Chapter 9: Blood
"Kanai, kanai voral!"
-Bautarii war cry, translated as 'The tide, the tide has come'.
The Grublins did not see them coming, and even if they did, it wouldn't have helped them much.
The creatures stampeded their way out of the camp, somehow keeping themselves one step ahead of the billowing wall of fire, and into the clearing outside. There, the only warning they received was the whistling of arrows as they began to rain down from the surrounding woods.
Tired and hungry, the Grublins were caught flatfooted, their silhouettes easily standing out against the burning camp at their backs. Dozens fell. Shrieks filled the night. Grublins fired blindly into the darkness with bows and slingshots, only to be cut down by accurate volleys in return. Then came the cry.
"Avalar!"
Warriors of the Blue Claws tribe emerged from the treeline, twirling swords by their sides, screaming like demons. Chief Oganos led them forward, the cheetahs eager to close the gap as quickly as possible.
Grublins were cut down by hook-blades before they had the chance to fight back, black ichor spilling in growing pools across the ground.
War Chief Prowlus urged his own tribe-kin as the Twisted Branches charged into the melee, quickly mirrored by Stella's own Crazy Wings on the opposite enemy flank. The open space before the earthworks, the very same that should have been a killing field to employ against the cheetahs, was now littered with Grublin bodies.
Prowlus allowed himself one moment to appreciate the irony. A club came for his head. He sidestepped, brought his sword around, and then lunged. The Grublin stiffened as Prowlus rammed the blade through the thing's eye-socket and into the brain.
He yanked it out just in time to deflect another incoming blow. The Grublin was off balance now, and Prowlus's own honour guard plunged into the opening with their spears.
"Forward!" Prowlus shouted, stepping past the lifeless body. "Give them no rest! Cut a path through!"
More Grublins jumped into the fight, either attracted by it or stumbling into it as they scrambled to escape the camp. Prowlus bit his lower lip; even if they showed little coordination, they would still force the cheetahs to waste time with them.
'We do not have time. We cannot get bogged down, not now.'
Cheetahs fell amid the raging melee. A Crazy Wings warrior dropped as a Grublin got lucky with its slingshot. A Twisted Branches stumbled back, paws pressed on her abdomen to stem the bleeding. The furious clashing of steel against steel rung out through the night. Blades and spears glinted under the vibrant orange glare.
Chief Prowlus turned his attention to those still not engaged in the fighting, directing them to the injured so that they could be carried back and out of danger.
Some distance away, the Blue Claws kept on hacking their way forward with unbridled ferocity. Prowlus caught a glimpse of Chief Oganos in their midst, the cheetah easily towering over his own warriors. He wielded his own hook-blade with both paws, severing limbs and chopping heads with each swipe.
Pain exploded into Prowlus's side. Hissing, the cheetah swung his sword down, splitting the Grublin's head open like a watermelon. He stumbled, then recovered his balance as he checked for an injury that wasn't there. The chainmail had taken the brunt of it.
Ahead, resistance stiffened as the mass of Grublins finally stopped floundering about and rallied around their leader. In Grublin terms, that meant gathering by the biggest and meanest-looking of them and kept on fighting from there. More Blue Claws collapsed and were dragged back where possible.
Prowlus swung his head around, scanning his surroundings until he focused on one cheetah.
"Alika!"
She glanced up and away from her patient. Red-painted glyphs stood out on her cheeks. There was no word exchanged between the two. Chief Prowlus simply had to gesture towards the mass of Grublins and its centre to get his message across.
The cheetah nodded, stood up, handed over the injured to her tribe-kin and charged into the melee with an impish grin.
For a moment, Prowlus lost sight of her. Then the screams came, followed by an earth-shaking roar. Grublins screeched and staggered back. Alika was among them, though the cheetah had disappeared. In her place stood a mass of fur and muscles; a heart-shaped face framed by ruffled, grey feathers and with a jagged beak at its centre.
The Owlbear barrelled toward the Grublin leader, smashing aside, and eviscerating the underlings too slow to escape her massive claws. The Grublin lifted a big axe, but it never got the chance to use it before the shapeshifted druid was upon it. What followed was no fight; if anything, it reminded Prowlus of a dog pup playing with their first doll.
The sight of the biggest among them being butchered, mauled, and thrashed around by a wild beast proved to be enough. The Grublins scattered and fled in every direction, even back into the burning camp behind them. The cheetah warriors hounded them all the way.
"Bring the injured here!" Prowlus commanded. "Tell the healers to bring them here and set up a camp. Take a moment to rest. And somebody tell Chief Oganos to stop pursuing, we must regroup!"
The Twisted Branches obeyed, setting out to recover the injured and their equipment where possible. More warriors were streaming out the woods and into the clearing.
"Cos!" Prowlus called out. "Cos!"
Out of nowhere, he found the cheetah standing by his side, bow at the ready. "Aye, chief?"
"Bring the archers forward and clear the camp entrance."
The warrior shook his head instead. "We cannot, War Chief. The flames are spreading quickly. Entering the camp is too dangerous unless you want to us to join them. Still, the Grublins are broken."
A small grin appeared on his muzzle. "We'll probably end up hunting down bands of survivors most of the winter. You know how Grublins are."
Prowlus slowly nodded. He tried to ignore the dryness in his throat as his eyes swung back on the growing inferno. They were now close enough that he could feel the scorching heat; embers fluttered in the air like a swarm of glowing mosquitoes.
'How old was he? Sixteen? Eighteen? Even dragons from Warfang would hesitate before taking on an entire camp and their chief. Ancestors, was Hunter right all along?'
He let none of that transpire through his stoic expression.
"Very well, let them burn. We move around then."
"To the temple?"
"Our Ancestors are smiling upon us tonight," Prowlus said. "Now is our chance to strike at the intruders. Ready the warriors."
He paused only when his mind registered just how many warriors were emerging out of the woods, followed by the realization that he hadn't brought that many with him there.
"Cos, those are Owl Eyes. What are they doing here?"
"Actually, those are the Owl Eyes," he corrected him, before pointing to a different group. "Those ones are instead Cloved Feet. See the javelins and the round shields?"
"Yes, I see them. What are they doing here?"
Cos shrugged, causing the arrows to rustle in the quiver over his shoulder.
"They must think we are attacking for real. Chief Callina and Chief Yatoz are marshalling every warrior at their disposal, and the rest will probably join us soon. That's what they told me, at least."
Prowlus blinked. "What? Why?"
"I can't say. Maybe they thought we needed help. Whatever the case, this won't be a raid much longer."
Prowlus opened his mouth only to then think better of it. Some distance away, the Blue Claws had finished butchering the remaining Grublins and were getting ready to move as per their chief's instructions.
'This is it then. It's not how I wanted it to go, but we have no choice now. Ah well, I'm sure the songs will omit that we stumbled into a battle by mistake. If we survive, that is.'
"War Chief, are you alright?"
Prowlus shook his head. "I'll have a word with the other chiefs later. Now, we push on." His gaze shifted to the side, and he frowned.
