<h2>CHAPTER 85 – LAKE NIOBI</h2>
The boat cracked along with the wave and Anilithyìstad snuck back up the shoreline to the fight. The dark troops caught him, gathered around him, and screamed, drawing the attention of the surrounding others. There was no way around them. The gang of pirates began to pile on top of him. Anilithyìstad was being tossed around and thrown about as if he was an amateur in his first fight. But he endured. Before the rusted swords and pointy spears skewered him the scrappy knight threw everything he had at them. For a while the knight lost his sword and fought exclusively hand to hand. Anilithyìstad knew this would not be a repeat of the bay. They only had a limited amount of these small boats to get through. As long as they survived there was a chance they could win this skirmish.
Once he retrieved his sword he then cut down the last of the crowd that cornered him. Like a fierce predator putting down pests, Anilithyìstad was unmatched. He got himself back to the frontline on the beach but was approaching on the opposite side. One advantage was that their backs were to him. Anilithyìstad kept his pace and with a jolting sprint he cut straight through one, bringing his body along with him like a shield to the other side. He threw the body down to reveal his return to the twelve. Unfortunately, now there were only eight soldiers left guarding the beach. Anilithyìstad surveyed the shore. He specifically remembered not seeing any boats behind the flagship, and there it was, docked and emptied.
Anilithyìstad was certain the last of the armada had docked. There were no more reinforcements. Now all they had to do was outlast the remaining soldiers; nine warriors of good against about a hundred pirates of darkness. Anilithyìstad kept telling himself, and the others…
“All we have to do is survive.”
And then he remembered and looked down for them. Only one of the cauldrons had been kicked over. The rest were still holding burning hot oil. Anilithyìstad watched as his eight men held back a hundred sailors. The two horseman were still alive and containing the flanks. But just as Anilithyìstad recognized that, did both horse and rider get cut apart and brought down by arrows. The other rider was also pulled down from his horse, but not dead. Anilithyìstad rushed over to the dying rider, while he yelled between them, “PREPARE TO RETREAT!”
He got to the rider; both he and his horse were dead. The ranks of the pirate taskforce swung out towards Anilithyìstad. He knew that he could not stay here. He got up and sounded the retreat. As Anilithyìstad ran back he made sure each cauldron of oil was knocked over. All but one of the middle ones were, so Anilithyìstad did it himself, and created a connected barrier of scorching hot liquid, covering their retreat.
There were now only seven of them left, including Anilithyìstad. The fires ate some of the sailors, but they were already adjusting their charge. Anilithyìstad put his sword away for the moment and gave out a mighty whistle. The retreating troops stopped and turned around. They decided to not retreat. They stood behind Anilithyìstad, ready to die. Out from the murky shadows of the beach, came a galloping figure. It was Anilithyìstad’s horse, the gray stallion. The mighty steed’s wound was healed, the arrow now gone. Anilithyìstad greeted it with a soft head butt and rub of the chin. He grabbed the reins and mounted.
“Spread out,” he said to his men as he kicked his horse into action. “We can win this fight!”
He ran back towards the fires and the approaching battalions. But he did not ride straight ahead, he snaked his path, remaining hidden, and snuck up on the unsuspecting lines of pirate infantry. Behind the lines of darksiders was the Emissary and his private guard. Anilithyìstad hit the lines on their left flank, his right. He cut right through the width of them, splitting them all the way down the line. The three or four lines were ransacked into one giant heap of bodies and paranoia. Unlike the Berserkers, these pirates were simple-minded tools of the shadow, mere pawns with unimpressive abilities. They succumbed to Anilithyìstad’s sneak attack. When Anilithyìstad met back with his troops, after several passes through the enemy formation, he had almost cut their numbers in half.
Anilithyìstad fought alongside only three remaining men. He finished off a flank attempt and looked back. The remaining pirates fell back into the Emissary’s guard. It was over. They had done all they could. Anilithyìstad led back the retreat into the courtyard. He put one of the men who was wounded up onto his horse and trotted to safety.
Anilithyìstad looked back as his horse made for the courtyard. Anilithyìstad stopped.
“I am going back,” he said.
The man sitting on his horse was speechless.
“And I do not want you to come with me.”
The man bowed to Anilithyìstad, said his goodbye, and kicked his horse to return to the Citadel. Anilithyìstad turned around, without his trusted steed. And set out to kill the Emissary and his remaining legions. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
The soldiers around the Emissary started to bang their armor with their weapons. They rejoiced in the great Metuchen knight’s surrender, or what appeared to be. The Emissary held his arms out. His armor was sleek shiny black metal and pointed at the fingers. He was grasping a long whip with metal-tasseled edges and a crooked sword. As Anilithyìstad got closer the Emissary cracked his whip around himself.
Anilithyìstad looked at them like they were no threat. His striking arm had been properly warmed up. His blood burning through his veins with the fires of war, he was at his strongest. A slight smirk gave it away. He wanted this. Anilithyìstad gave out his battle cry and charged. As he lowered his sword and pointed it at the Emissary, the assassin cracked his whip and wrapped his ankle. Anilithyìstad tripped. He rolled around in the sand, trying to find the strength to get up. The blow had knocked the wind out of his chest, and the thought out of his head.
