The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2)

by R. G. Triplett

  "Aye, it may be. But tell me this, Priest, where has all your talk of the flint—of duty and resolve and reverence—gotten us? Huh?" Hollis motioned his arms in a grand display. "The forests are dead, the great tree is nearly gone, the world is darker now than ever before, and evil hunts your Citadel with a fury and a might of monsters more ancient than fear itself!" Hollis' men raised their eyes and met the stare of their chieftain as they listened to him speak. "To hell with it all, Priest! It may very well be that the THREE who is SEVEN has given us the gift of strong arms and sharp axes so that we might bring victory for our people—to your people—on this darkened day!"

  "Chief," Brádách interrupted him. "It's the tree. The melding of fires has begun."

  "Very well, men," Hollis said resolutely. "It is time."

  The men began to speak in unison, cued by their lifetimes of habit and service to the Citadel. As their chieftain began the prayer, they recited along with him the words that they had spoken every morning before venturing into the forestlands.

  "Oh master of flame and bringer of light,

  Make our hearts true and our blades bite.

  Fuel our work and worth with your holy might …"

  But the woodcutters trailed off before finishing the final lines, sensing that Hollis would not speak the rest of the words with them. The silence of the moment hung awkwardly there in the smoky tension of the camp.

  Brádách broke the quiet. His voice was a bit shaky, but his pride came through true enough as he finished the prayer of the woodcutters with words of his own. "So the world might hope to … to see a new day!"

  "May it be so, Brádách," Hollis said with a proud smile.

  "May it be so!" his men shouted in response.

  "Riders! Find your mounts! For this silver night we ride for all of Haven!" Silvus shouted to his comrades with a contagious vigor.

  Chests were pounded in response as strong, powerful steeds were mounted, ready for whatever green-eyed evil lay concealed beneath the black fog of the Raven Army. Hollis and the rest of the company of woodcutters made the last of their battle preparations. They secured their furs overtop their leather-studded breastplates and fastened simple leather bracers to their forearms. These men, as brave and as mighty as they were, had only ever done true battle with the trees and the beasts of the North. What few skirmishes they had found themselves in were largely unorganized and limited to a few outlier hoards. But here, in the faint firelight, outfitted in simple leather armor and fur clad helms, the small remaining host of Hollis' woodcutters looked more fierce and more deadly than any of Haven's finest companies of guardsmen.

  Hollis, dressed in the fur of the white lion, took up the great axe, Viőarr. He held the fabled weapon over his head and charged his men with passion and pride in his voice. "You, woodcutters! You, mighty men of the North! Tonight we give these conjurors of dragons, this Raven Army, a true taste of what every oak and pine and birch and fir has feared for seventy years!" The old chieftain looked up at his old, double-bladed friend and then shouted at the top of his lungs. "Sharpened steel!"

  A muted cheer went up from the lips of the woodcutters, and they raised their axes in unified purpose. Hollis gave Silvus and his riders the signal they had been waiting for. The ground beneath the camp woke to life with the sound of forty horses pounding the earth as they rode off to the east.

  Hollis and the hundred or so able-bodied men who were left began the deliberate trek to the western flank of this Raven Army. The ground beneath them hummed with energy. Hollis could feel the movement of action even now, all this way on the other side of the battle lines, and he knew that Silvus and his men must have engaged the enemy. He felt a cold chill course through his veins as he raised his spyglass to his eye. There, just off in the distance, he could see the faint flickering of lights.

  "The time is almost upon us, lads," he whispered to those within earshot. "Hold to your courage, now."

  His men exchanged silent glances with each other, and Hollis surveyed as best as he could. Brádách, whose eyes he trusted more than anyone's, had not made the journey with them. Though he protested greatly, his maimed foot would have been the death of him out here upon the field of battle with this Raven Army. And so it was that he had stayed back at the last encampment, along with the Priest and the healers, to offer any aid they might to anyone who might make it back alive.

  They marched ever closer to the enemy, while Hollis listened for the sound of battle on the wind. When the attention of the enemy seemed to have focused upon Silvus and his riders in the east, Hollis put down his monocle and raised up Viőarr.

