The Shining Wyrm

10.5

Jewel was not feeling particularly immune to sorcery at the moment.

Yes, the wall of stone and timbers that had practically galloped out of the earth beneath her did stumble and fail to stay together as it trampled into her when she braced with her wyrmflame.

But it was nothing like how she had felt when Jaksa the Red had tried to command her blood.

To her right, Bromthil was trying to keep his charger from panicking and turning to flee as the earth heaved and shifted on top of the bones of stone and timbre.

Like a great beast had been made of the very ground they stood upon.

As soon as it was on them, with a wet squelch it suddenly fell away. The once solid earth sloughing from the stones like stewed meat from the bone.

And as Jewel’s sense of the sorcery cleared, without the panic of being tumbled over by a stampede of stonework, she could feel that Tsulogothulan seemed to have gotten a better grasp of the land beneath them.

The men of Rochford had lost their footing for the most part. Only half of them having braced in time before the earth itself had tried to throw them like a rearing stallion.

However, of those that had fallen, they found a cushioning of soft mud to cradle their bodies that was already setting them right.

Less fortunate were those at their right and left flank.

And Kraok had been thrown from his own charger. However he had tumbled well and was already on his feet without assistance from the marshland that had bloomed under them.

His horse however was screaming and Jewel winced when she noticed that its left hind leg had been snapped from what must have been a fall.

She knew what you were supposed to do with lame horses, even proper chargers. Broken legs left them nothing but suffering.

She shifted her coils amongst the still recovering men and Tsulogothulan’s mud and swamp.

The terrain firmed up under her own claws and the feet of the men to help them traverse.

Beneath and to either side, she could feel the fortifications of the Lord Sorcerer Veoul grappling with her allies for control of the terrain.

Tsulogothulan had shifted tactics, instead of trying to fight the earth and stone with simple water and springs, they had moved to suffusing and surrounding the stones with fast flowing soil and sand.

The timbers were rotted and soaked through til they rounded and refused to take on shape as spikes or support.

The stones eroded under the teeth of whirling silt.

All around Jewel, a great upwelling of marsh was taking hold. With islands of firm ground bobbing in and out of near black silty water and reeds to hold the feet of the soldiers.

Before Jewel could turn her attention back to the horse she found that it was already dead, neck and body pulled under into the water. Drowned and entombed.

In the distance on her left, Jewel saw what she was pretty sure was a building rising up to crash and grapple with more timbers and fortifications.

To her right, trees blazing in yellow and red leaves were pummeled and twisted in roiling churns of earth and wood work.

Bark peeling into planks and timbers like gashes of a gryphon’s claws raking their trunks.

In sight of her Jewel saw very few of the captains rallying their shocked men. She could already see some of the levy and even some footmen dropping their arms and running in a panic.

Fleeing the battle onto land that had been suspiciously cleared and leveled for them.

And ahead of her, still on their rise, was Thurzó’s army, although the swell of land had stalled.

Now they were marching to engage on their own feet and hooves.

Despite the lack of direct sorcerous assistance the army before her still had the favorable terrain the Weird had fashioned for them. A poor situation even with its guiding will distracted all along the front by the Wizards.

They were advancing and her side was ill-prepared. Even Bromthil was having trouble getting the levy to rally. Kraok was struggling to get attention without the height of his horse and despite Tsulogothulan’s effort to not foul their footing, the simple visible presence of the bog water was spooking the men out of formation.

Jewel took in a heavy breath and bellowed, voice filling the air, every ounce of command she had studied and heard in her Father’s voice put into practice to try and draw attention and more importantly obedience.

“Men of Viznove! Brothers of Zekhedge! Form Up! The Enemy is ahead! Fear not their Sorcery! Our Weirds and Wizards are with us! Forward with me men!”

And then setting word to deed Jewel began to move to meet the enemy charge.

It was different from her usual training melee.

Those had been to aid her in the event of ambush or otherwise being trapped in battle.

