A New Reign

by Bryan Gifford

  They sailed for the destruction of the world.

  Silas groaned. “So this is how we die, at the hands of our own kind.”

  “Way to stay positive,” Isroc replied.

  “Two hundred thousand men are out there, probably more. There’s no hope.”

  “We have the sword of Abaddon,” Aren said, “that counts for something, right?”

  “You’re right, that will make them want to kill us more. Thanks for the encouragement, Aren, I really needed that this morning.”

  “We can’t lose hope. If we do, then we’ve lost everything.”

  Silas turned to him with a scowl. “Knock it off with that hope bullshit, would you?”

  Aren’s eyes fell to the ground and the group drew silent.

  Cain placed a hand on Silas’ shoulder. “I know you’re scared. I am too. I’m terrified. But we have the chance to do the right thing here. We will fight so that others might live. If we must die today, then let it be a glorious one.” He looked to each of his friends and rubbed Silas’ scalp. “And let us take as many of these bastards with us as we can.”

  He turned to Branim. “What would you have us do?”

  Branim’s gaze remained transfixed on the war fleet before them. “There’s nothing you can do. Nothing any of us can do. We’re doomed.”

  Cain cursed. “I refuse to accept that.” He turned and weaved through the crowd, his friends following close behind.

  “What are you doing?” Silas asked.

  “I won’t sit on my ass while the enemy slaughters these men. If Branim won’t stand up for them, then I will.” He jumped onto the wall in sight of their army.

  “All of you have fought this war for years! All of you have lost your homes, your wives and children, everything you’ve ever known!” He scanned the throngs of terrified soldiers. “Are you going to stand by and let all that be for nothing? Are you going to stand idly by and watch as these traitors take your country too?” A mighty iron javelin launched from the enemy flagship and shot past his head, smashing into a tower. The force tossed his hair and caused the nearby men to cower. Cain continued undaunted. “Your king would abandon you to fear! Well, I will not give up on you. Let us fight that we might earn our peace, for hope is not dead so long as we are alive!” He hoisted Ceerocai high with a bellow.

  Isroc raised his weapon and screamed. Aren and Silas followed suit. The Alliance mustered a raucous battle cry at this and beat their weapons against their shields. Inveirans, Eriasans, Meresi, Kaanosi, they were together in this final struggle. Flags rose and hearts thawed. The faintest courage was kindled. It would have to be enough.

  “Release the trebuchets!” Cain cried.

  A crack of wood and crunch of gears rang out as trebuchets released their munitions. Three massive boulders, each the size of Morven’s trebuchets, shot from the third floor of the fortress and arced far over the sea. The enormous boulders cast shadows over the war fleet and distant screams echoed as they exploded into the water.

  The first missile blasted into the ocean and sent a tidal wave high into the air. Water crashed down on two carracks, washing over their decks and throwing men overboard with terrified screams.

  One stone met its mark and smashed into the bow of a ship, sending the front beneath the water and the rear above the waves. The third boulder sheared through the deck of another transport with an implosion of timber. Men shot into the air, plummeting to the waters or crushed by the weight of the stone.

  The Alliance cheered at this and taunted the still approaching army. A boulder suddenly disgorged itself from the flagship. Their cheers turned to screams as it shadowed the sky.

  The massive stone exploded into the fortress, grinding soldiers as it rolled through the streets. Bodies snapped like twigs under its weight until a mound of minced flesh slowed it to a stop.

  Its gory path of destruction darkened and the Alliance looked up to the skies, blackened with iron-bound stones. The hail of rocks showered over the fortress, ripping their formations apart in a rain of slaughter.

  Every catapult and ballista in Brunein released a second volley. Bolts and boulders crashed into transports, cleaving holes in their decks and shredding hulls apart. Bodies and debris flew with every impact. Masts and sails blasted from their mounts. Plumes of whitewater rose with every missed shot and crashed over the death-ridden decks.

  Iron javelins filled the fortress like pins, felling scores of men at a time. Several shot into the archers along the wall walk, skewering five at a time before pinning their bodies to the buildings behind.