He snapped awake and tried to get back up. At which time, the Emissary’s black armored heel collided with Anilithyìstad’s face. He fell back as the crooked sword swung above him. Anilithyìstad ducked the stroke, sliding between his legs and kicked the Emissary’s feet out from under him. He fell onto Anilithyìstad and the two rolled around on the sandy floor.
Anilithyìstad tried to throw sand in the Emissary’s face, but that was also completely covered in shining black armor, except for two small eye holes. Anilithyìstad knocked the sword out of his hand and shot up. The Emissary countered with his whip wrapping around Anilithyìstad’s sword, lifting himself back up. They both now had their hands around Anilithyìstad’s whip-wrapped sword. Back and forth the sword was pulled until Anilithyìstad let it go with one hand and unsheathed the small dagger on his leg. He went for the Emissary, but he turned around in time and snatched Anilithyìstad’s hand, pulling the dagger from it.
The Emissary went to cut his throat with the knife. Anilithyìstad stopped him by grabbing his striking hand. They now struggled between two blades. The Emissary then released his other hand from the whip handle holding the sword and went for Anilithyìstad’s throat. Anilithyìstad dropped his sword along with the whip.
His own dagger was getting closer and closer to his neck, and the grip the Emissary had on it. Instead of trying to keep from suffocating once again, Anilithyìstad went for the knife nearing his neck. With both hands, Anilithyìstad snapped the blade off of the handle and plunged it under the armor on the Emissary’s shoulder. The southern champion took a step back. Shocked that someone got through his armor. He could not remove the blade from his body. Anilithyìstad smiled at this observation. His hand trickled blood through his brown leather wrappings. It did not matter. Anilithyìstad jumped on top of him.
The Emissary squirmed as the giant horse lord latched onto his back and got a hold around his neck. the Emissary could not be choked, for his neck, along with the rest of his body, was completely covered by sleek black armor. The assassin heaved himself around and shook Anilithyìstad off of him, punching him straight in the face. The brave warrior of the Steed Kingdom stumbled to his feet, while the Emissary picked up his crooked sword.
Even if Anilithyìstad could survive this duel, the on-looking soldiers would never let him leave. And there is no way he could kill all of them. It was useless. And there was so much more battle to be fought. Anilithyìstad stumbled to his feet and prepared for the Emissary’s next strike.
In two volleys, Anilithyìstad grabbed his own sword and then struck as their swords were caught together. He felt his sword slipping as the Emissary seemed to overpower him. How was this possible? All the physical evidence contrary to such a claim, between stature and recent event. Then he saw it rising off him like a hot pot of stew, the shadow. The Emissary meddled with dark magic. Anilithyìstad had never faced such a foe before.
He gave in, letting the sword fall to the ground. Anilithyìstad went with the shifting momentum. He spun and hooked the legs out from under the Emissary, felling him. Anilithyìstad dragged his head over to his sword, which lay embedded in the sand. He pulled the black metal head up and slammed it down into the sword. It dented the armor around the Emissary’s neck.
He pulled the metal head back up and heaved the head repeatedly into the blade. The armor was thick and most likely infused with ruins of some kind to reinforce it. It would take everything the old knight had to pierce the armor. He would have to work it and give it blood, sweat, and tears. He would have to work himself up into a frenzy. And so he did.
Anilithyìstad embraced the urge the let loose, go wild, like his ancestors along the shores with the mustangs of Metuchen. Back and forth he pulled the head up, as the limbs squirmed in utter horror below, and slammed it back down onto his castle-forged steel sword. His efforts soon broke off the metal armor, but Anilithyìstad did not stop. He threw the black metal helmet away and revealed the repulsive face underneath.
The Emissary was old and cowardly. In the Emissary’s last struggle, Anilithyìstad could see it all, the life of despair, his devotion to the darkness, a thirst for war, a wickedness to the innocent, and now the demise. Continuing to pin him down, he gripped his grotesque head by the few oily jet black strands of hair left and thrust it down repeatedly until there was a clean break, severing the Emissary’s neck. His spine snapped, his head now completely off.
Anilithyìstad stood up holding the head of the Emissary as Axion’s final red flare flew up into the dark sky above. The crowd of dark troops around him cowered at the sight of the Horse Lord savagely displaying the token of victory. He tried carefully not to show just how tired he was. His strength was fleeting, and it would take a little while to get back. Thankfully, he had been spared from most of the fighting at the walls, so he was still in his warrior’s stride as they called it in the ShoreLands.
After a couple paces back towards the city he could see it, a familiar sight, and all too welcome. Anilithyìstad was picked up by his returning horse and escorted out of the Lake Niobi beach. Finally, he lowered his guard and felt the first fatigue of the day. Anilithyìstad exhaled and then rallied. He rushed to rejoin the fight, but not without making a quick stop at the Citadel first, dipping into a secret entrance only made known to him by his sister, Queen Adyána for this exact purpose.