Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  Cresul offered one, respectful nod as he spoke. “This will mean little to you of course, but you have given me a great honor today. On this battlefield, no death will be greater than yours.” Cresul then readied himself as Norryn stopped some 15 feet away.

  The two stared at one another for a long breath. Cresul smiled. Norryn replied to this with icy silence. The rigors of battle echoed in the distance. Two of the greatest symbols of their respecting countries faced the fates waiting in the eyes of the other.

  And then it began.

  Cresul moved first, surging forward, swords raised. With his movements came a fluid, almost intellectual grace. As he neared, Cresul triggered two blasts from his swords. The hungry fire ripped through the short distance to Norryn. The young heir stepped to the right, raising his own arms in defense as blue energy tore at him. One of the blasts was deflected. The second was barely evaded and still singed at the armor plating that protected Norryn’s stomach. And then Cresul was upon the him.

  A barrage of sword strikes, accurate and deadly, screamed at the young son of Alderich. Cresul pushed his assault while Norryn spent his energy evading, deflecting, and parrying in self-preservation. Somehow through exhaustion and injury, Norryn stayed a precious half-second ahead of the blades determined to taste his blood. Cresul pushed on stronger than he started. Six strikes became 12. 12 strikes turned to 20. In his heart he knew the young man before him to be weakening. Finally, he brought both blades slashing down from overhead as Norryn brought his staffs up to stop them.

  Norryn held the blades inches from his body, arms shaking at the strain. Cresul triggered the remaining shots in his swords. Both bolts shrieked down the blades and toward their target. In the last moment, Norryn pushed the blades to his right, allowing the laser fire meant for his face to pass inches from his temple. Cresul followed through though, driving a kick into the injured abdomen of his quarry. Norryn grunted as he fell backwards, rolling and ending in a kneeling position. General Cresul steadied himself, smiling in grim satisfaction as he pushed forward.

  Cresul was already pressing the attack again, kicking once more as Norryn lost more ground, rolling in pain as he sought to regain his footing. Cresul slashed with his swords and again Norryn rolled to avoid it. He was not as fortunate the next round as he moved out of the way of yet another attack. Cresul drove his knee into Norryn’s face, thrusting him back. Norryn stumbled this time as Cresul brought a vicious stab at him.

  Norryn kept the strike from piercing his heart. Instead the tip of the sword ate into his upper chest. His chest guard was able to keep the blade tip from going any further than a few inches. Norryn retreated, his blood hanging on Cresul’s sword as a haunting reminder.

  Cresul smiled at his faltering opposition with pure satisfaction. “It ends. Here and now, boy. There is no tomorrow,” stated the proud general of the forces of Thorne. He looked easily at his weakened adversary. Seeing an Ashener kneel before him gave Cresul an immense feeling of satisfaction. He took slow, calculated steps toward Norryn. His face showed the feral glimpses of a predator moving in to finish his quarry.

  It was then that Norryn met his gaze. Cresul was surprised to see renewed defiance and strength in his eyes. Surging forward with great speed, it was Norryn that met Cresul head on, letting loose with a flurry of his own. Cresul was placed on the defensive as blinding speed met his swords, nearly faltering his defenses. Pressing forward, Norryn began to push General Cresul back. Cresul himself was forced to focus only on defense, astounded at the speed and ability of this young, injured warrior.

  Cresul almost felt helpless for a fleeting moment. He found it impossible to mount an offensive, overwhelmed by the rising desire to defend himself and survive. The blazing attacks by Norryn grew swifter, closer, and deadlier. Their weapons clashed as they held their grips. It was then that Norryn returned the favor, driving a quick foot into General Cresul’s stomach. Cresul stumbled backwards momentarily before regaining himself. They two combatants looked again at one another.

  In a breath Cresul knew the depth and danger that was the young Vallance heir. An instant of doubt cracked the destiny paved by the infamous Thorne commander. And it was that doubt that redoubled Cresul’s will and fury. He would have this boy’s head, and no other alternative sufficed. He would mount his horse and carry that head into battle, testament of his strength and acumen. And in that moment, he would see the forces of Vallance fall to their knees in complete and utter defeat.

