by C D Tavenor
Victor and his people pass through the gate, following everyone else. The crowd of a thousand or so people gather about half a kilometer from us, and after we shut the iron exit to our former prison, Erin and Tathias lead me to the top of a boulder.
“You’ve rescued us,” Erin says. “It’s time to speak. You’ve already shown the grace of the Lord of Light to Victor and his people; now show his courage.”
I gulp. “All right.” I step forward, Flame of Maripes in hand. For now, Tathias holds the hammer.
“Go on,” Erin adds.
I cough. Here goes nothing. “People of light. My friends. My family. You’ve only known me for a few short weeks, but I thank you for welcoming me into your arms. Now, we return to Lethotar. It burns my soul that we never knew you still lived, yet I am glad I arrived to find some of you still alive.”
I click the spear on the boulder. It feels right. “My father, Mono, defeated the Holy Empire above the Chasm. Many of you knew him when he fought at the Gates of Vicor, but the Holy Empire has lied to you for so many years. Lethotar lives. You live. And together, once we return to Lethotar, we will rebuild our people, strike back into the Three Valleys, and rescue all under the thumb of the Holy Empire.” I glance at Victor, standing near the back with his people. “I see a future where we build a world without needless distinctions; where all come together under the banner of the Lord of Light in peace and prosperity. That world begins today.”
Murmurs of fear, but also hope, echo through the crowd. Good enough.
“But first, we must pass through the shadow wolves. I will do what I can to protect us, but . . .” I don’t know what else to say. I look toward my—my advisors, for that’s what they are.
“But Ermo, daughter of Mono, granddaughter of Maripes, our new Lord of Light, will guide us!” Erin steps beside me, her arms raised. I see her true colors, the power of her voice once used as High Priest. “She is the Lord incarnate, come to save us from our enemies!”
Tathias roars, but it’s not anger, it’s joy, and the crowd replies in kind. Even the paleskins—I’ll need to stop calling them that—join in. After the crescendo fades, I smile, whispering, “I can be the Lord of Light.”
“You already are,” Erin says.
With a loud metallic scrape, the East Gate rises behind us. Cavalry march out of the gate in formation, banners flying from lances like flags in the wind.
“Now’s the time to prove it, then,” I say. I hold out my hand, and Tathias places the hammer in it. Both weapons stand ready.
From above, clouds roll in from the east, as if preparing for a cataclysmic showdown. Drops of rain splatter against the boulder. Even though it’s been years since any of these men or women have held a weapon, they form ranks, just as I imagined the Legion’s ranks formed above the Chasm around my father. As lightning slices the sky, a new Legion stands outside the Gates of Vicor.
I leap from the boulder onto the rocky plain, my—my soldiers walking in formation behind me. Our position presents a slight elevation advantage over the forming cavalry, but if we push forward about twenty meters or so, we’ll give them only incline to charge. Reaching our new position, I take a few additional steps forward, turning to face the line of troops. My army. Tathias and Erin are right there, a few meters away.
I turn back to face the massing force of the Holy Empire, raising my spear. “So says our Lord!” Shouts resound as I speak words they’ve not dared utter for ten years. “We fight for him as he fought for us. We fight for our love as he fought for us. We fight for Lethotar as he fought for us.”
A louder war cry reverberates, but power courses through my veins, and I use it to embolden my words. I’m hoping even our enemy can hear them. “And when I return to your side, my sacrifice will usher in a new age. A Daughter of the Lord will rise to the throne, and no longer will the world know us as the accursed ones. No longer will they know us as the orcs. They will know us as the People of Light, our true form. The People of Peace. The People of Love.”
My soldiers have grown quiet, hearing words many have forgotten from their scriptures. I’d almost forgotten them over the past few weeks, but a chance memory—from my childhood, from the day my father Mono died—resurfaced. The words father Ero told me on that day . . . the words everyone believed were about me.
For they are. I am who they believe me to be.
I point Flame of Maripes at our enemy, and in response, they charge.