  The flagship released another mountain-sized boulder, sending the stone soaring through the maelstrom of projectiles, knocking bolts and stones aside as if they were pebbles. The great missile fell upon the fortress and smashed into the inner wall. Brick and stone detonated from the impact as an impressive section was blown apart. Hundreds of bodies shot in the air, many reduced to a sinewy pulp. The stone fell from its crater and crushed several buildings below, wiping out an entire battalion beneath hurling debris.

  The enemy fleet entered the bay to cover every inch of water in black. Iron bolts, lead shot, and stones shot from the masses to trade painful blows with Brunein’s defenders. Ships blasted apart, several sank, and many limped on, yet they continued though the growing waves of bodies toward the shoreline.

  “Hold them back,” Cain yelled. “Hold them back!” He continued to pace the wall walk, shouting orders over the roar of missiles. Stone and shot smashed around him, whittling away the walls and flinging bodies.

  A strong hand grabbed Cain and spun him around. King Branim gave a somber nod. “We can’t hold back a fleet of that size for long. Take some men and strengthen the North Gate!”

  Cain shouted a command to Valerik and the man summoned his troops to Cain. Together, they made for the North Gate.

  Branim raised his axe overhead. “Focus on the lead ships. Block the shore with their remains!”

  The Inveirans cheered at the sight of their king and redirected their machines for the front line of ships. Great stones and bolts crashed into sea and ship, ripping hulls open and crushing men in a shower of debris.

  The flagship reached the shoreline and dropped its numerous anchors and gangplanks, undeterred by the continuously pelting bolts. A stream of black poured from its many levels and trickled down the gangplanks to pool along the sands. Thousands of soldiers soon filed into a phalanx and began the march across the beach.

  Several other transports reached the shoreline and released their gangplanks. Soldiers rushed from their decks and joined the ever-growing shield wall. More and more ships abutted the shore and disgorged tide after tide of black-armored soldiers.

  The Aceden army crossed beneath the raining volleys and entered the ravines. Stones and bolts continued to riddle their ranks, ripping through their formations and sending bodies hurling. Yet they marched on, steady and determined into the three branching valleys.

  Defending archers aimed their long bows at the approaching phalanxes but few arrows found purchase in flesh. Bodies dropped, but as soon as a space presented itself, another shield instantly closed the gap.

  Crossbows bristled from the gaps in-between shields and launched a volley of bolts that shredded through the ranks of defending archers. Brunein withered under the ruthless battery of bolts and boulders and arrows. Their walkways were smashed, walls and towers weakened, trebuchets shattered or broken, half their archers splayed across the streets beyond recognition. The Acedens closed in like vultures over a dying animal.

  The enemy forces reached the three gates and three strange machines appeared from the masses. Each the size of a tree, their bones of wood and hide of iron plates protected the soldiers inside. A mighty battering ram hung suspended inside the machines, held up by chains and gears.

  The middle machine reached its gate first. The Acedens wrapped their arms around the ram’s handles and charged with a whir of gears. The steel-studded battering ram smashed into the
middle gate, violently rocking the steel and granite doors.

  The gears cranked the ram back to its former position. The soldiers then sent the gears whirling and drove the ram full-force into the gate.

  The other machines reached their gates. Soldiers heaved. Gears reeled. The caverns boomed with every impact.

  Isroc joined a group of soldiers and tossed stones down at the attackers. Nearby, the defending archers crouched behind the battlements and reloaded their bows. Isroc lobbed a rock at a crossbowman aiming at him. The stone took him in the face, and an arrow followed. The Aceden’s bolt whizzed by Isroc, and a soldier dropped dead with a quarrel through his helmet. “Silas!” Isroc called, waving his friend over.

  “What are you doing?” Silas asked as Isroc closed the man’s eyes. “We don’t have time to pay respects.”

  Isroc grabbed the body by the legs. “He’ll need it where he’s going.” He pointed at the man’s arms. Silas grinned an evil grin.

