Keily stopped, suddenly, and turned around to ask him another question. "If you are afraid, Armas, why do you stay here to fight? Why not run? Or, at least, why not drown your fears in the casks of ale as many have been known to do?"
"I resist while strength remains, and maybe ..." he turned to look southward, back towards the last remaining branch of the once-great burning tree, nodding his head almost imperceptibly as he spoke, "maybe I still hope, my lady. Hope that by some defiant act of blade and bow we might live to see each other in the dawn of a new day, of a new light."
Keily turned to look at the tree, but only for the briefest of moments. She smiled at him then, a sad sort of smile, and continued on her way.
"What now, Engelmann?" Armas whispered into the faint amber light. "What now?" he released his exhausted breath. Without a warning, Armas felt the ground beneath his boots begin to vibrate and tremble. At first it was barely perceptible, not much more than a small rumble, like the movement of a dozen heavy horses on the coming road. "What in the damnable dark is that?" he said aloud, his eyes tracing the movement of guardsmen and citizens there behind the relative safety of the North Wall. Not many people seemed to notice the rising quake, not until the horses began to snort in agitated protest. Then, all of a sudden, it seemed that their desperate voices alone woke the fearful borough from its drugged weariness.
The vibration steadily grew, becoming angrily swollen like the rolling tide of a storm-tossed sea. The mighty walls of Haven began to shake as man and beast alike filled the once-silent streets with the worried noises of unexpected panic.
"Lieutenant!" Armas shouted down the line of the battlements. Marcum had grabbed his spyglass and was already surveying the enemy line from his position atop the wall. "What do you see?"
"Nothing, sir!" Marcum shouted, straining to be heard over the chaotic noises of his frightened men.
"What then? What is this?" Armas shouted back.
The quake became so violent that even the green-lit fires of the enemy encamped in the shadow lands began to waver and falter. Dust began to pour out from the cracks of the stone walls, and men and women everywhere tried and failed to steady themselves, grasping for purchase 'til the violence of the tremor passed.
"Armas! Armas, what is it?" The bewildered voice of the barmaid cut through the gathered confusion below.
"I don't know!" shouted the captain.
Just then a sound split the sky, like a chorus of a hundred lightening bolts ripping apart the unsuspecting morning in violent unison. Screams of women and children everywhere echoed in response, and in one single instant the whole of Aiénor was changed forever. The amber light of the great tree imploded, sending a shockwave of silver brilliance out from its center. The light from the tree flew outwards, exploding in a furious hurry, riding upon a tempest of gale force winds from the center of Haven to the ends of the world. Torches and watch fires everywhere, regardless of nature and hue, were extinguished in the mighty gust of light and wind.
And then, as swiftly and suddenly as the moment had occurred, it was gone. The last branch had fallen, and Aiénor was plunged into blackness.
Armas stared blindly in utter disbelief. His jaw hung agape, his breath came in short bursts, and the sweat upon his brow trickled down his face as his mind raced to comprehend what this terrible moment would truly mean for him and for his once-bright city.
"Captain!" Marcum shouted, though in truth his voice was the only one making any noise here in the hanging black of the lightless world. "Captain, look! The green-lit fires ... they are gone! Vanished!"
Armas wheeled around, searching the inky darkness for a hint of the green light. Blackness was everywhere; it seemed that no one was immune to its hold. Brazier or siege fires alike ... all light had bent its knee to the dying tree.
"Quickly now, light the torches!" Armas shouted to his men. "Use your flints, lads, and get these watch fires lit immediately! Lieutenant! Are you sure those green fires are gone?"
"Look for yourself!" Marcum replied, his voice sharp with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.
