Free The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) by Daniel McHugh

ripped another Rindoran from the small group. Corad rose, trident in hand, and protected Macin’s rear. A pair of large, muddy fieldstones slammed into Macin’s chest, knocking him from the stallion. Pain seared through his body and his breath left him. The Hackles overpowered the last of Corad’s attendants.
    Only the kings remained. Macin lie beneath his battle trained mount. Corad stood over his fallen comrade swinging his trident in a wide arc.
    The Hackles latched onto the ridged armor of the stallion. The horse struggled and kicked as Ulrog dragged it from its master’s side.  The high-pitched shriek of the stallion died and a strange moment of calm settled in the midst of the maelstrom.
    The Ulrog knew they possessed victory. Corad glanced down to the prone form of Macin and smiled. Macin returned the grin to the only man he could have ever called “brother”. Immediately his thoughts filled with regret. Regret at what might have been if these two sovereigns set aside their pride. Corad read his thoughts.
    “We lived as fools,” laughed Corad. “We die as wise men.”
    The Hackles roared in triumph and rushed in.
     
    The priests of Amird pursued the stragglers of the retreat. They surrounded themselves with the fiercest of the Ulrog fighters and rained fire across the field of battle.
    Prince Gage saw none of this. His eyes bore into the Ulrog Horde, pinpointing the last location of the fluttering blue cape. Battered riders streamed past him and Dravgo barked orders. Gage cared not. He was intent, his purpose clear.
    A shout to his right caused no distraction. He lowered his body in the saddle to increase his speed. Again, a shout arose. The last of the retreat flew past him in the opposite direction. A familiar name reached his ears, but he ignored it. The Ulrog line swung toward him. The priests raised their hands and poured fire over the field. They marched only two hundred yards away now. Gage drew close. A blue cape appeared. Its bright color shocking in a sea of grays and blacks. A powerful stone hand whipped it through the air like a glorious trophy. A force slammed into the right side of Gage’s mount. The familiar name sounded once more.
    “... Gage! Control yourself!” shouted Dravgo.
    The Zodrian general slammed his mount into the side of the Rindoran’s steed. Gage shot a glance at the battle scarred veteran.
    “YOU are the leader of your people now,” shouted Dravgo. “Look to their interest. You accomplish nothing on this path!”
    Dravgo’s mount forced Gage’s horse to the left in an attempt to turn the young man from his path of destruction. Gage looked back to the advancing Ulrog. The blue cape disappeared. A seething storm of gray shapes remained, churning forward over the stunted grasses. The prince’s eyes fell and he snapped the reins of his mount. The entire unit turned a hundred yards from the Ulrog and charged back south.
    “Retreat!” shouted Dravgo. “We will avenge this loss another day!”

CHAPTER 6: FAMILIAR VOICES
     
    TORCHLIGHT THREW SHADOWS on the face of the little man. Sprig leaned in close to Vieri and whispered in her ear. She nodded her understanding, then surveyed the men and women about her. They lay on pillows and lush carpets, but their expressions shown as anything but relaxed. All knew the import of the Sprite’s report and what it held for the Eru. Temujen tried to ease the mood.
    “Come daughter of the sands. We are a courageous people. Your news will not send us screaming into the night.”
    Chuckles broke out amongst the people within the tent. Vieri smiled at the Eru chieftain. He acted quite like her father, pragmatic and strong, a true leader.
    “The news is not good,” began Vieri. “Sprig roamed through the eastern half of the Scythtar. The Ulrog’s numbers grow.”
    “That may be true,” stated Hai from beside his father. “But they are manageable. The losses we inflicted  upon them will be hard to absorb.”
    “They’ve already