"And somebody please tell Alika to stop mauling that Grublin body, that thing is dead already!"
Bodies littered the corridor, blood seeping in the cracks between the ancient stone tiles. Cynder ignored them as she stepped past; glassy, immobile eyes stared at her.
The dragoness ignored their accusing stares too. It was their own fault they were dead. They had set up an ambush for them in the dark, a sloppy one. They hadn't known who she was, and that was the reason why describing the previous ten seconds as a fight was a very generous stretch of the term.
"You alright?"
Spyro appeared by her side. She gave him a shrug.
"You got hit."
Cynder frowned. She reached up with a claw for her right cheek. She traced the outline of the scar carved into her scales, yet there was no blood.
"One of them got lucky with a spear. It won't happen again."
"You sure you don't need some-"
"I'm fine," Cynder repeated. "And besides, I could say the same to you."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"
"The gate, remember? You got hit by a crossbow."
Spyro shrugged. "It's fine though. Come on, we are getting closer."
'Nothing of this seems to bother him. Is it just an act? No, he sounded genuinely concerned for a moment there.'
Spyro glanced over his shoulder. "Sparx? Bianca? You can come out now."
The rabbit's head hesitantly leaned out from behind a corner before finally stepping out, followed by the dragonfly's unmistakable glow. Ignoring Sparx's unease at the scene, Cynder shot a glance Bianca's way.
"I was expecting a bit more magic from a sorcerer."
"They have a mage," she hissed. "I do anything, they'll sense it. I'm not drawing attention on myself unless it's absolutely necessary. Maybe you two can survive a blast of pure magic to your face, but I'd rather stay alive a little longer."
"Yeah, that makes two of us," Sparx commented. Cynder ignored him as usual, studying Bianca a few moments more. Though nervous, the fighting so far had not freaked her out how the dragoness had assumed it would. And then there had been the fight at the entrance.
'She didn't hesitate to throw up the shield, and she can somewhat keep her cool. She has been in combat before.'
"Alright Sparx, you scouted this whole place. Where are they keeping the prisoners?" Spyro asked.
"We should be close enough," the dragonfly mused, scratching his chin. He swung his head around a few times before picking a direction. "That way. The big hall should be there."
Cynder frowned. "Should be?"
"I'm pretty sure it is."
"That's not giving me any reassurance."
"If you want to go ahead and check it out for yourself, then please do. Don't let me stop you," Sparx countered.
By her side, Spyro grinned before giving her an eyewink. "Relax, Sparx knows what he's talking about. Between the two of us, he has the better sense of direction, since our time in the swamp in fact."
The dragonfly stuck his tongue out at her, and Cynder had to leverage all her self-control to keep her own tongue in check.
Soon enough they were on the move again, quietly travelling down ancient corridors that had seen better days. Burning torches were clearly a recent addition, few and far in between. Ancient pedestals and reliefs dotted the walls, covered by a thin layer of dust. Bianca suppressed a sneeze.
"Watch it. When I checked it out, the place was full of bad guys," Sparx eventually spoke up.
"Don't worry, I think we can handle it," Spyro grinned. The dragonfly said nothing, yet Cynder didn't miss the uneasy glance he shot to Spyro's fresh injury while the dragon was distracted.
The corridor opened into a larger environment, the main hall stretching on before them. The high ceiling above their heads had partially collapsed, revealing a light-dotted night sky. Canvases belonging to countless tents stood out amidst broken columns and piles of rubbles. Aside from that, the place was eerily empty.
"Well, seems like the bad guys decided to go somewhere else. I won't complain though," Sparx commented.
"The fireplaces are still smouldering. They must have left not too long ago. We probably just missed them," Spyro mused.
"It's nice having some luck for once, isn't it? Come on, we are close now."
Without another word, Sparx buzzed ahead, forcing the others to quicken their steps to catch up with him. He came to a hovering halt before an arched entryway like any other they had seen so far, except that they could now see a flight of stairs leading downward. Some light was cast by a couple of burning lanterns outside, failing to break through the darkness.
"I think we can take it from there. Sparx, do you mind keeping an eye out here? Give us a heads up if you see any trouble."
"On it, buddy. Me and dark subterranean places don't get on with anyway."
By Cynder's side, Bianca began reciting something under her breath. A small, rotating globe of light took shape before her paws, lifting in the air and casting a soft light about.
"I thought you said you couldn't do magic," Cynder pointed out.
"It's just a small trick. First year material. It doesn't leave a trace strong enough to be detected."
Anything Cynder was about to say died in her mouth. The light fell upon the stone steps leading down, illuminating the spurts of blood covering them. It didn't take long for her mind to draw the obvious conclusion.
Her eyes went instinctively to Spyro. The Purple Dragon had gone stiff upon seeing the sign of evident struggle. Bianca had turned pale as a sheet by her side, lips trembling.
One single question pushed its way to the forefront of Cynder's mind.
'Are we too late? Did we go all that effort only to be rewarded by a pile of bodies?'
Before she had the time to voice any that, Spyro had already bolted for the stairs and begun the descent.
"Spyro, wait!"
Despite her hesitation, Cynder charged after him and down the steps. Shadow parted before her very eyes. The sounds from behind warned her that Bianca had followed her example.
They followed the crimson trail all the way down, up until they came across the first body. His head had been split in two, and brutally at that. He was not a prisoner though; no prisoner ever would be allowed to wear heavy armour.
They reached the landing. Cynder saw the slaughter first, yet she waited a few more moments until Bianca had reached them with her own ball of light. Bodies laid scattered about, the ground slick with entrails. Blood was splattered over columns and ancient reliefs along the walls.
Slowly, Cynder made her way to Spyro's side, his expression simply blank. He reached out tentatively with a claw for his shoulder, only to stop short. A tiny alarm bell went off in a far corner of her mind.
'Wait. Something's not right. All of the bodies are wearing armour, and they have the same coat-of-arms of the first one we found. But if they aren't the prisoners, then where-'
In the shadows, something shifted behind a column. Cynder almost missed the twang of a bow. Bianca shouted something, but the dragoness ignored it.
An assailant had just burst out from behind another column; big, covered in rags, and with an axe. They charged at Cynder, but she was faster and could see better.
She leapt in the air, and her head slammed against her opponent's. They fell backward with a groan. Standing over them, Cynder readied poisoned claws.
"Stop!"
The shout rung out through the darkness. The only reason Cynder followed its instruction was because she knew who it belonged to.
"Get a lantern going, you idiots!"
The glow broke through the darkness, revealing dozens of armed creatures surrounding them, nearly as baffled as the trio was. Their clothes were worn, their faces gaunt from fatigue, and they eyed them with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. A lean figure stepped out from behind a column, pulling down her crimson scarf as she did. She blinked for a moment.
"I'll admit this is a bit awkward," Zara said with a wide grin. "You are the last people I would have expected to come here."
Spyro reacted first. "Zara? What are you doing here?"
"Saving some hostages. Or at least trying to." She shrugged. "But with Hunter's gone, I had to improvise. I apologize for the welcoming party, but we took out a group of enemies just five minutes ago."