  "We strike, now," he said to his men, his face steeled with utter determination. "Give them your worst, and be quick about it! Let's turn the whole lot of green-eyed devils into a field of stumps!"

  Hollis and the brave few woodcutters ran swiftly and silently towards the sickly green torches that flickered dimly amidst the black fog. The men had no fear in their eyes, for they had already resigned their bodies to the red earth of Aiénor. Axes were held high and teeth were gritted tight as the men charged into the fog. It was here that the woodcutters, the holy soldiers of the distant Priest King, drew the first blood on the field of battle.

  Chapter Eight

  KEILY WAS STARTLED AWAKE FROM a restless sleep by the sound of a guttural, soul-chilling noise. Its low, nauseating reverberation hung thick in the foggy air of the northern borough, and on its deep, dark tone came the terror of the unknown. Her eyes shot open, and she quickly reached for the hunting bow and quiver that rested next to her humble, straw-filled mattress. The loud blast finally ceased, and silence crept back in for the briefest of moments, as if whoever it was or whatever it was that was responsible for the horrifying sound needed to catch its breath before it could fill the frosty air with its toxic terror once again.

  Keily had fallen asleep still dressed in the same dun-colored pants and tunic and blue bodice that she had worn for the last several days. Her wild, long, curly hair had been bound and tied tightly to her head, and she had replaced her feminine tavern shoes for a pair of her father's high-calved hunting boots. She hurriedly leapt from the bed and laced the thongs of her father's boots. She rushed from the back room of the tavern in a storm of curiosity and fear, eager to see what it was that made this soul-chilling sound. Even now, dressed in the standard of practicality, the tavern-keeper's daughter exuded a wild, dangerous beauty; dangerous not in a seductive or alluring sense, but rather in fearlessly courageous femininity.

  She crashed against the wooden door of the Gnarly Knob, peering warily out onto the street. As she did, the silver-lit air erupted in a shrill, violent conflict of notes. The horns of the guardsmen sounded in the bright, brass tones of their office, clashing in the most unnerving way with the foreign, guttural vibrations emanating from the shadows beyond the wall. Keily held her ears, her face grimaced in pain as she was forcibly bound to hearing the torturous sound, for there was no escaping it. The dark and sinister nature of this otherworldly signal seemed to tax her very breath while her courage bent beneath the cruelty of so foul a blast.

  "Where is Armas?" she shouted to the dumbfounded citizens who held their ears and watched the commotion of the guardsmen on the dusty streets of Piney Creek. "Where is Captain Armas?"

  Companies of men-at-arms rushed in pained uniformity down the streets towards the Northern Gate, making their way to ready themselves for battle. Keily glanced back into the empty tavern and took a deep steadying breath, then slung her bow and quiver across her back and chased after the marching guardsmen. She ran down the busy streets towards the small square, into a hive of frenzied activity. The silver air lit up with sparks of steel as the weapons of war ground against the sharpening stones of the smithy. Guardsmen and officers alike cinched and fastened silver-colored chest pieces to their bodies in preparation for whatever bloody business was coming for them this day.

  The war horns of the enemy punctuated the dire mood of these brave guardsmen
with taunting brutality. The men steeled their faces, pushing through their suffocating fears while biting back the bile that robbed them of their voices. They knew even as they readied for battle that their chances of surviving for another darkening day lessened with each moment that passed by.

  The atmosphere fell breathlessly silent again, as the horns of the enemy unexpectedly and abruptly muted. Soldiers and citizens everywhere looked with terrified anticipation towards the wall, fearing whatever it was that would follow next. Keily spotted Captain Armas atop the barbican, and she took off in a deliberate sprint towards him.

  Rolph, a friend of her father and fellow member of the militia, grabbed her arm as she hurried by him. "And just where do you think you are heading, lass?"

  She looked at him, surprised, not sure of the meaning of his words or why he would presume to restrain her from her destination.

  "It might be best to not involve yourself with the captain's plans," he said through a concerned scowl. "I fear that the wall is no place for a woman."