  They lifted the body and heaved him atop the battlement. With a final push, they tossed the poor man over the wall. The body smashed in an area of shields and Brunein’s defenders felled the fumbling Acedens.

  Isroc and Silas hurled another body over the wall. The corpse fell the twenty yards to the ground and dropped several men from the impact. The archers again picked off the Acedens within the gap.

  Hundreds of nearby soldiers took Isroc’s cue and tossed their fallen comrades over the walls, wedging gaps in the phalanx to let archers drop the stunned men. With every boulder, bolt, and javelin that met its mark among the defenders, they returned the favor in fold.

  Isroc and Silas stopped at a large iron cauldron held in place by a swivel. They pushed against it and the cauldron tipped, pouring hot tar over the men below. Twenty men were doused head to foot and they flailed in agony. Steam curled up from their bodies as their blood bubbled.

  Soldiers emptied every cauldron along the walls, eating away vast holes in the attacking army as men broiled to their deaths. A vat’s contents landed directly over the battering ram and covered its armor in black. Adriel grabbed a nearby torch and hurled it over the wall. The torch landed among the machine’s metal plating and flames instantly flashed alive. The machine swelled in an inferno and its operators scrambled out of the machine only to be silenced by well-placed broadheads.

  Isroc led a victorious cry as the machine crumbled in the blaze. He then grabbed an arrow from Adriel’s quiver and tore a strip of cloth from his tunic. He then tied the scrap of linen to the arrow and held it to a nearby torch, quickly setting the bodkin point aflame. He handed her the arrow with a smirk.

  She loaded the flaming arrow and aimed into the phalanx. The projectile drilled into the masses and a ball of fire erupted from the tar-soaked sands. Flames leapt up to engulf fifty men, their horrid screams resounding in the arrow-filled air.

  To the defenders’ dread however, several more war machines split the blackness and crawled toward the gates. The bodies were scraped aside, and gears clanked free. Again, the rams made haste to pound the gates, now two machines for every entrance. The doors thudded and thundered with every continuous beat.

  The North Gate opened. Cain cursed, watching a flood of Acedens make a mad dash for the open gateway. How could they have beaten the gate open so easily? He turned to the meager squads around him and ordered a shield wall. They’d be killed in seconds.

  Cain shouted into the faces of the traitorous Inveirans and swung his sword.

  “Cain’s over there,” Adriel screamed. She lurched forward but Aren grabbed her arm. She barely noticed him. She gazed out over the fortress to the distant North Gate. Thousands of Acedens flowed through the open gateway. She watched in horror as they swelled over the few fleeing defenders, like ants over corpses.

  The South Gate opened. The Acedens stampeded through the open doors and the two sides clashed. The Alliance quickly succumbed under the waves of black. Adriel tore her gaze from the slaughter.

  “What’s going on here?” she screamed at the nearby king.

  Branim sighed at this and walked toward the stairs, the Warriors following. He descended the body-strewn steps and came to a stop at the gatehouse.

  Branim gave a nod to a group of his guards beside the gatehouse door. One of the men entered the room and the gears of the gatehouse cranked into motion. The main gate crept open.

  “What are you doing?” Adriel screamed, raising her bow at the king.

  Moran rushed to her side, eyes wide in disbelief at the sight of his king. “You’re a traitor.”

  Branim turned away. “I wanted to fight, I thought we’d have a chance. But it’s hopeless. Iscarius ruled Inveira long before I ever did.” He watched as the gate continued to creep outward and locked eyes with the Acedens beyond. “It is foolish to resist the inevitable.”

  The Alliance Inveirans withered as their traitorous king turned to them and brandished his axe, shining and deadly. His guards lobbed their spears at their fellow countrymen, dropping several men before they drew swords and met in a clash. The gates at last clanged open and a hundred thousand Acedens charged through the open doors.

  “Embrace the future, Warriors, there is nothing you can do to spare Tarsha from her fate.” The Acedens charged past the king and crashed head-on with the Alliance.