Armas reached for his spyglass and placed its brass and leather to his eye, scanning for sign of the enemy beyond the walls of the city. All he could see was blackness, an ominous and horrifying darkness that boded nothing but doom. As he searched, he could hear the tearful cries erupting throughout the streets and homes of Piney Creek, voices and hearts united in a terrified lament. Off in the distance, the gilded horns of the Citadel sang their sad song for all to hear. Hearing the dreadful sound of those trumpets, he could scarcely wrap his mind around the truth that the citizens of Haven would never again hear this mournful song. The final branch … the final lament … the final death.
And now, evil was coming.
GAROOM! The sound of a great, crashing weight upon the darkened earth rattled the blackness. Armas' eyes slipped closed. The time had come. There was no sign of the sickly, green fires, and what was once a distant shadow land out there beyond the influence of the great tree had now become an invading country of settled darkness.
GAROOM! It fell once again, shaking both man and masonry.
"To the wall!" Marcum shouted to the guardsmen below. "Archers to the ready!"
Armas scanned the distant outlands once again, but although he felt the giant reverberations of what he knew to be a dragon, he could still see nothing out there.
A moment passed, but only a moment.
"ROARRRRAHH!" A chorus-like sound of deep and terrible monsters erupted in the pregnant hiatus of sound and sight. The malevolent roar grew and swelled in soul-chilling volume, and at the peak of its crescendo came two violent streams of green fire that climbed high into the sky, revealing by their evil glow the vast army that waited at the very gates of Haven, ready and hungry for war.
"God help us," Armas whispered. "Two dragons?"
He could barely make out their massive, darkened forms as the streams of fire spewed forth, illuminating the darkness about them. Then, as the light dimmed again in the aftermath of their flames, he could see nothing but the glowing orbs of their eyes. The two beasts lowered their great, horned heads as their menacing green eyes shifted towards the Raven Army positioned in front of the massive, scaled bodies. They let out another roar, and in a burst of green fire, they washed their ranks with a sea of deadly blaze.
Armas jumped back in frightened confusion, unsure why the dragons would do such a thing to their own army. But as the burst of green fire passed over the invading soldiers and faded, he saw the horror of the truth. Ranks upon ranks of the Raven Army stood unconsumed and unaffected by the dragons' flame. The intent of the flames was not to burn the men … it was to ignite the torches extinguished by the death of the great tree. The enemy now stood in menacing rows of fierce, evil warriors decorated in both the ravens' feathers and dragons' green fire.
Marcum looked in panicked shock back to his captain, and Armas did his best to swallow away the ominous truth that threatened to rob his belly of his morning meal.
"Ready the cavalry, and get me a rider!" Armas ordered to his lieutenant. "And get every bow to the wall! Now!"
And then, he heard it. The same guttural, otherworldly reverberation that had assaulted the air when the corpses of the woodcutters were flung in a fiery heap of chaos … now began again. Armas and the army of Haven felt the tightening of their chests and the blurring of their eyes as the ghastly sound rose and fell in bellowed tones of terror.
Armas knew exactly what it meant for Haven. The soul-chilling sound was a signal for war.
"Captain," gasped the rider who was trying to catch his breath after rushing to the wall. "What are my orders, sir?"
"Alert the Citadel." Armas looked back to the green-lit army as the sound of clanging iron and marching boots woke to life. "They are on the move." Armas let out a settling breath and then looked the rider in the eyes. "Tell them that war has found us, and that whatever evil now drives it, dragons are at its vanguard. Ride, guard
sman, and pray to the THREE who is SEVEN for some miracle to break in upon us, for some new light to keep these monsters at bay."
The rider saluted his captain, his right arm crossing his chest, and without another moment of hesitation he sprinted down the steps, mounted his courser, and spurred the steed to a flurry of haste.
Armas knew now what he must do, what his men and blades and bows would dare try and accomplish for this once-bright city. He placed his gloved hand against his tired yet resolute face, releasing the tension in his spine as he cracked his neck before addressing his soldiers.