Cynder surveyed the aftermath for a moment. She raised an eyebrow. "We? As in, you and the prisoners?"
Zara shrugged, sharing a grin with the rest of those present. "You'll be surprised how far some motivation and a few pilfered weapons can get you. Though I have the nagging suspicion that one of them got out."
"Yeah. Nice work, Ollin," a knife-wielding she-cat scowled, arms crossed on her chest.
"Oh, sod off!" the hare snapped. "I already said it, I haven't practised with a bow in years. Kaz, help me out here."
The badger got up to his feet after having been downed by Cynder, shook the dust off his clothes, and simply shrugged. He remained otherwise silent.
"Seriously, that's it? You're just leaving me here high and dry? Some friend you are."
Another voice echoed from somewhere behind.
"Miss Zara? Why are you taking so lon-"
The cheetah stopped as he came into view, leaning against his walking stick. Cynder heard a gasp from Bianca. The rabbit turned into a blur that rushed past the dragoness, collided with the cheetah, and finally wrapped her arms around his chest.
"Well, this is pleasantly unexpected," Meadow said before flinching. "Bianca, would you mind stop squeezing that hard? I do need air." The rabbit stepped back, her face flushing.
"This is the last time I'm letting you go anywhere without me!" Bianca snapped. "Do you have the slightest idea how scared I was when you didn't come back?! I . . . for a moment I . . ." She paused, tears streaking down her face.
"I-I thought you were dead."
"I can assure you, I too am glad that isn't the case," Meadow said, a paw resting on Bianca's shoulder.
He smiled, then chuckled. He gestured at something by the entrance. "Just as I'm glad to see that you've kept on practicing despite my absence."
Cynder followed his gaze all the way to one of their would-be assailants laying on the ground. The canine snored loudly, her paws still clinging to the club.
Bianca let out a nervous chuckle, wiping her face with her sleeves. "Oh, right. Sorry for that, but I saw her come out of nowhere and . . . s-she's alright though," she blurted out. "The sleeping spell lasts only for a minute."
Meadow nodded. "I'm sure she'll be glad to know that once she wakes up." He shook his head.
"Forgive my brusque manners, but I fear our reunion must be cut short. The others will be done packing what little they have shortly, Miss Zara. Then we can leave."
The fennec nodded back. "Tell them to stick together. The sooner we reach the back entrance, the better."
Spyro took a step forward. "Hold on a moment, where's Hunter? I thought you said something about him."
"I did," Zara said, and proceeded to fill the others in on what had happened.
Cynder tilted her head in confusion. Spyro blinked a few times in surprise. And then Meadow shook his head.
"That fool," he hissed. "You should have told me this before. I wouldn't have wasted all this time."
"You know where he is?" Cynder asked. Meadow shook his head once more before letting out a tired sigh.
"No, but I know what he's trying to do. Hunter did come to visit the village occasionally, and we had the chance to chat those few times. He told me what happened at the Trident, and about the legionnaires. It's why I recognized them."
A pause. "I believe he's trying to do what he couldn't three years ago and kill the Bautarii in charge."
"Alone?" Spyro blinked again, then snapped his head to Zara. His eyes narrowed. "And you let him go just like that?"
"What was I supposed to do? Hunter can be stubborn when he sets his mind on something!"
"Sounds familiar," Cynder muttered. If Spyro heard that, he gave no sign.
"HEALER!"
The voice boomed throughout the cramped confines, amplified by magical means. It slammed into them like a physical force. Some distance away, Cynder noticed Meadow going suddenly stiff, his eyes wide.
Bianca's reaction was similar yet deeply different in nature. In fact, she seemed to be struggling to contain a growing, vicious snarl.
"I KNOW YOU ARE THERE. YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO COME OUT. AFTER THAT, THE LIVES OF YOU FRIENDS ARE FORFEIT, JUST LIKE YOURS!"
"A friend of yours, I take it?" Cynder mused.
"I was hoping he would forget about me eventually."
By the time they got moving again, almost thirty minutes had passed. It had become clear by then that was no longer a raid.
The Owl Eyes, the Cloved Feet, and the remaining warriors from the tribes had showed up in mass, ready and eager for battle. To say this wasn't what Prowlus had been planning would have been a severe understatement.
Yet Prowlus was a War Chief now, so he did what any chief would do. He banished the uncertainties from his mind, tried to set up an inspiring example to his warriors, and he led them into battle.
Leaving behind a token force to keep the injured safe, the five Avalar tribes pushed on. As the fires inside the Grublin camp still raged unabated, the cheetahs moved around and headed for the old dragon's temple. Prowlus wiped his face with a forearm, only to find soot sticking to his fur. The once cool night air felt stuffy now.
"I think this is going rather well, aye? The fire shall take care of the Grublins for us!"
Stella was at his side. Chief Kina's right hand flashed him a grin; the short sword and dagger in her paws glinted in the glare, just as the set of rings on her ears. She wore metal vambraces and greaves, coupled with a lighter padded armour.
"Indeed, but let's not get too ahead of ourselves. There is still much work before us."
The tribes reached open ground, the temple's bastions looming over a hellish scene. The fires there had stopped burning, for the simple fact that there were enough Grublin's bodies amidst the blackened grass to smother the embers themselves. Figures stumbled amidst the carnage, driving weapons into the injured Grublins.
They stopped when the large cheetah host was spotted. A cry rung out, and they rushed back to form up ranks again before the entrance, albeit slowly at that.
"They are tired, and many of their own lay now with the Grublins," Stella mused, blades twirling in her paws. "This will be fun."
She made to step forward, but Prowlus placed a paw on her shoulder.
"Not yet," he said. He swung his head around. "Cos?"
"Aye, chief?" The cheetah had again reappeared seemingly out of nowhere.
"Send a message to the Owl Eyes and Cloved Feet. It's time to soften the enemy's ranks." The cheetah nodded and disappeared again amidst the warriors, carrying out the order without hesitation.
The battle, if it could be called such, was a brutal and quick affair. The shrill whistling of arrows and javelins filled the night air. The Owl Eyes let loose a veritable downpour on the intruders' ranks, their archery unmatched in the entirety of Avalar.
The Cloved Feet fought in their typical way; they charged in, screaming like possessed as they closed the distance with their enemies, stopped ten yards away, and threw their javelins at point-blank range to devastating effects.
They would repeat that tactic over and over, progressively dismantling the enemy formation with brutal efficiency. When the rest of the tribes finally moved in, what should have been a brutal slugging match for the control of a choke point into the temple became a one-sided affair.
Prowlus had heard of them. The columns of fleeing refugees had spoken much about the Bautarii, the fearsome legions marching from the west and flying the Black Phoenix banner.
There wasn't much fearsomeness left in that company; to their credit, they had absolutely trounced a far larger Grublin force trying to enter the temple, but they had been equally savaged. The cheetahs struck into an exhausted prey lacking enough shields to form a battle line, and out of projectiles for their crossbows.