  The two armies collided in a deafening roar. Shields gave way to swords and both forces exploded back, bodies toppling from the collision. The shield walls hammered against each other, warping steel from countless impacts.

  The Warriors charged their enemy.

  They fended off the Acedens, hacking and beating at shields as the sheer weight of numbers sought to crush them. Yet they stood firm, like a pebble holding back the unavoidable avalanche.

  Those precious moments allowed the Alliance to regroup and rejoin the Warriors, stemming the flow of Acedens. But the enemy was vast. The tides of flesh and steel rolled over them, breaking and destroying.

  “Adriel!” She turned to see Aren fighting toward her. He pulled his saber from a body and staggered toward her, gripping his back. “You have to find Cain. Only he can end this!” He swung his blade into the masses, Acedens pressing around him.

  “But he was at the North Gate!”

  “Go!” Aren shoved her into their front lines.

  Adriel turned from him and pushed through the press of bodies. She eventually came to the reserve troops. A few orders later, and she had them organized into a semi-circle, shields and spears bobbing as they followed her down the road to the north section of the fortress.

  She didn’t get very far before bodies flew at her from around the corner. She turned the bend and stopped in her tracks.

  Cain and a small group of men stood just ahead, holding their ground against a mass of Acedens. More and more enemies rushed up the road at them, yet Cain was an unmovable force, breaking their lines against Ceerocai. He was incredible. He moved with the grace of a dancer, always in motion. But there was power in those fluid swings, precise blows and forceful strikes that dropped every man who dared to raise a sword. It was horrible, yet equally beautiful. Adriel shook herself and waved for her men, rushing toward Cain and his dwindling fighters.

  Cain shoved a body back and swung into the crowd. Was that Adriel’s voice? He glanced over his shoulder to her approaching with a retinue of men.

  “Cain,” she cried, pushing through his men.

  “Are you alright?” Cain asked as she neared him.

  “They’ve taken the main gate, and the south!”

  Cain blocked a sword and shoved his attacker back into the throngs. “They nearly wiped us out at the North Gate. Some of the men managed to make it to the second floor, but the Acedens are coming. We need to move; we’ll be overwhelmed if we try to hold the Main Gate much longer.”

  Ahead, black lines of Acedens darkened the north roads, moving toward Cain and Adriel in a slow phalanx crawl.

  Valerik’s men buckled under the enemy’s advance and Valerik called for a
retreat. Adriel shot past him and cut down an Aceden. She dodged a hammer strike and slit her attacker’s throat as she passed. Adriel grabbed her sword with both hands and plunged it through another man’s face. She leapt over the remaining men, screaming, a flurry of steel.

  Cain freed his sword from a soldier’s ribcage. He watched Adriel as she flew like a golden blur through the fighting, dropping bodies in an odious mess.

  He saw himself in her now. She was once different from them. Sensible. Full of life. Innocent, even. Now she was one of them, another callous soldier. Another killer. Hatred burned in those once kind eyes.

  Cain tightened his grip on his bloodied sword. It was his fault she changed. He drove Ceerocai into an Aceden. It was his fault her naivety was stolen. He drove his sword into another. It was his fault she’d become filled with hate. He swung Ceerocai through another. He had led by example, and he had led her to her own destruction. He had to save her from herself.

  The sword in his hands began to glow and filled the battle with a vibrant light. Its bloody rays shot through the combatants, blinding those nearest him. The entire blade shimmered a burning scarlet, its fiery center pulsing with every beat of its wielder’s racing heart. The same light that had engulfed Ceerocai at the battle for Morven returned, bringing with it the familiar warmth that surged through him now.

  Ceerocai burst into a life of its own and Cain met the incoming mass of Acedens, leaving a score of bodies piled in his wake.

  He slogged deep into the enemy ranks alongside Adriel, leaving a trail of death in his wake. Blood spewed about him. Death gloated over him. He eviscerated his enemy, casting aside scores of men in moments. Ceerocai flew with a mind of its own, finding an opening in a soldier in moments and dropping the man with the simplest flick of Cain’s wrist.