  “You are dead!” Cresul hissed as he unleashed pure, unrestrained rage.

  General Cresul charged again. He held the sword in his left hand parallel before him, the sword in his right poised for the final blow. Feinting with his left, Cresul sent the right-hand blade straight for Norryn’s stomach. With a speed Cresul did not know he possessed he shot his sword forward in a blur. His blade soon connected.

  With nothing.

  In that moment, Norryn extended the small blades the rested at the base of his two staves. As Cresul’s sword shot in, he moved to the left, striking and breaking the hand that held the sword. The sword fell easily and the strike changed Cresul’s momentum as he began to spin to the left, screaming in pain. Giving no quarter, Cresul allowed himself to follow in that spin, the sword in his left hand poised and ready to administer a backhanded slash.

  With his back momentarily to Norryn, his sword at the ready before him, General Cresul met more pain. Driving one of his small blades into Cresul’s left triceps, he stopped Cresul’s attack, rendering the left arm useless as Cresul dropped his other sword. With fear and pain upon him, with one hand broken and one arm going limp, Cresul tried to spin again to the right and away from the blade within him. As he did so a staff met his face head on. Blood sprayed from his mouth in tiny rivulets as he fought to hold to consciousness.

  Cresul stumbled a step, his back still toward his enemy. A quick kick to the back of his leg brought the proud general to his knees. Cresul’s eyes widened as warm red leaked from his face and arm. He forgot to breathe as a small blade came to a rest under his chin.

  Norryn Ashener spoke to Cresul for the first and last time. “My thoughts exactly, general.” Raising his staffs, blades protruded overhead, Norryn brought them down into Cresul’s chest.

  As the young man above him removed the blades, General Cresul looked down at the blood now seeping from his chest. He raised a shaky hand to the wounds, covering it with crimson. In that moment, staring at his hand, he watched as years of figuring and flawless calculations slowly dissolved before his eyes. Cresul’s breaths grew shorter as his wide irises still refused to see the fate unfolding before him. Using the remains of his dwindling strength he looked at the unfolding battle once more.

  Before Cresul’s eyes, the tides were changing. The might of his war machine was crumbling before the renewed valor of the forces of Vallance. The impending defeat was compounded by the recently indoctrinated forces turning again to the side of the opposition. Cresul’s eyes almost refused to believe the turn of events. In a matter of minutes, a strategic force intended to crush the remaining resistance in the town of Rahn instead faced possible decimation.

  In Cresul’s head, the notion still fought to remain a calculated impossibility. Cresul reached a bloody hand toward the dagger in his boot. He sought to shout an order to kill his prize, but his voice stumbled over fading breaths. At last he unsheathed the blade only to have it pass from his weakening fingers. He delved within himself to find untapped reserves, yet there were none.

  Taking in his last ounces of strength, Cresul turned his head to stare in the eyes of Norryn Ashener. He had something more to say, some venomous curse of defiance to spit upon the face of the heir of Alderich Ashener. But Cresul found that his reservoirs were no more. As his last breath faded from his lungs, he crashed face first upon the ground as flesh and blood merged with the soil.

  General Nathaniel Reginald Cresul was dead.

  -61-

  Norryn Ashener wasted no time over th
e dead body of General Cresul. Only his resolve kept utter exhaustion from overwhelming him. With slow steps he turned to the men charged with sending Cresul’s orders to the battlefield. With shaky steps he approached them. The remainder of Cresul’s personal guard hovered as victims caught within an unwelcome dream.

  It took long moments for the undeniable truth to fall upon them. Their leader, the great General Nathaniel Cresul laid in a lifeless heap, the heir apparent of the Ashener family was now approaching. The first soldier to regain his voice rang it true to the others. “Cresul is slain! Kill his murderer!”