  The air erupted once again with the ghastly noise from beyond the wall. This time, the groaning felt louder, closer, and even more menacing. Rolph grabbed his ears, trying to soften the assault as best as he could. It was not just the men that felt the maddening weight of the enemy's horns; the beasts of burden and the farmer's livestock grew more anxious and unruly with each taunting blast. One of the oxen broke free from his owner's grasp and tore off down the earthen streets, sending supplies and soldiers scattering in the wake of its desperate terror.

  Keily looked back to her father's old friend, and then again up to Armas atop the wall. As she tried to make her way to the captain, she felt her arm pulled back again.

  "Keily, no lass, I can't ... you can't!" he stammered. "I mean, your father would never forgive me."

  "Rolph!" she retorted, her voice unwavering now. "My father is dead. Where would you rather have me? Huh? Serving a dead man's ale to a city of dead men?"

  "I fear the worst is about to break in upon us!" he shouted against the violent cacophony of sound. "Please, for your father's sake, stay far away!"

  She looked at him, and a mix of pity and disgust colored her face. Pity for the concern he showed for her, because of his love for her father, and disgust for his inability to recognize her need to fight back against the ones that had stolen him from them both. "That is precisely why I must find Armas!" she shouted against the noise.

  "Do you plan to leave this place, then?" Rolph shouted back, somewhat hopeful that his words had convinced this fiery young woman to find safety for herself.

  "No, Rolph. I plan to join him!" she replied, and then turned and pulled her arm free of his grasp. "Do not ask me to flee from a chance at vengeance for my father." She left him there, running through the chaotic buzz of activity on the normally sleepy streets of Piney Creek. Keily spied the captain atop the wall and wove her way in and out of the busyness of the frantic defenders, not pausing to make eye contact or heed the shouts of the sentries.

  She swiftly climbed the outcropping of stone steps until she arrived at the highest bulwark of the battlement. Archers stood at the ready all along the northern defense. Hundreds of men with scores of razor sharp arrows watched the distant, green horizon for signs of movement. Their faces were set like stone, hidden behind the thin veil of their steel helms. Their silver armor reflected the watch fires and their green tunics were heavy with the cold moisture of the northern fog.

  The harsh noises in the air went quiet again, and men everywhere strained to listen in the pregnant pause for whatever was to come next.

  "Armas!" Keily shouted out, a bit louder than she intended. Her cry caught the captain's attention, and he nodded to her, welcoming the momentary distraction of the courageous barmaid. She snaked her way through the archers and guardsmen until she reached his command post there on the barbican. As she reached him, she abandoned all care for the order and decorum that his rank demanded and deserved, for he had become more than just a captain of Haven; he had become her friend. She grasped him and hugged him tightly, drawing momentary strength from his touch and his presence.

  Not a moment after she reached him, the brutal rape of their senses ensued once again as the air protested in the wake of the violent and ugly sound that they had been forced to endure since waking. She broke her embrace in a startled jolt, for though she was not afraid to fight or to bleed or even to die in the heat of battle, she feared the unknown evils that shook the ground and insulted the wind with so vile a sound.

  "Are you alright, Keily?" Armas asked her with an open and genuine concern.

  She met his gaze with her own, seeing in his eyes a regard that both flattered and unsettled her, even amidst the intensity of the danger they were facing. Sensing the depth of his care for her, she turned away and looked towards the shadows. "What does it mean Armas? What do they want?"

  "It means that war is upon us, girl," a haughty voice answered from behind her. "And you better make yourself ready if you know what's best for you."

  She turned, her face colored with the hues of offense towards the one who would presume to refer to her as a mere "girl". Armas lowered his gaze in exhaustion and mild amusement, not ready to manage a second war here atop the wall.

  "Captain," the Chancellor addressed him with a disapproving shock to his tone, deliberately looking past the woman in the blue bodice. "Perhaps you might want to spend your concern on the defenses of our city, instead of on the worries of maidens." Chaiphus was visibly shaken by the idea of the war to come, but in a well-practiced act of Priestly piety, he turned his fear into indignant judgment.