◆ ◆ ◆
Like an earthquake, the ground thunders, the hooves of a thousand horsemen pounding toward us. I fall back into line with Erin and Tathias, spear and hammer at the ready. We don’t have many shields, but we have plenty of spears, and they all point toward the enemy cavalry.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” I mutter, but a comforting hand—Erin’s—rests on my shoulder.
“You’re writing a legend into existence, Ermo, who’s ever ready for that?” she says. “You’re doing things no one thought possible. No matter what happens, this day will live in infamy, either in our minds, or in the minds of the enemy.”
“As for me,” says Tathias, “I’d prefer to remember this day. I want to see Lethotar one more time before I die.”
“I want to see the forests along the River Wi again,” says Erin. “You know, I knew your grandmother, Vona. A good woman.” She smirks. “Kept Maripes in check.”
“Thanks for the pressure,” I say. “Let’s just strike down an entire army. We only see their cavalry, who knows what else they’ve got ready to come through the gates.”
The horsemen nearing our ranks, the clatter of hooves drown out any other words we might say. Bending my knees, I prepare the first salvo. I remember my practice, both in the woods and in the caves. I envision a bolt of energy lancing through Flame of Maripes and striking the incoming soldiers. I release the thought, power channeling through my soul and the sunsteel at the tip of my weapon.
Light flashes. Dust erupts. Horses fall. Soldiers scream.
Then their line is upon us, reaching the crest of the hill.
Tathias and Erin step in front of me, raising spears and shields to face the onslaught of hoof and lance. A horse topples right in front of us, scarlet blood soaking the dirt. Another horseman converges on Tathias, and with Flame, I surge forward, superhuman strength striking the beast and flinging it backward. Tathias grunts in thanks, then shouts an order to the front lines. I don’t know his actual background, but he quickly slipped into form as a commander.
Our line’s holding—we have the greatest spearmen in the world, after all—and we settle into a rhythm. The Holy Empire’s troops begin to dismount, their mounted position no longer advantageous. Our lines trade blows, But for the most part, we stare each other down. When I feel I have it in me I strike with another energy blast, and slowly, it looks as if we might whittle down our enemy through attrition.
Then, half an hour into the battle, a new line of troops emerge through the East Gate. Fresh infantry, clad in steel plate. Of course—the cavalry were a delaying tactic, giving time for the heavier troops to make their way up the cliff.
At some point, Tathias, Erin, and I return to the boulder to achieve a better vantage point on the battle. Columns of infantry pass through the Gates of Vicor, then—
The columns begin to crumble. A commotion, forming from behind. The troops turn to face away from the actual battle, and dark shapes push through, gnashing and slashing at the Holy Empire.
“The dark wolves. How?”
“The people we killed inside,” I say. “They’ve turned. Three sides to the battle now.” I look over my shoulder, toward the ruined city of Vicor, standing between Lethotar and us.
The previous trickle of rain grows, turning into a downpour. It’s soaking our skin, clouding our eyes, drenching our meager clothes. Both Holy Empire troops and our own soldiers slide around, a mud bowl forming. Even as infantry at the Gates tackle the dark wolves, hundreds of infantry enter the fray, converging on our lin
e. We need a new strategy if we’re to win.
“Do you both trust me?” I say. “No matter what I propose?”
Tathias looks to Erin, who nods. “You are the Lord of Light to us on this battlefield,” he says. “We will follow you in life—and to our deaths.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but here goes nothing.” I leap from the boulder, bounding through our troops. “Into the ruins!” I shout, rallying them toward my voice. Slipping through crowds of wounded and elderly, I hope my face shows hope, rather than fear. “If the Holy Empire fears us as demons, if it fears the dark wolves, the idea of us as ‘orcs,’ then let’s show them true fear.”
It’s a crazy enough idea to work. I know our soldiers holding the back line as we escape will suffer casualties, but someone must pay the price. We were going to face the dark wolves eventually anyway, so might as well force the Holy Empire to face them at the same time if they want to pursue us.