  Regaining wits, the eight soldiers still present bore their weapons in the direction of Norryn. They prepared to fire on an injured enemy, far too exhausted to defend himself, yet still he walked to his destination. Retreat was not an option.

  Readying his rifle, the first man to speak administered the sentence. “Fir-” He could not finish the word, as he no longer held the face to attempt it. A well-placed laser blast saw to that.

  As he fell to the ground the air was heavy with a new sound. It was the defiant scream of a fierce gunslinger intent on seeing Norryn through the day. Jozlyn Corzon burst into firing range, unleashing her fury on those intent on slaying Norryn. Four more soldiers received death before the first completed his fall upon the ground. The remainder of the survivors wisely threw their weapons down at the behest of the fierce gunslinger.

  Jozlyn slowed her horse, smoking pistols coursing hungry in her hands. Surewind made his presence known as he whinnied to his surroundings. Jozlyn hopped to the ground, weapons at the ready. The fire in her eyes spoke volumes to those that still valued their lives. Jozlyn then glanced at Norryn Ashener, finding the only words she wished to say. “We’re not losing you again. Not now, not ever.”

  Nodding in her direction, Norryn continued to where two anxious men stared at him in complete terror. They were the men that called in Cresul’s orders. These were the men that Norryn required. Norryn then raised a bloody staff to the closest one. The blood of his General inched off the weapon near his feet, forcing him to regard the young heir as his executioner. “Signal your retreat. Now.”

  “I-I will not-” stammered one of the men. It was a searing pistol shot that silenced him, screaming close to his temple, burning hair and singing flesh. His hand shot up quickly, covering the affected area. Words abandoned him as the revelation that he lived on by a matter of inches shrouded him. Dropping to his knees he made shaky eye contact with the young warrior before him.

  It was clear that Norryn’s patience was at an end. “Make your next moments matter, for they will mean the difference between life or death.” Whether it was the gravity of Norryn’s eyes or the smoking pistols at the ready that swayed him was uncertain, but his initial decision was soon reversed.

  Norryn watched as the message carried to the battlefield and the legions from Thorne went on full retreat.

  -62-

  “Retreat! Retreat! Fall back! Fall back!”

  The words seemed surreal in that moment. Rhoneck Ashener could not believe his ears. But even in the midst of the fray he could see the signal through the haze of blood and violence. Ellahn Wythgruel was still at his side and Rhoneck could tell the order brought great distress to the warrior blood coursing through his veins. Neither of the fighters could understand the call.

  Rhoneck wondered what had happened as he slashed another adversary from atop his steed. The momentum had changed yes, but this battle was still winnable. Someone had found a way to activate Ashener’s Calling, but with time he knew he could get his men back on track. Sure, Cresul was over-calculating, but to retreat now seemed utterly illogical if not outright insane.

  Rhoneck was powerless to stop the frantic withdrawal of soldiers trained to follow every order of a mad general to the letter. The organized aggression that was the Thorne war machine crumbled in seconds as bold war veterans ran for their lives. The confusion and disarray cost them yet more death as hundreds more troops met demise at the hands of the revitalized Rahn defenses.

  Rhoneck found himself joining the flow of retreating soldiers as he cleared a path from the battleground, his trusted bodyguard at his side. Rage seethed at the glorious moment now gone. This battle was supposed to spell the end of the war, an end to the drudging misery that dragged on in cool calculation for five long years. As he galloped to safety, he shot a disgusted glance in Cresul’s direction.

  And then his heart stilled.

  Even in the distance he could see Cresul’s dead body. The surviving entourage had laid down their weapons, anxious to be spared by what appeared to be a gunslinger. It was then that Rhoneck made out the figure that he knew must have taken down General Cresul. The chill that crawled up his backbone was merciless as it dawned for Rhoneck a new revelation.

  Norryn. Brother, it’s you.

  With a void of despair growing within, Rhoneck Ashener retreated toward the lands of Thorne.