They fought on though. They fought where they stood and died, never taking a step back. Prowlus's admiration for their discipline was only tempered by his hatred towards them. They were the ones responsible for the butcher at Greenvale; they had brought the war into the valley of Avalar. Such affront could only be repaid in blood.
The last legionnaire hit the ground and the cheetahs stormed past the arched entrance and into the temple's inner courtyard, dry grass replaced by smooth stone under they feet.
"The temple's gates are ours!" Oganos boasted. Blackened stains covered his chainmail and hook-shaped blade as he moved to Prowlus's side. "Our enemies must realize now that their resistance is foolish!"
"Good, but the battle is not over yet, chief," Prowlus pointed out. The cheetah nodded, the grin never leaving his face.
"Indeed. Let's push forward and be done with them!"
Cries echoed ahead. Orbs of light rose up in the sky, casting away the darkness of the night. On the other side of the large inner courtyard, past broken columns, pedestals, and a large fountain in its centre, Prowlus saw the glint of weapons.
"Iztha!"
Darts whistled. The first line of cheetah warriors dropped to the ground amid panicked cries. A paw grabbed Prowlus by the shoulder and pushed him down. A dart bounced off against his helmet, nearly driving him back if not for Oganos's help.
"Make way for the shields!" he snapped to someone. He turned back to Prowlus, a frown standing in place of the previous grin.
"Seems like you were right, War Chief."
At least three Bautarii companies were arrayed before them, their tower-shields forming a unified barrier. Pikes and spears loomed above the ranks, together with Black Phoenix's standards fluttering in the air.
"Kanai!" a single voice rose from the legionary ranks.
"Kanai voral!" the chorus replied as one.
The second volley of bolts was already in the air. Not as devastating as the first, yet costly. More cheetahs went down. Arrows began raining on the host from above. Glancing up, Prowlus spotted figures crowding the bastions flanking the entrance, and a worrying number of longbows.
The realization hit the War Chief like a hammer.
'They wanted to fight us here. The courtyard is not large enough for the tribes to use their numbers!'
The ground below their feet shook. Thick roots and vines burst through the pavement, wrapping and coiling themselves around the slabs of stones making up the courtyard. They rose, thick as ancient trees, lifting up the slabs and interlocking them together, forming an impromptu canopy. Arrows ticked rhythmically over their heads.
Somewhere behind, Twisted Branches druids were gathered in circle, chanting.
Prowlus climbed back to his feet. "Cos!" he called out, and once again the cheetah appeared by his side. He continued without hesitation.
"Take your warriors and clear bastions. Tell Chief Yatoz to send his best archers with you. We'll give them a taste of their own medicine."
"As you command, War Chief."
"Oganos?"
"War Chief," he nodded.
"I must ask a great favour out of you," Prowlus said. "I need you to keep our enemy busy. We won't prevail in a direct assault, so I'll take a small following, find another entrance, and strike them from behind."
"It's risky."
Prowlus nodded. "It is." He paused, pursuing his lips before continuing. "If I fall today, the mantle of War Chief is yours, as it should have been from the beginning."
"Not if I can avoid it!" Oganos barked a laugh. His amusement died, his expression darkening. "Take some of my warriors then. Seeing where this is going, I can buy you an hour if we are lucky."
They took each other forearm; no further word was exchanged, for none was necessary. Chief Oganos stood back up, the serrated blade raised above his head.
"Warriors, to me!" he bellowed, his powerful voice echoing above the chaos. "Leave none of them standing! For our friends and kin! For Greenvale! For Avalar!"
"Avalar!" came the furious reply from the Blue Claws, ready to follow their chief to the end.
"Avalar!" was the energetic response from the tribes. Ear-splitting shrieks ripped through the air as Alika's form was joined by two more.
Wordless war cries echoed throughout the courtyard as the cheetahs charged back into battle, soon drown out by the crashing of steel and the screaming of the dying.
Hunter crouched down, his body pressed against the pillar's smooth and cold surface. A column of legionnaires thundered down the corridor, armour clattering as they jogged towards the disturbance's general direction.
Something was happening at the temple's main entrance.
At first, he had thought that to be Spyro and Cynder's work, but something wasn't adding up. Besides, there was a lot of shouting coming that way.
That was the third group of heavily armoured enemies he had to avoid by sticking to the shadows. The first time it had been a close one, a legionnaire nearly catching sight of him thanks to a lantern.
The legionnaires disappeared near the end of the wide corridor. He waited until the footsteps had faded away before getting back to his feet. He shot a glance behind and at the dead body tucked in an alcove, partially concealed by a collapsed wall.
She was no legionary; over her armour set she wore the twin olive branches, the Principality of Naskaline's coat-of-arms. Hunter frowned, his muzzle twisting into an ugly grimace.
'Not even three months and here they are helping the enemy already. The prince must have planned this for a long time.'
Still, he had been lucky enough to stumble into her on his way up. She had talked eventually, and her death had thus been quick. Together with the Grublins, there was one retinue at half-strength to support five Bautarii companies. As to why, she had been of little help; something about a mage with them. Hunter would have to deal with them too.
The cheetah climbed through the opening in the wall where a large glass window had once stood. He found himself back outside, cold air whipping at his face. His foot gingerly touched the stone ledge just below, making sure it would bear his weight. Satisfied, he descended onto the ledge itself, taking a few moments to find his balance.
His back brushed against stone as Hunter made his way along the stone ledge and towards the front of the temple, slowly and carefully. Reaching back with a paw, he adjusted the cloak and the quiver bumping against his shoulder. He glanced down; despite the darkness, he could assume he was maybe fifty feet above ground. Undaunted by the height, he pushed on.
A violent cacophony slammed into him. Steel crashed against steel; painful cries rented the air. And then there was the smoke. Hunter flinched as the acrid smell wafted into his nostrils. He covered his muzzle with the cloak and pushed on.
A hellish scene was unfolding below, illuminated by the orange glare of the crackling fires in the distance and the stabbing light of magical orbs hanging in the air.
Brutal hand-to-hand combat raged along the temple's perimeter walls and bastions flanking the gate. Cheetah warriors faced Naskaline gendarmes in a chaotic melee of knives, war clubs, swords, and spears; all to give Owl Eyes warriors some space so to bring their own longbows to bear on the main fight in the inner courtyard.
There, the combined strength of the five Avalar tribes clashed against a line of Bautarii legionnaires, fighting for every single inch of ground. War Chief Prowlus had managed to lead the cheetahs past the chokepoint at the gate, but the fight in courtyard proper was brutal.
A roar, primal and violent. Hunter blinked as his eyes fell on three Owlbears locked in the melee, the Twisted Branches druids sweeping with their claws so to bat aside the pikes and create an opening for their massive bulk. Blue Claws fought with their typical abandon, blades rising and falling, trying to break the enemy formation. They were driven back each time by tenacious resistance.
Javelins, arrows, and heavy darts zipped back and forth. Legionary grenadiers flung makeshift firebombs into the tribes ranks, forcing them to scatter. The smell of burned fur filled the air as the ground between the two sides became slippery, filling more and more with the bodies of the dead and dying. Their screams and cries were lost amid the raging battle.