Reaching the back of the crowd of refugees, Tathias and Erin help me direct everyone to follow. Without question, they agree, the fear apparent in their eyes not from moving, but from the battle. Everyone can see the fresh troops approaching.
“We’re going to need to run,” I say. “We need to break through the dark wolves before they can converge as a horde. I saw it once, it was terrifying.”
“Into darkness to find light,” Tathias says. He hands me my grandfather’s hammer. “I’ll continue directing the rear guard. We’ll retreat when we can.”
He leaves, probably heading to his death. I hope that’s not the case. We continue toward the structures ahead, and I recognize the street where I was first captured, secretly hoping we’ll find River alive. Instead, I find what I knew I’d find. A mangled corpse, bones bloodied and crippled. He never stood a chance. My eyes water with tears, even beneath the downpour, and I stop, only for a moment. I motion for the crowd to continue past us, and I step to the side of the road with Erin.
“He saved my life,” I say. “This wolf. This corpse. His name was River. He saved me more than once.”
“He saved your life so you could save our lives,” Erin says. “Every action has meaning, even if you can’t see it at the time.”
“Perhaps . . . but his death wasn’t necessary. He died for no reason but a misunderstood belief that he could save me.”
“Is that not what you’re doing now? Could he have saved you by some miracle?”
“He was just a wolf.”
“You’re just a girl.”
I wipe away the tears, understanding her point all too well. I jog back to the front of the column, and despite her age, Erin keeps pace. Before long, we’re stepping beneath the ancient arch of a crumbling wall, entering the central portions of the city. I don’t look back, trusting my people follow close behind. Despite it being mid-day, the rain darkens the ruins, similar to the night long ago when I first traversed its streets. Before long, we’re walking down a main causeway, and—
From the alleys, dark shapes emerge, visages of people yet crawling on all fours like the dark, inhuman beasts they are. Except . . . they’re not attacking. Our crowd walks through, and the creatures simply . . . watch.
“Why aren’t they moving?” I say, asking the question we’re all thinking.
The crowd murmurs behind me, and Erin’s voice comes from a few steps behind. “I can’t answer that question any better than you, Ermo.”
We continue further, keeping our pace steady. Around every corner, dark wolves (privately, I still prefer the term fiend) stand and stare, watching us pass by. A thought begins to form in my mind, but I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. Yet—
“They know. Somehow. They know.”
“Know what?” says Erin.
“Who I am.”
“Ah. Perhaps.”
Their eyes . . . they contain an intelligence I’d not noticed before. They’re something more than just creatures. They’re shadows . . . of those who came before. Their former selves.
“Have you ever considered why the dark wolves exist?” I ask. “What creates them here, rather than anywhere else?”
“There’s a million possibilities, each as crazy as the next when you say them aloud.”
“But one of them is right.”
“Correct, there is a reason, even if we never know it.”
I wonder if the answer is more obvious than we want to admit. It’s a question to consider later, when we’re through this mess. We’re nearing the far side of the ruins, the Kineto Hills beyond. Those forests, where I first survived with River—weirdly, I miss them.
We round a final corner, but we immediately halt. Between a decrepit stone bridge and our position, hundreds of fiends sit on their haunches, waiting. At the front of their horde, a giant fiend, more beastly and horrific than the others, paces. Unlike its companions, it has massive, dagger-like fangs, and its eyes glow yellow. Unlike the others, it truly looks like a wolf.
River.
Of course. He died here, in this forsaken place. He too became a fiend, like everyone else.
I hand my hammer to Erin. Once again, her strength surprises me, and she hefts it onto her left shoulder. I hold out my free hand, pausing my people in their march toward freedom. I approach the shadowy mass. Erin cries in protest, but my palm remains outstretched. “I’ve got this. You said you’d trust me.”
I approach River. As I approach, the beast growls, but I still my heart. I smile. The growl subsides.
He kneels.