  Armas looked straight ahead, giving neither rebuttal nor argument to the right hand of the Priest King, though he would certainly not give him the satisfaction of an apology either.

  "The ... the enemy is all about us, abusing our senses, mocking the very city we serve, and I demand to know what you are going to do about it!" Chaiphus sputtered out madly.

  "What am I going to do about it?" Armas said. "I am not going to do anything about their taunts or their mockeries, Lord Chaiphus. For taunts and mockeries are merely the foolish skirmishes of diversion, meant to distract, to disarm, and to dishearten. No, I will prepare my guardsmen and ready our defenses," he turned and met the Chancellor's fearful gaze with his own quiet resolve. "And I will wait until this battle has come within range of our archers."

  "The mounts are ready, and the riders wait for your command!" Lieutenant Marcum called as he ran up the flight of stone stairs onto the barbican. "What are your orders, sir?"

  "Orders?" Chaiphus said in flabbergasted mockery. "Ha!"

  Armas looked at Marcum and nodded his approval. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

  "Tell me, Lieutenant," the Chancellor said probingly, "what would you tell your men to do in a moment like this?"

  Marcum looked back towards Armas, unsure as to what the Chancellor was asking. "My lord, I would wait for my captain's command."

  The horns of the enemy roared to life again, stealing the fire from the words of the Chancellor and replacing it with fear. "You would be waiting a long time, it would seem. For instead of commanding the Citadel's army, this captain of yours is cavorting with town girls!" He spat as his panic-stricken voice yelled against the drone of the war horns.

  "My lord!" Marcum shouted against the clamor of noise. "With all due respect, this girl here is Keily, and she is one of our militia. She is probably one of the best archers I have ever seen. If the captain is cavorting with her, it is probably for good reason!"

  Chaiphus was stunned by the lieutenant's response, for he had anticipated that allies could be found in the bone-chilled wake of fear-tossed allegiances. "I ... I thought … I saw him-"

  "Lord Chancellor," Armas said calmly. "It is time that you go back to the Citadel and report your observances to our Priest King. This war is not long upon us, and I cannot afford any more time to be distracted by your second guesses. I will have the marshal ready your carr
iage, and if you wish to display any semblance of reason, you will leave this place before you cannot."

  Chaiphus looked for a moment as if an unexpected wave of relief had just washed over him, but he quickly masked it with a veil of outrage. "Speak to me like that again, Armas, and I will take you and your girl here back with me to the prison holds myself!"

  "I am not his girl, and you would be a fool to dispatch either of us from our task of defense!" Keily seethed. "My father was one of the first taken by the shadows, and I will give my life, if need be, to see that he is properly avenged." She spoke with coiled rage as she pointed to the green, un-lit horizon with one of her own goose-feathered arrows. "Whatever hell it is that haunts us out there, it has not counted on the fury of this girl in here."

  Marcum studied the blue-bodiced woman and noticed the fearlessness inside her fiery eyes. He looked back to his captain, understanding the weight and motivation of her wounded vengeance. This pretty face might be more deadly than ten of his armored and trained spearmen.

  Chaiphus studied the three of them, weighing his fear against his pride. Finally he spoke. "His Brightness must hear about this at once! Have the marshal ready my carriage. I haven't the stomach for insubordination on a day like this!" The Chancellor shook his finger in Armas' face. "You forget the piety and respect that are woven into the epaulettes upon your shoulders, Captain. You will pay for that forgetfulness, you can mark my words about that!"

  "We will prepare your carriage right away, Lord Chancellor," Armas replied, nodding at Marcum. The lieutenant took his cue and ushered the reddened, wild-eyed Chancellor down the stairs and off to the stable yard.

  "I am sorry, I did not mean to get you in trouble," Keily said quietly to her friend.

  "You did not. His anger at me is just the closest thing to a victory he can manage on a day like this," Armas said with grace in his eyes.

  Just then the ground shook, quaking more violently than before, and they quickly turned their attention to the enemy beyond the wall. The two largest pairs of the sickly green orbs flickered in unison and then fell black against the outlands.