'Too many. The tribes are losing too many, and legionnaires are keeping at least one company in reserve.'
The taste of blood in his mouth warned him he was biting at his own cheek. Hunter shook his head, banishing unwelcome thoughts away. He had a job to do.
His eyes swivelled down, then narrowed. Just below, on one of the balconies overlooking the fight in the courtyard, he finally found his prey.
Discipline aside, Bautarii fought in a predictable manner. He had learned that and much more in the lead up to the fight at the Trident. Their commanding officers would always stay away from the fight, preferably on an elevated position from where they could direct the struggle. And there Hunter knew he would find them. Figures milled about the balcony.
Hunter removed the bow from his shoulder in utter silence. A paw went back for the quiver as he crouched, finding the arrow he was looking for by touch alone. Three rings had been carved along the shaft. Judging by the soft glint, the magical enchantment had not waned yet.
He breathed in and nocked the arrow.
One of them was just a guard. A couple more had bags over their shoulders; messengers. The third was discussing something with one of his subordinates. An officer maybe, but not important enough. Hunter's gaze focused on the two figures standing apart from the rest and by the balcony's edge, studying the situation unfolding below.
'There you are.'
Hunter's paw drew the bowstring all the way to his cheek, wood creaking under the immense strength about to be released. They both had their shoulders to him. He couldn't see their faces, nor any sign of distinction they might have. Only one was his target.
Hunter bit his lip.
'Stop wavering. Hesitation is what brought you here. Things would have gone differently that day if you had not hesitated.'
Another scream rented the air. One of the grenadiers had scored a solid hit on a cheetah. His tortured screams reached Hunter's ears as the burning liquid enveloped him.
'May the Ancestors guide my aim.'
He released the string. The bow twanged, and the arrow whistled. The enchantment flared to life, accelerating the projectile far above what should have been possible by the bow alone.
It struck the legionnaire on the left between their shoulder blades, punching through armour like a sledgehammer on a pan of butter. The legionnaire was flung forward, their head smacking against the balcony's ledge before finally hitting the ground.
A small eternity passed. The lion on the right swung around, head moving up to where the arrow had come from. For a moment their eyes met, and Hunter caught a glimpse of the chain around the legionnaire's neck.
An officer chain.
'Crap.'
The temple's main hall was empty no longer. Spyro had to simply step past the archway to notice it.
Naskaline gendarmes, that's what Meadow had called them. At least forty of them, forming a semi-circle around the catacomb's entrance; armoured and, judging by their expressions, thoroughly pissed.
'No surprise there. We did thin their ranks a bit on our way here.'
"Axes, war hammers, and broadswords. So many choices," Cynder muttered by his side. Aside from the occasional flicker of her tail, the dragoness didn't seem bothered that they were surrounded on three sides.
One of the gendarmes stepped forward, then flipped his visor up.
"I guess that explains why my team failed to come back. You are quite far from Warfang, dragons."
Another figure stood by his side, just a step behind. He wore no armour; faint tendrils of pure magic arched between his fingertips. He glared at them, eyes narrowed, chewing at his lower lip.
'That must be Esteban. Yeah, Bianca was right; definitely a mage.'
Cynder had spotted him too. The dragoness eyes narrowed to slits, her muscles tense. She was determined to not get blindsided by a magic-user a second time.
He saw no sign of Sparx and let out a sigh of relief. The dragonfly was smart; he had surely found a place to hide.
"What the hell are two dragons doing here?" Esteban growled, hackles rising. "I asked for the cheetah. Where is he?"
"We are negotiating on his and the others' behalf," Cynder said, licking her lips. "Here's the offer. You leave now, and most of your limbs remain attached to your body. We are open to discuss which ones."
A few gendarmes chuckled in amusement beneath their helmets.
"This one has spirit, Sir Reynald. She would make for some good sport, don't you think?"
"Louk, shut up for once," the dog snapped to one of his subordinates. He shifted his attention back at the duo.
"No one needs to get hurt," he began. "We simply want the cheetah. Give him to us, and we'll leave. The lunatics outside are all yours after that."
"Why him?" Spyro asked. The knight shrugged.
"The prince wants something out of all this mess, and our dear Esteban here managed to convince him that there is something valuable in this temple." He snorted. "Truth to be told, I've yet to see it, but my orders stand."
Cynder frowned. "The cheetahs will be here any moment, and the Grublin camp got burned to a crisp. You should leave now while you have the chance."
"All the more reason to speed this whole thing along," Reynald replied. He lifted the longsword, bringing it to reast against his right pauldron. His eyes glinted as they focused on Spyro.
"I'll be honest with you, dragon. I know who you are. The legionaries think you are just a flying reptile with some funny-looking scales, but I know better. You fight with dragons for long enough and you start to pick up a few rumours here and there."
Spyro frowned, regarding the knight with newly found curiosity.
'If he knows about the Purple Dragon, maybe I can leverage that. Force him to back down.'
"Then you know what I am capable of," Spyro began, summoning all his confidence. The dog grinned.
"Yes, I see you are quite capable of bleeding all over the pavement. And legends cease to be impressive once they start to bleed."
Spyro froze. His glanced down and then to the side, where droplets of bloods slowly dripped onto the stone surface. He rolled his shoulder, only to be rewarded by a fresh stab of pain. The wound had opened again.
'I really should have brought a Spirit Gem with me.'
Sir Reynald gave one single, imperceptible nod, and the rest began to close in slowly, armour clanking and weapons held at the ready. Magic swirled around Esteban's paws, the soft glow reflected on what remained of his broken glasses.
By his side, Cynder hissed as she lowered herself into a fighting stance, tail-blade held high as if waiting to bolt at the closest opponent.
"All of this just for me? Really, you shouldn't have."
Spyro snapped his head back, eyes wide. Meadow stood there, the cheetah leaning against his walking stick. He flashed them a smirk.
Spyro's confusion was momentary.
"What are doing here?! Get back downstairs, we can handle this!"
The cheetah nodded, stumbling forward. "Of course, I have no doubt you can. Yet I couldn't resist the chance to take a good look at the one responsible for this whole mess."
Spyro opened his mouth, then stopped as the cheetah moved past him far more energetically than he had expected.
'Didn't he have a limp, like, five minutes ago?'
"Cynder, shouldn't we-"
"Not yet, I want to see where she is going with this," she whispered back.
"This is not really the . . . wait, what do you mean with s-"
"So, you've finally decided to see reason," Esteban said with a sly grin, taking a few steps forward as well. "About time. Many would still be alive if you had done that earlier."
"I'm sure you would have found a reason to kill them anyway," Meadow stated. "Maybe not even one in particular, but just because you could."
Esteban snorted, rolling his eyes. "If you say so. After all, what are a few lives before the pursuit of arcane knowledge? It's a rhetorical question by the way, you don't have to answer that."
"A few lives, you say. Just like Riràny, right?"
The coyote stiffened, the grin dying on his muzzle. "What did you just say, tribal?"