  -63-

  The hulking transport grinded to an abrupt halt. Torn mounds of grass and dirt spit outward as Serra Landring threw open her door. Taking a few hasty steps, she paused in her tracks. Many of the troops on horseback, along with the Ro’Nihn on hovercycles arrived, encircling the scene. In the distance the remaining forces of Thorne fled to the north. Giving up pursuit, the remaining Rahn defenses also headed to where Ashener’s Calling had beckoned them.

  Voltaire joined Serra a second before the others. Serra’s group watched as pockets of soldiers made their way to the staging point. Norryn looked at them as they approached. It was more than hope in their eyes as they cheered him in earnest. In minutes the area was surrounded by rejoicing soldiers.

  “Norryn returns! Hail Norryn Ashener!” An unnamed voice ignited many. Soon the air is filled with Norryn’s name as the gates of Rahn opened in the distance. Victory was at hand, the first sweet victory in five years of darkness.

  Serra Landring watched on, held in a moment she was certain must be a dream, but was not. He was there in front of her once more, standing as a great beacon of hope for a people lost in the shadows of the past. What she wanted to feel was pure elation. What she felt was the cold elusiveness of growing understanding.

  Norryn then made eye contact with her. Through the fervid celebration their gaze became one. The haunting hazel of his eyes reached out to Serra with an honest acceptance. She wanted to run to him and take him in her arms but knew she could not. As they stared a long breath, the situation swallowed all the small moments into an explosion of undeniable oneness. With that oneness came the ending and beginning once more.

  Norryn Ashener had returned.

  Epilogue

  Rising

  “Janzen, report.”

  Janzen Wollace gritted his teeth, bracing himself to administer news he was not prepared to give. Clenching his fist, he crumbled the rock he had been toying with nervously before the transmitter sparked to life. Thedron Ralick was waiting impatiently on the other end, about to hear news no one wished to give him.

  And that weight fell on Janzen.

  Fighting back overwhelming disgust, pained words leaked from his mouth. It was one of the few times that Janzen spoke with any type of formality. “We have been repelled by the forces at Rahn. The army is in full retreat to our borders. Casualties are high with estimates at around 50%. Most likely more.” Janzen tried to word the next part as best to his ability. It was an explanation, yet it defied explanation. “Opposing forces rallied around the surfacing of the apparent heir of the Ashener bloodline, a resurfacing that allowed wavering in our ranks.”

  Chilling, uncomfortable silence met Janzen for long moments, though he dared not speak any more. Finally, a voice filled the receiver. “And why am I not hearing any of this from Cresul?”

  Janzen swallowed hard. “Cresul is dead, slain by Norryn Ashener.” Janzen could not believe the words as they crawled from his lips. And I had the little bastard too. He was in my clutches twice and lived. It was a thought that would haunt J
anzen on many a night. “It was his brother that made visual confirmation.”

  The silence that met Janzen put him further at unease. He checked to see if the transmission had been cut off. But then that silence shattered before the tremendous might of pure rage. A scream filled Janzen’s ear, causing the machine man to wince. Soon came the sounds of crashing and fury, giving Janzen the relief that he was miles and miles away from Ralick’s presence. But soon, as quickly as it had arrived, the fury was gone and again silence prevailed.

  It was long moments before Thedron Ralick spoke again. Janzen afforded him the silence until he chose to resume. “I was hoping for the easy solution to this war, Janzen. Nathaniel was the best bet for that. But he too has failed me. Now things will have to get messy. And it will be costly. See to the preparations. I want you to fetch him yourself.”

  “Darius?” Janzen almost couldn’t believe his ears. “It’ll be done.”

  “See to it quickly. The road before us just became much, much longer.” Thedron Ralick ended the transmission.

  Janzen returned the receiver to the radio. Somehow, despite the years of hardening from wanton bloodshed he felt a chill in his soul. His thoughts were heavy upon changes. Janzen realized that the Vallance war campaign just became increasingly difficult. Imminent preparations filled his agenda. Sacrifices would have to be made. His days would be busy with the inevitable wheels of transition.