I’m acting on instinct, so I have no other choice. I reach the shadowy creature’s side; it’s nearly three meters long and a meter wide, much larger than River had been in life. Just large enough for me to ride. I leap onto its shoulders, Flame of Maripes in hand. It rises to its full height, larger than a horse by my estimates. It howls, and behind it, the other fiends join a chorus no longer sounding of death. It’s a song seeking life.
“This is my path, Erin,” I say, once the cry subsides. “Now lead your people home, to Lethotar. I’ll meet you at the Chasm.”
“You truly are the Lord of Light,” she says, and the people behind her nod in affirmation, even the paleskins mixed in with the throng, even though they barely understand our words.
“No, remember, I am simply a vessel.”
“Is there a difference?”
I chuckle, knowing Erin will appreciate reuniting with Ero. Dad. They’ll enjoy having a philosophical companion of similar wit with whom to spar. I hope I have the chance to see him again too. We shall see.
Without giving a response, I nudge River forward, and he marches toward the crowd, his army of fiends in tow. He’s not a beast. None of them are, really. I’m thinking they may need a new name (perhaps dark wolf is fitting).
The crowd continues past me, my new army filing through my people. Together, we will find vengeance against those who destroyed their souls.
XVII
We reach the center of the ruins, where a group of my soldiers, led by Tathias, sprint by us. I’m happy to see Victor fighting by their side as well, and three or four other able-bodied paleskin men and women. A massive column of Holy Empire infantry is hot in pursuit, though they’re cautiously eyeing the watchful gaze of dark wolves from the alleys. When they see my contingent, they halt, forming rank.
I don’t wait. I point my spear toward them, and, as if sensing my intention, River charges, her followers in tow. And from all around, masses of shadows converge from the side streets.
It’s still raining, though it’s beginning to fade. Even so, electricity charges through the air, bolts of lightning striking from cloud to cloud. As I aim my spear toward the column of infantry, I envision a new scene in my mind. Power surges from my spear and toward the clouds, and then—
A lightning bolt strikes from the sky, straight into the enemy formation, and then—
Another bolt. Another. Bolt after bolt connects, guided by my mind. For once, though, I don’t feel tired. I feel invigorated. I see my
path forward, I’m practically drawing energy from the very power of knowing what we’re about to do—River and I, will make something new.
We crash into an already decimated line, troops charred and blackened from lightning. Few remain standing, and the creatures tear them to shreds. Turning around the next corner, our army finds a much larger force. We charge. This isn’t a battle; it’s a slaughter. The Holy Empire stands no chance. I’ve already won.
◆ ◆ ◆
Stepping over a horse butchered on the battlefield, I withdraw my spear from a heavily armored soldier I’ve just defeated. I’d thrown Flame of Maripes like a javelin, stopping his charge toward me. All around, dark wolves are clobbering groups of soldiers to pieces.
Beside me, River walks, a weird, purple tongue wagging out of his mouth. I know this wolf, and his soul, even if it wears a different mask. He’s my friend. My savior.
He’s starting to glow.
I step in front of him, looking into his eyes. “River, you know you’re the real hero of this story. I’ll sing your praises for all time, to my children, their children, all future generations will know you were the thunder needed to bring an end to the misery at the Gates of Vicor.”
The weird, purple tongue reached out, licking my face. It’s like sandpaper, but I don’t mind.
“I will miss you.”
His shadow dies, brilliant specks of light exploding into a cloud and floating toward the sky. The rain having subsided, the lights merge with sunlight. Across the battlefield, other dark wolves fade into light. Like fireflies, their souls glow, having found peace at last. Perhaps it’s because they received vengeance . . . but I have a feeling its more because no more will the torture they experienced be extolled upon another person. Whether it was one of the People of Light at the hands of the Holy Empire, or a soldier of the Holy Empire acting upon the orders of their horrendous regime, or the pitiful oppression placed upon unsuspecting souls by their Inquisition—no more. It all ended today.