"Unless you have suddenly gone deaf, you heard it perfectly well."
"You don't know what you are talking about," he countered.
"We both know that's not true, Esteban. Just like we both know what happened that day," Meadow growled, eyes boring into him with the intensity of burning coals.
"How was it, uh? Turning against your friends and schoolmates takes some nerve, especially in a desperate situation. I bet you enjoyed it. You did, didn't you."
"I . . . I-I didn't-"
"You never cared about anyone aside from yourself, Esteban. So much ambition, yet so little effort. Daddy's deep pockets were the only reason you got anywhere."
"How dare you . . . you-"
"You know you could have just run that day, right?" Meadow continued, unperturbed. "Many had done the same before the storm came, and nobody ever thought any less of them. But you? Oh, you couldn't just run. You wanted to be someone, no matter how many bodies you had to pave your way with."
Spyro blinked. Esteban, the only one in the room capable of wielding arcane power, was shaking. His breath came out in labouring gasps, his paws squeezed into tight, trembling balls.
"You don't . . . you d-don't know what happened. I-I didn't want to . . . I didn't know they . . . it wasn't supposed to happen!"
"And what did you think the legionnaires were going do after breaking into the school grounds, uh? Give everyone a good telling-off, a pat on the head, and then let them go home?" Meadow shook his head. "Gods above, you are pathetic. And look at you now; the Dark Master is truly lucky to have a mage of your calibre by his side."
Spyro shot Cynder a side-glance, but she was ignoring him, eyes focused on the exchange.
'Something's weird is going on. There is some genuine venom in what Meadow is saying, but they met each other only recently . . . right?'
"Shut up!" Esteban snarled, teeth grinding. "Shut the fuck up! Who do you think you are talking to? I don't know what tribal sorcery you are using to know all of this, but it stops here!"
His fur stood on end. Wild magic crackled through the air and around him. Bloodshot eyes focused on the cheetah.
"You will hand to me the secrets of this temple, or watch as your pathetic villages of mud and thatch get wiped out from existence, one after the other!"
"We are running out of time, and there's a bloody battle going on in the courtyard," Sir Reynald growled. "Get a move on. We don't have the whole night."
"I'm working on it!" Esteban snapped, causing the knight to take a momentary step back.
"Ah yes. The dragon temple." The cheetah gestured around. "I should have guessed it. Lacking any real power of your own, you are here for its secrets, for the power hidden inside."
The coyote glanced his way; the anger had disappeared just as quickly as it had come. He grinned.
"I knew it! This place does have actual secrets after all." A pause. "Uhm, how much power are talking about exactly?"
It was Meadow's turn to grin. "You know the answer already. You can feel the magic radiating from under our feet, don't you?"
"Yes. Yes! I knew it!" Esteban rubbed his paws together, eyes glinting in sheer bliss. "I told you I was right! I told you this wasn't a waste of time!"
"That would be a first," Reynald grumbled. "But I guess the prince may have some use for you after all."
"I assume you'd want the key too," Meadow added. He reached up into his robes, producing what look like a small glass vial. Something glowed inside.
"It is, after all, the only way to unlock the temple's true power. Safely, that is. But you know that already."
Esteban blinked. "There's a key? I mean, of course there is a key, it's only logical. Yes, hand it over now!"
Without another word, Meadow obliged, and began to move closer.
Spyro made to take a step forward, but a claw fell on his shoulder and halted him in his tracks.
"Not yet."
"Cynder, we can't let them have that thing, whatever it is," he whispered at her.
"There is no key," she hissed. "Now, get ready for the party to start."
"What?"
"Just watch." She shook her head, an impish grin breaking past the cold façade. "I take back whatever I said on her. This is devious, deliciously so."
Spyro frowned. Why she kept on referring to Meadow as . . .
The Purple Dragon froze upon realizing the cheetah had, in fact, no tail; nothing but a faint trail of magic where it should have been.
'The hardest part of any illusion spell is formulating a good mental picture.'
Everything snapped into place the next moment.
Something happened on Esteban's face. The grin morphed into a frown, the coyote scanning his surroundings as if looking for something. His eyes finally fell on Meadow. He blinked as slow, yet inexorable realization dawned upon him. His eyes went wide in sheer disbelief. For a moment, he had stopped breathing entirely.
Finally, his lips shifted to produce the only sound his mind could formulate.
'You.'
The cheetah was close enough. Meadow raised his paws, and the air exploded with a thunderclap. Time slowed down to a crawl before Spyro's eyes. Arcane power soaked his surroundings.
The simulacrum evaporated and Bianca stood in its place, her face locked into a snarl, robes flying wildly around. Magic swirled around her, reaching out for a horrified Esteban as countless malevolent tendrils.
She didn't see Sir Reynald lounging, a glinting longsword descending for her head.
For one eternal moment, Spyro was no longer in the temple. He was in an underground complex, the floor slick after a slaughter, as someone he had just met charged a magic user with nothing but a knife. He remembered the screams; the smell of blood pervaded his nostrils, seeping into his mouth with its metallic taste.
He was running now, long before his mind had taken the decision to do so. This time, he was not too far. He would not let it happen again.
Spyro collided with Bianca, pushing her out of the way. The magical shield Esteban had tried to conjure up exploded like crashing glass, drowned out only by his dying screams.
Time resumed, the longsword coming down for him instead. Instinctively, Spyro brought his forearms up and called upon his Earth element. Steel struck against a solid wall and sparks flew. The blow nearly threw him off balance, and Spyro bit his lips so not to yell in pain.
Reynald blinked. He swung his sword around, readying a blow from the opposite side, but it never came. A black mass smashed into him. Again, sparks filled the air as steel clashed against solid bone, until the tail-blade found its opening to finally lash out. For one moment, the knight went rigid and then finally dropped.
Cynder ripped off the tail-blade's tips from his eye-socket with a flick of her tail.
"Our offer is no longer valid."
By Spyro's side, Bianca tossed the vial to the regrouping gendarmes. It shattered; choking purple smoke enveloped many and plunged the rest into complete chaos. Cynder screamed, her voice slamming with physical force against the others as they tried to approach the trio, stumbling back.
There was a pause.
Despite their superior numbers, the gendarmes hesitated. Spyro, Cynder, and Bianca were in their midst now, nearly back-to-back, yet they didn't charge.
Spyro grinded his teeth, mimicking Cynder and lowering himself into a fighting stance. The pain in his side had receded back into the background, adrenaline pumping in his veins.
'Alright, this is it. We'll have to fight our way through this.'
One gendarme, Louk, charged out of the smoke, lifting a spiked maul. They locked eyes, and for a moment Spyro felt the sheer hatred radiating off the canine's glare. What he did not expect, however, was for a cheetah to emerge from the smoke as well. Louk never saw the sword aimed at his lower back.
Another gendarme dropped, screaming, a javelin sticking out of his thigh. A single war cry boomed across the hall.
"Avalar!"
