the gates were wide open as their yellow-cloaked comrades helped them flee. With savage joy the hoplites chased after them, cutting them down from behind.

A rearward guard held the gates for a time, and then the first of Nikolas’s men swarmed through, followed by a flood of crimson-cloaked men, rushing to reclaim their city.

Nikolas looked up and saw that the skies were clear. Like a flock of frightened birds, the enemy eldren were retreating, flying over the city and beyond. On the battlefield, a group of silver-haired eldren, those who had fought on the Xanthian side, were now searching for the bodies of their fallen.

Only then did he realize that the battle was won.

An archer behind him was panting as he clutched his weapon. Nikolas turned to thank the man who had saved his life, and his eyes widened.

Dion was covered in blood, looking up at the palace as his chest heaved. He lowered the composite bow that Nikolas had given him.

‘We need to get to the harbor,’ Dion said.

Together the brothers rushed through the open gates and into the streets of the newly liberated city. Red-cloaked soldiers were everywhere, desperate to find loved ones and to ensure there wasn’t a single man in a yellow cloak left alive. Reaching the grassy bank near the palace, where an unfinished wall barely a foot in height did nothing to protect the city from the sea, Dion cursed as he saw that they were too late.

Already the enemy warships were growing distant, their cargo of soldiers now embarked for a new destination.

An officer came forward. ‘Your orders, sire?’

Nikolas wiped a hand over his face, and then looked at the palm, seeing that it was entirely red, the blood dry and sticky.

He glanced up at the palace. ‘Send some men to take care of the bodies of the king, and the . . . those with him.’