"Guardsmen of Haven! Men and women of Piney Creek!" His words were interrupted with the deafening roar of the green-eyed monsters. Men and maidens, guardsmen and greenhorns alike all began to cower under the oppressive fear that unleashed its suffocating taunts from beyond the gates. Armas tried to stand strong against the fiery threats; he willed his head not to lower and begged his fortitude not to falter—at least, not to falter on the outside. "Hear me now, my friends, while there are yet moments to be heard! War has come to us, and evil besieges us with ravenous intent. Vile monsters taunt and torture our minds, feeding on what courage we still have left!"
GAROOM! The pounding of giant, taloned-feet on the distant ground shook the air out the moment yet again.
"But if we run ... if we try to escape its hunger ... it will not relent, it will not cease its hunting. This borough and your homes are not the prize of our enemy. Dragons and legions are not assembled for such small intents and purposes!" He shouted with what bravery he could muster in the face of such peril, and did his best to keep his strong voice from wavering. "I fear ... no, I know that this Raven Army will not stop until all of Haven is under the rule of whomever sent it."
GAROOM! The thunderous quake came once again.
"We can run and it will find us still. Or we can fight! We can take whatever sharpened edge we might find, whatever courage we might muster—no matter how frail and wilted it seems—and we can stand. Even if victory is not our fortune, perhaps we may still stand for the briefest of moments." The world grew quiet for a moment, as if the enemy were giving the army of Haven a chance to consider Armas' words. He seized the silence once more. "And maybe," he shouted as he found the strong, tear-laden eyes of the beautiful barmaid, "we might deal this enemy a fatal blow and live to see the light of a new day." With his gaze, he entrusted his words to her heart.
Silence hung there in the terrified moment, as citizens and soldiers alike did their best to take heart in the wake of these desperate words.
"May it be so!" shouted an old man out of the crowd of gathered people.
Armas' eyes lit up with the faint and slightly savage light of determination. He crossed his arm, his clinched fist reaching the braided cords of his office in a humble salute to this ill-prepared people. "We, by the THREE who is SEVEN," he said in practiced formality.
"We, by the THREE who is SEVEN," the people called in reply, kissing hands and flints, and looking with resolved intent towards the green fire that awaited them.
Chapter Seventeen
THE STRONGHOLD WAS RUMBLING WITH the tired sounds of tired men, and the smoky air was filled with the fragrances of roasted boar, baked salt-breads, and piping hot mulled wine. The woodcutters both left and returned to the stronghold each day as a single company of brothers, so they had waited hungrily for their chieftain to ride up to the colony's gate before they would permit themselves the luxury of rest and hot bread.
"Well, it is about time, North Wolf," exclaimed Rolf, a slightly older woodcutter with a long, black beard. "Goran over here was looking at me a bit too intently if you know what I mean! I have never been more afraid of a growling stomach in all my life."
"Nah!" Goran said in mock disgust. "There is not enough muscle on those scrawny arms to fell a sapling, let alone satisfy the hunger that I have worked up today."
A good-hearted laugh washed over the exhausted men, and Yasen was indeed grateful for such a company of brothers to battle this darkness alongside. "Alright then, comrades, let us go rest our blades and fill our bellies, huh?"
"Aye!" his men shouted. The woodcutters did not walk in uniformed formation or with any noticeable trace of practiced discipline, but the bond of brotherhood and the harsh life of the axe had brought with it an almost impenetrable respect, and neither hunger nor hurry would disrupt their company.
The banners of the Citadel and the canvas of the barracks whipped and popped, for a cold wind had blown in from the east, and the flames of the watch fires and braziers danced violently in its chilly wake. The exhaustion of the men stood in stark contrast to the flurry of windblown activity sprinkled throughout the encampment. Yasen's men walked proudly into the center of the pine fortress, having accomplished much for their mission and their city. Here at the heart of the colony there was an open square of assembly; this was the place where the meals were shared, prayers were prayed, and the orders of the governor were given.