Cheetah warriors clad in either chainmail or light armour emerged from the darkness itself. Multiple gendarmes dropped before they could react, hook-shaped swords cutting paws and feet, and slicing necks open. The rest found themselves unable to fight effectively. Their leader was dead, and the cheetahs were already amidst their ranks.
Heavily armoured gendarmes were tackled to the ground by warriors wielding axes and long knives, and then dispatched with brutal efficiency. Screams rented the air, followed by the brutal sounds of battle.
And then it was over. Countless bodies laid crumpled across the main hall, amidst expanding pools of blood on the stone floor.
"Secure the prisoners! Escort them out of here!" a clear commanding voice rung out. "Quickly now, we don't have much time!"
Chief Prowlus was there, the cheetah cladded in his personal armour, a red cloak fluttering behind and an equally red-coated sword by his side. All in all, Spyro had to admit, he was a fearsome sight, especially once it became clear he was heading straight for them, a few bodyguards trailing behind.
He came to a halt before the trio, and Spyro struggled to suppress a grimace.
'Oh boy, here comes the tirade.'
His eyes caught movement in the background. Prisoners began to emerge out of the catacombs with the help of cheetah warriors. Wrapped in dirty and worn clothes, those that could walk helped those that couldn't. Tears of relief were shed, and fraternal embraces exchanged with their rescuers.
Something stirred within Spyro. The grimace turned into a frown as he and Prowlus locked gazes.
'To hell with it. We helped people tonight, and if he doesn't like it then that's his problem.'
"You should let my healers take a look at that," Prowlus said instead, eyeing his side.
Spyro's surprise was momentary. Bianca collapsed behind with a painful groan. Her robes sported a blackened, still sizzling hole, where the magical discharge had struck her.
The only thing that stopped him from going to her side was the realization Meadow was already there.
"That son of a- I can't believe he managed to get me in the end!" Bianca spat through clenched teeth.
"Consider yourself lucky he only grazed you. A few inches to the right, and I would have to scoop up your remains from the ground, just like your friend-"
"We were not friends." Bianca glanced to the side, glaring at the ravaged body laying some distance away. "He was a buffoon playing at magic that had to cheat a bloody levitation test."
Meadow shook his head. "Of course, my apologies. Did you really have to get that close though?"
Bianca hissed under another explosion of stabbing pain, Meadow working to remove her robes and get a better look at her injury.
"T-That way he couldn't have the time to put up a s-shield. I was not going to let him escape, n-not this time. By the way, what did you put inside that vial?"
The cheetah grinned. "A little surprise I kept in my bag for, well, emergencies. And no, I'm not telling you how I made it. I'm allowed to keep some secrets for myself. Now, hold still."
Meadow glanced up after a while, as if he had noticed Prowlus's presence for the first time. He nodded.
"Chief Prowlus. I am glad to see you and the tribes here. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I must say you took your time to come here."
"And I am glad to see you as well," Prowlus replied with a small grin. "Though I cannot take the credit. You should thank the Purple Dragon and his little companion. It was him that guided us here just in the nick of time."
Spyro's attention perked up at that part. His frown morphed into a huge smile as a familiar buzzing sound reached his ears.
"Sparx!"
"Turns out that having a sense of direction does help. You didn't think I was going to bail on my own brother, right?"
"Never thought you would. I swear, I could kiss you right now."
"Please don't, I've never seen you actually brushing your teeth in all these years."
Spyro chuckled. "Ouch. You always know what spot to punch, don't you?"
"I don't need to punch anything, seeing how you look right now."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said, scratching the back of his head.
"If you can wait a few minutes, I may be able to take a look at you," Meadow said. The cheetah pressed an unguent-soaked rug against Bianca's side. A whimper escaped her.
"Luckily for us, Zara has agreed to lend me her knowledge and expertise for the time being. Something tells me I'll need it now that everything's finally over."
He glanced towards the freed prisoners; they had already begun gathering blankets and scavenging for supplies in the now empty Bautarii staging ground in the main hall.
"I fear it is not over yet," Prowlus said. "Not when fighting still rages and the invaders remain in our valley."
He swung around to address the gathered cheetahs. "With me! Our brothers and sisters in the courtyard need our help! Dawn is still a few hours away, so let's make sure our enemies perish in the darkness!"
The cheetah warrior raised their weapons in the air, roaring a wordless reply.
"We are joining with them, aren't we."
Cynder was by his side, the dragoness's lips pressed into a tight line. Spyro shook his head.
"You heard him. It's not over yet. And we need to find Hunter too." He paused. "You don't have to come with us if you don't want to."
She shrugged. "Someone has to watch your back if you are adamant on throwing yourself into constant danger."
"Hey, that's my job!" Sparx piped up. If Cynder had a comment on that, she kept it for herself. Her response was an eyeroll and nothing more.
Fist Colledan raised his oval shield just in time. The arrow shattered against the shield's upper rim, cartwheeled through the air, and hit the ground somewhere behind. It was the signal he had been waiting for; the cheetah's quiver was empty and Colledan charged in.
The short sword lashed out for his throat. The cheetah sidestepped to the Fist's right, a curved knife appearing in his palm, forcing Colledan to step back and shift his guard once more.
The lion lunged again, and the cheetah went low. Steel glinted. Realization struck him not a moment too soon, and Colledan lifted the shield, the spear's tip slamming against it. The cheetah avoided easily enough the consequent shield bash; the two opponents broke apart, studying each other through narrowed eyes.
'He has skill, that much is clear. I didn't see the spear laying on the ground, and he was counting on it.'
He was alone now.
Basser had been the first one to die, the arrow striking him unaware and from behind.
Latukia had underestimated the cheetah and charged at the first occasion; she laid sprawled on the ground now, a fountain of blood gurgling out of her throat.
As for Navol, he didn't remember ever seeing him going down, only that he had; the panther was slumped by the parapet, an arrow embedded in his skull.
Colledan breathed out slowly. The messengers had escaped and would eventually return with the rest of his own guards. It was just a matter of buying time until then.
The cheetah warrior might have overcome the rest of his retinue, but he was alone too, and growing tired. Even from a distance, Colledan could hear his heavy breathing. In hindsight, he should have predicted that the tribals could have sent an assassin against him.
The Fist spat on the ground. It didn't matter, and that certainly wasn't something he couldn't manage. He had dealt with far worse over his long career, from his beginning as a humble pike-bearer facing down the overwhelming charge of Augustian armoured retinues, to now, as a Fist, a leader of troops.
He had faced off against more enemies he could count, ranging from southern banners to the disciplined regiments of the old Empire. He had fought at Ascalon and Jenessa, witnessed the triumph that was the Trident where the old Empire was shattered, and taken part to the sack of Riràny.
Despite their best effort, these primitive tribals inhabiting Avalar would only be a footnote in his career.
Colledan lifted his short sword and moved in. His movements were an exact copy of what his old training sergeant had taught him almost a lifetime ago; keep your shield up, use the blade to stab, and press on the attack.
The cheetah had a spear, using the weapon's longer reach to keep him at a distance, but again and again he was forced back, until he was at the balcony's parapet, with no more room to manoeuvre.
