Chapter 419: The Shadow on the Cliff
The Shadow on the Cliff
Aurelian, however, did not smile. Not so much as a flicker, not even a twitch. His eyes were set—beyond the burned-over earth, beyond the crashed eagles, and beyond the valley floor—to the cliffside well beyond.
For there, for an instant, he saw it.
A silhouette. Black against the glare of morning sunlight, unbroken and motionless. The wind whispered on the edges of its cloak, bearing the slightest suggestion of cloth on stone. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the form vanished into the radiance of sunlight. But for that moment, those eyes had locked with his. Intentional. Calculated. Not a drifting shadow, not happenstance. A challenge had been laid down, silent but unmistakable.
Aurelian’s hand clenched around the leather of his reins. The creak beneath his fingers was overshadowed by the thud of his own heartbeat, slow but intentional, full with somber certainty. Whoever had planned this, whoever had sent the green-eyed eagles and laid the egg in the valley, had just laid bare themselves—and refused to move wholly into the light.
Looking at his men, Aurelian’s face tightened. His tone was even, but each sentence cut the air with the impact of iron against rock.
"This was not an accident. Recall this day. Recall its price," he stated, running his blue eyes across the ranks, allowing their gaze to meet his. Each face reflected a balance of terror and determination, lit by the glow of horror. "We are being attacked by Vellore.". We will get our revenge—but for now, be ready. If any of you are tempted to run, if this valley is our tomb, die standing. Do not crawl. It is possible some will get killed. It is possible I myself might get killed. But listen well to me—don’t give up. Don’t turn back. Stand so firm that even a cyclone cannot shake you. On my signal, we charge. Got it?
"
The soldiers erupted in a growl of rage. It was not noise—it was a sound torn from constricted throats already heavy with fear. It reverberated like a low, guttural growl against rock, snarled away down the valley but uninterrupted in determination.
Commanders shared swift, cold nods. Some smiled—not in triumph, but determination. Let this valley suffocate their lives; it would suffocate on their blood first.
High above, concealed in the shadow of the cliffs, the figure in the hood stirred. The action was minor, a whisper of cloth against rock. Two glints of light shone below the hood, cold and feral.
Jim.
Garry’s most trusted bodyguard, and at this moment, the hand of Vellore herself. Sent to observe, to see, to make sure that the trap—the valley, the eagles, the egg—unfolded as planned.
Aurelian’s eyes did not waver. He did not blink, even though the valley vibrated with the tension of some unseeable magic, a harbinger of disaster.
Then, from on high, a fresh chorus of screams rent the air.
The emerald eagles came back. Much larger than the reconnaissance couple before, now an entire strike formation. Their wings pounded the air like hurricanes, dark blotting out the sun as they dived down upon the front lines. Talons like spear points ripped through the air, beaks glinting, green flames licking along their open maws.
The first wave hit.
Moonstone warriors yelled as males were ripped off mounts, bodies hurled like ragdolls. Helmets broke under beaks, shields shattered under claws. Green flames burst from throats, biting steel, flesh, and earth alike. The valley smelled of burned iron, blood, and sorcery.
"Hold the lines!" a general yelled, driving his spear into the air. It bit feathers, drew molten blood—but only maddened the creatures further.
Aurelian’s teeth set. His fingers clasped the hilt of his sword, shining in sunlight. "To me!" he cried out, urging his horse to ride forward. Steel flashed like scintillas of lightning, and his voice cut across the uproar, firm and authoritative. "Stand firm!"
But the line was hemorrhaging. Each cycle of emerald wings left corpses shattered. The fireballs were relentless, incinerating men and horses both. Mid-battle, the thousand men who had marched into the valley at dawn were cut in two—some dead, some scattered among boulders, to rise no more.
But they did not stumble. Spears plunged upward, arrows released into openings in the emerald plumes, blows finding their target, if only sparingly. The creatures were defended by nature itself, their blood spitting on rock, venomous, softly shimmering.
Aurelian was attacked by two simultaneously.
The first swooped low, claws raking for his chest. Shield upraised, he was sent off balance, spinning onto his knees, sword held high.
The second eagle swooped down from overhead, mouth unwinding with a green fireball.
"Your Majesty!" a commander cried, charging forward.
Aurelian’s hand flashed up. "Back! Defend the line!"
The fireball collided with his sword’s blade, a blast of water spilling from the metal, crashing against flame. Steam exploded in blind clouds. Heat bore down against flesh, lungs with moisture and ash.
But the explosion brushed him. Armor dissolved into meat along his shoulder. Pain ignited, blood warm against steam.
But his footing held firm. Rage burned him from the core.
"Fall back!" he bellowed, voice quivering the valley itself. "All of you—fall back! I will handle this!"
Soldiers wavered, caught between training and duty. Generals shouted orders, pulling men away, regrouping lines just out of the sight of the falling eagles.
The monsters screamed, dominant in the mayhem, wings whumping tempests into the valley’s earth.
Aurelian stood all the way up to his height, heaving chest, sword planting itself in the ground. Both hands grasped the hilt, mouth moving in a whisper, old words of strength.
"Na’thorien... Elquoras... Veyra da’mir..."
Pebbles shuddered across rock, clanging off the cliffs. The eagles paused, heads tilted, senses cautious of the unseen power. Soldiers crashed to their knees, hands grasping at chests as the air coalesced, squeezing against lungs like a breathing sea.
"Sevir’an... Rhalm vey drachor..."
The king’s voice climbed, thundering, ordering the valley itself.
"By the ancient covenant of sea and stone... I summon you forth, O Sovereign Current!"
The earth quivered convulsively. From unperceived fissures and concealed brooks, water burst forth—an ocean released from deep within the valley itself. A titanic wall of blue ascended beyond cliffs, bellowing like a monster roused.
The green eagles shrieked horror, talons scrabbling against the air, wings beating futilely. In vain.
"TIDAL RECKONING!"
Aurelian’s sword cut the air, deflecting the ocean’s fury. The deluge thundered into the valley with cataclysmic power. Fire and feather, flesh and stone—all were washed away in the annihilating flood. Wings were broken, bodies pinned under the deluge. Cries became gurgles, smothered under the weight of water.
Soldiers hugged roots, rocks, and one another, faces streaming with blood and water. The valley was drowned in blue rage, a whirlpool of strength that spared no quarter.
Then, just as slowly, the water retreated.
The valley was left in shambles. Smoldering soil blended with broken stone and stagnant waters. Bodies of men and animals alike littered the ground. Great green feathers drifted like ghostly shadows.
Aurelian was standing in the middle, sword wet with seawater, armor buckled, blood gashing his face and arm. But he was not broken, a tempest in flesh, embracing blue flames in his eyes.
Above him, again, the hooded figure remained on the cliffs. Observing. Jim’s lips curled under the hood. A small smile of satisfaction revealed nothing else. The trap had succeeded. The Moonstone army hurt. Its king injured. Their ranks decimated. And the war was only just starting.
Aurelian’s eyes never wavered. Even amidst ruin, he was the embodiment of resolve, the living reminder that the Moonstone Kingdom would not fall quietly.And far above, on the cliff, the unseen hand of Vellore planned its next move.