The men filled flagons with steaming drink and passed loaves of the salted bread. As they dipped the rolls into the red juices of the roasted meat and ate their fill, the mood of the colony exhaled the tense uncertainty of the day. Laughter began to bubble and stories were told, and as the spirits in the mulled wine warmed the bellies of the woodcutters and guardsmen alike, their spirits too began to lift in the wake of this easterly wind.
Tahd stood to his feet in an effort to gain the attention of the hungry crowd. "Men of the first colony, a job well done today, indeed. It would seem that his Brightness had a grand and glorious vision after all when he sent us here to the Wreath ... and I am proud of your relentlessness." The captain raised his flagon to his face and took a long draught before pounding the wooden vessel twice on the table in honor of a hard day's work.
"Our governor has some important words to share with you, so mind that you listen while you eat! Huh?" said the silver-haired captain.
Seig rose from his chair at the head of the table. When he stood erect, it was easy to see why this tall, charismatic man commanded such attention. His dark, closely cropped beard punctuated his sharp features, and his voice boomed with an authority that could not merely derive its power from his office. The tables fell silent under the weight of the governor's authority. Though the woodcutters did not hold much love or respect for the man himself, they believed in their cause enough to listen when he spoke. That, and they mistrusted his use of power enough to be wary of whatever he might say.
All eyes were turned to Seig, and all attention was directed at the governor. Were it not for the heightened sense of alertness the men had acquired due to living on the Wreath, they may not have even noticed what happened next. Out here, this far from Haven, the world was already dark enough; all that was left of the great tree was a small, distant flame of amber or silver, a mere twinkling in the blackened sky. But at the very moment that Seig rose to address his men, the distant flame across the Dark Sea vanished.
Not many even detected it at first; the diminishment of light was nearly imperceptible. Seig, who just moments before had smiled with the bravado of complete confidence, froze momentarily at the dimming. Nervousness colored his tight-jawed features as he searched for the words that he could not quite seem to find. Slowly, whispers could be heard amongst the men as some began to perceive that the great tree had finally failed.
Woodcutters and guardsmen alike began to turn and squint in the direction of the tree, trying to make out if what their more observant brothers were telling them was true. As all attention somberly shifted from the square of the colony to the darkened shores of their distant home, their fears were confirmed with violent assurance. A gale of cold winds came rushing across the black waters of the Dark Sea, and as it hit the colony, every watch fire and brazier was extinguished in a single, chilling gust.
The realization of what had just happened settled fully upon the whole of the colony. They sat in silence, unable to see even their hands in front of their faces. Finally, Yas
en found his way to a nearby brazier and managed to light a flame again, casting an eerie, flickering, amber gleam upon the gathered company. The firelight slowly woke the frozen wills of the stunned colony, and the watchmen began to light torches once again.
The silence of the moment was finally broken by the shaky voice of the young Priest.
"The tree has failed," he said. "Let us pray in earnest, for our assignment here is now all the more paramount." The men of the colony took up their flints, and the teary-eyed Priest said the words. "The hope of our past is gone, for the world as we have known it has left us here in darkness. But give us strength anew, and may we place our hope in the gift of resolve. Save us by the work of our hands."
The colony agreed in unison. "May it be so."
Seig looked out among his men as the words of the Priest still echoed in his thoughts, and the nerves that had not moments before robbed him of his confidence were pushed aside in favor of action. "Three days' time," Seig proclaimed with confidence. "Three days' time will be all that we will need before the captain here can sail back to Haven with a ship full of fresh timber and new light for our countrymen."
Yasen looked to his men grimly. They were tired and weary from the weeks of hard days there in the forest of the Wreath, and he knew what this proclamation would mean for their calloused hands and fatigued backs.
"Our Priest King sent us with this mission: to seek and to find a new light, and to return it back to our shining city," Seig continued as he stared into the eyes of each and every one of his men. "We have sought, we have found, and by the will of the THREE who is SEVEN, we will return this first harvest to our people, for it would seem that our great city needs us all the more this dark day."
The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2) Page 15