The oval shield caught the spear's tip and bashed it aside, granting the Fist an opening. He charged in, smashing the shield into his opponent and driving him against the parapet. A painful grunt rung out.
Colledan's short sword came in from the side, ready to plunge itself between the cheetah's ribs. It crashed against stone and nothing more. The cheetah has seized the Fist's own shield, preventing him from getting a good angle to strike from. A knife glinted in his paw. The blade rasped against Colledan's helmet near his forehead, missing his left eye by a few inches.
Grinding his teeth, the Fist push harder, leaning his entire body forward. The parapet was old. It just needed one strong push. Stone creaked.
A flash broke through the night. Colledan's eyes widened as a flaming spear descended like the fist of furious god into the courtyard. Legionnaires were enveloped in the explosion, the shockwave alone kicking many off their feet just as hungry fire spread through their ranks.
Then came a second, and then a third. Fireballs struck the legionary battle line, far enough into their ranks that no cheetah was caught in the blast. The effect on the Fist's troops was however devastating.
Much to Colledan's utter horror, the phalanx began to unravel, just as cheetah warriors rallied and renewed the assault on their ranks.
His mind registered the sound of footsteps behind, and that was enough to shake him from his shock. Finally, the rest of his retinue had arrived. There was still a chance to turn this around.
Colledan, Fist of the Fifteenth Legion, glanced over his shoulder to address his reinforcements. It was the only reason he saw the blade coming for him.
Hunter groaned as he threw the dead body off him, an endeavour made even more difficult by the heavy armour the Fist had been wearing. He grabbed for the paw offered him and climbed back to his feet, staggering before finally regaining his balance.
"I wasn't expecting you here," he said.
"You are instead exactly where I'd expected to find you," Prowlus replied. He knelt to pick up Hunter's fallen bow, tossing it up so that he could snatch it off the air. He took a moment to wipe his sword on one of the dead bodies before straightening back up. The sounds of the battle below reached their ears.
"You still have some fight in you?" the War Chief asked.
"Always," Hunter replied without hesitation.
Prowlus nodded. "Let's go then. There is killing to do before the sun is up."
Cynder's tail-blade lashed out, severing legs, and cutting at tendons. Another standard bearer went down, letting out a blood-curling scream. By the time the legionnaires realized she was there, Shadow had already enveloped and carried her away to another part of the ongoing battle.
Above, a flying Spyro unleashed another barrage of fireballs, hitting the Bautarii ranks like a veritable meteor shower. A grenadier was caught in the blast. The subsequent detonation was fearsome.
Her job, however, was far more accurate. A scalpel's work of sorts, to pair with Spyro's hammer-like approach. A ball of Poison enveloped a centurion, driving him to his knees.
'That's right, girl. Just like I taught you.'
Cynder snarled. Her claws sunk in the neck of legionary unfortunate enough to cross her path.
'Shut up.'
It did not.
'Forget about the minions, the rank-and-file. Aim for the officers.'
The trumpeter never saw her coming. His head hit the ground moments later.
'First the officers, then the sergeants, and then you can start killing whatever poor sod remains.'
Some distance away another centurion was shouting, desperately trying to reorganize the battle line. His fear was palpable, barely kept in check behind a furious façade.
Cynder sensed it of course. She would make sure fear was the last thing he would ever feel.
The Bautarii legionnaires broke slowly at first, then all at once.
Cheetah warriors had charged into their rear. A trio of owlbears were rampaging through their ranks and turning all those before them into mincemeat, and the Naskaline gendarmes were nowhere to be seen. Fire rained from the sky, punching holes into their lines that the cheetahs exploited ruthlessly.
When their officers began dropping like flies, and without any order coming from their First, the battle line finally buckled.
What followed were hours of pure slaughter. The five Avalar tribes hounded the retreating legionnaires all the way, showing little concern in taking prisoners. Finally, the massacre at Greenvale would be repaid in kind.
Blue Claws and Crazy Wings warriors charged into the temple complex, hunting down several Bautarii squads that had retreated inside. A series of tiny last stands were progressively snuffed out over the course of a couple days. The majority of the survivors were able to disengage only after hellish fighting, rushing north-west and out of the valley in a barely controlled rout. Cloved Feet skirmishers pursued them day and night.
Of the near four thousand that had entered the valley a few days before, only two hundred exhausted legionnaires managed to crawl back into friendly territory. The trail of bodies behind led all the way back to Avalar.
Author's Notes: And with that, the Avalar arc draws to a close. Now maybe the gang can FINALLY reach Warfang and get this story going, cause we are already ten chapters in and dear god what I was thinking, this was supposed to be a short arc. But yeah, enjoy and leave a comment. Speaking of comments, Author-San 9001 decided to leave two of them! So let's go. Number 1:
-The temple? Oh don't you worry about that. It's just an old building, there is definitely nothing important in there.
-I won't tell you righ now, but here's a hint: very violently.
-On a dork scale, I would say Spyro achieves a solid 8. And of course, it would make sense for the majority of the bad guys to just do not believe that the Purple Dragon is even a thing. Sure, somebody definitely defeated the Terror of the Skies, Gaul, and all the others; yet it has been three years, the war has been going overall pretty good for them, and there was no trace of him. So it's not unlikely they start thinking that maybe this whole Purple Dragon thing was a bit overblown, and that maybe it was just a thing the dragons came up with from the beginning to scare them. Or mabye he just died when the Well of Souls came down.
But yeah, after Avalar they definitely know he exists.
-Absolutely. Then again, awry depends on who you ask. For Spyro, the plan somehow worked (more or less). For the others? Uhhhh . . .
And Number 2:
Well, I'm glad you liked this first arc. I assure you, that whole thing with the various threads converging together in one single point? That was definitely by design. I didn't spend hours writing, deleting, then rewriting from scratch, and I definitely didn't start to wonder whether or not I should change the plot mid-arc because I wasn't sure, before throwing my hands in the air, declare "f*** it" and push the submit button. Let's just hope I manage to top the introduction arc lmao.
Cynder is exactly what the game set her up to be. A dragoness whose egg was stolen during a raid, subjected to untold abuse over many years, and then magically aged and transformed into a brutal yet effective leader of armies. Turns out it doesn't make for emotionally stable individuals, to say the least.
The rats are . . . well, they are one weird idea I got in my mind one day. Basically, they are the Skavens without the overwhelming numbers and the chronic backstabbing disorder, but they retain some serious industrial capability. And don't worry, the bad guys don't have the monopoly on infighting.
I don't know what you are referring to about the ears thing, but it's probably something I overlook during the editing. I imagined dragons to have internal ears, like many reptiles do, but in writing different species in the same scene I probably got them mixed up. I'll look it over later to clean it up. Regarding heights, in my headcanon Spyro and Cynder are about half of Hunter's height or something like that. Then again, Hunter is slightly taller than most cheetahs.
As for Remy, well, I'll take it as a compliment that I managed to make the reader feel bad for the death of a character that admittedly wasn't all that present compared to the main duo.