Every figure was an enemy.

But here amongst the men Jewel was bolstered and protected on three sides. She could run her coils loosely amongst and behind their formation while keeping her jaws and tail free.

And with her voice and sign of valor, the men of Rochford rallied with her and took steps into marshy soil that landed on firm land.

At their flanks the captains of their allies managed to rally as well and formed up with them.

Jewel felt the upwelling of a fresh wall of stone and timbers forging ahead of them, aiming to break through. Jewel felt that the sorcery of her friend while able to undermine and sink such an effort after was not going to prevent this one.

Neither Father nor Count Fiebron had given the signal for her to let loose her full ability, so she could not lance the approaching army with her flame.

If she did it could spoil everything, it could ruin the war.

Jewel was a good daughter. She would wait until her father or the count told her she should take wing and bring forth the Wyrmdoom.

But the sign of what looked like a full thousand armored footmen marching on the levies from Rochford and Kliatbatrn made her wings twitch to flare wide and her neck ache to arch.

And then the wall was moving at her and Jewel released her flame.

Not as trained and honed as she had learned to make it. She tried to keep it wild and dangerous looking. The way she had released it on a very aggressive rooster when she was scarcely bigger than a goat.

It flew in a wide corruscating white over the heads of her men. Splashing into the rising stones of the sorcerous attack.

Stone burned and blew away as dust, the heat of it joining that of the air rushing free and forced the levy and footmen of Rochford back.

Leaving Jewel alone.

She eased on the angle of her flame to strike more of the earth before her and sucked in air through her nose. Pulling Wyrmflame from her wings and coils, settling her weight heavier on the ground so she could funnel it up her throat and into the bulwark before her.

The stones burned, and the timbers exploded, the life of their wood flaring at the slightest brush of pale white.

Even the earth and the water of the bog around the stones burned. The water catching under her flame as surely as anything else and adding its own hues to the tumult around the searing white of her wild fury.

Jewel always wondered why water burned blue-purple under dragon flame instead of the cheerful gold and yellow of most things.

No one she had asked seemed to know.

When the bulwark had finally stopped, Jewel let up on her own attack. She felt her Wyrmflame petering off, and precious little was flowing back into the rest of her just yet. Jewel felt heavy, winded from the exertion of releasing her flame in so uncoordinated a manner. It was so wasteful without her usual control.

At the start of the year Jewel would probably have been grounded the rest of the day for lack of flame now. But she already could feel her Wyrmflame recovering.

It was filling up in her faster as she heard the sounds of men screaming, spears hitting heavy cloth or catching in flesh.

And as soon as the glare of her fire was gone the men were filling in the space around and ahead of her as well.

Helping to buffer her from the chaos raging all around, filling her ears with noise.

Horses shrieking and bones snapping. Metal on metal, wood, flesh, bone and leather.

She would not be lacking in flame for long at all with the rush of it now building to a torrent already.

The line of the enemy’s approach ahead of her had been broken. The once favorable terrain had torn and collapsed where the earth, stone, water and wood had burnt hot and fierce under her breath.

And she smelled shredded earth, the sharp whiff of thunder and stink of broken open bodies. Blood of men and horses everywhere. Filling the air and muffling out the more pleasant scents of man and horse sweat.

The scent of sundered earth and grass mingling with clay, stone and broken clouds.

Jewel turned her head to the sky, Gryphons wheeling overhead, twisting and turning so sharply and moving so swiftly she could not tell friend from foe except for those absolutely closest.

But she could not linger and watch. Already arrows were starting to fall on her like rain.

She dipped her head low and flared out her wings.

The sting and pinches of iron heads striking her membranes painfully.

But it was better than letting those points strike her men.

Better to bear a minor pinch for her then let a wounding strike hit one of the people of Rochford who followed to fight in a war that was her fault.

Jewel felt her wyrmflame rising harsh and fierce just thinking about it.

Like a thunderstorm was building despite the clear summer day.

She would keep her people safe.