Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  It was only then that Keltin noticed the thuribles that lined the edge of the small peninsula, all of them dormant since the final convoy made the journey from Dism Slyde weeks earlier. In addition to the water that poured from Wracandyr, another large river fed the Lake of Skulls from the northern side of the plateau’s base. It clung tightly to the walls of a deep and jagged canyon, offering no bank on either side and no means for the scrid to cross safely from one cliff to the other. In the absence of the smoke, this river had been overrun by the haugaeldr in recent days. A single, narrow bridge spanned the infested waters farther to the north and led to a recess in the base of the plateau five strides above the river’s surface.

  From a spot near the eastern end of that bridge, two figures broke away from the fight and Keltin quickly recognized them as Tilia and Ansund. Both had bows in hand and appeared to be shouting something at everyone they passed, though their voices were lost beneath the sound of the falls until they were within a few strides. “Thunder stones! Does anyone have thunder stones?” the Voice of War cried, but the only replies she received were grim stares and shaking heads. She posed the question to Keltin and Tir, but they too had nothing to offer.

  “Cast it all!” the Voice of War exclaimed angrily before loosing an arrow at a haugaeldr near the bridge. “We need to clear out these pests if we’re ever going to get over to the plateau, and thunder stones would certainly make that easier.” She shook her head and glared up towards Aldhagen. “No matter. Both of you, come assist the others and get us to that bridge!” Keltin lingered for an instant when he caught sight of Ryna battling the haugaeldr near the lake, but when he witnessed the power and determination of her movements, his worry for her safety subsided. Satisfied, he turned to join Tir as the two of them trudged to face the haugaeldr once more.

  Though the ground was still soft, Keltin was relieved to find solid footing on stone the farther he moved away from the lake. He joined a line of fighters as they slowly and carefully carved their way to the bridge that led to Aldhagen. The movements quickly became repetitive, eventually reminding Keltin of the more mundane tasks he’d completed during his turnings as a Fieldsman. Finally, after what felt like hours of stabbing and swinging the spiked oar, Keltin could find no haugaeldr nearby. The river flowed a stride in front of him, but its horrible glow was gone. “We did it!” Tir shouted, but the Voice of War frowned at him sternly.

  “We merely passed the burden on to someone else,” Tilia said sadly as she glanced to the east. Keltin and the others followed her gaze and saw that the wall of haugaeldr had tripled in size since its formation. Bursts of green light still rained down from Aldhagen, and with each strike more haugaeldr swarmed the mud along the northern bank. Keltin hated to think what the fighters were forced to face in that section of the canyon; ashamed though he was to admit it, he was strangely thankful to be where he was, trapped or not. “I need a scout!” Tilia called suddenly, and Keltin’s focus returned to the bridge.

  “Here,” Aemetta replied before anyone else had time to volunteer. She was the only person to refuse a spiked oar and instead choose to fight with an isen in each hand, both of which dripped with the viscous yellow blood of slain haugaeldr. Though it was clear she’d been a part of the battle just as much as anyone else, her breathing was slow and even as she stood before the Voice of War.

  “There’s an entrance at the other end of this bridge—I remember it well,” the Voice of War explained. “The corridor is long and steep, but it will lead us directly into the Hall. Move forward far enough to confirm that the Cultivators aren’t waiting to ambush us, then return as quickly as possible.” Aemetta nodded, then ascended the ancient stone steps and sprinted across the bridge in perfect silence. “Always impressive,” Tilia whispered.

  Keltin and the others removed any haugaeldr that appeared as the group anxiously awaited Aemetta’s return. During one of the quiet moments, a curiosity suddenly crept into Keltin’s mind. “Tilia, if the Cynmeren knew of this entrance, why haven’t they tried accessing Aldhagen before?”

  Tilia opened her mouth to reply, then turned to him and smiled. Rain dripped from her wrinkled brow, but her eyes gleamed with youthful delight. “You certainly know an opportunity when you see one!” she laughed. “That’s a very important skill—never question it. As for the entrance, I knew it existed from my time as a Sacred Vessel. I can remember crossing the bridge, but its location was always a mystery to me, shrouded by that insufferable smoke. The Cynmeren learned long ago that entering smoke like that invariably brought the attention of very skilled people with very sharp blades. Since the Smokedwellers kept this region of the valley constantly hidden, we eventually gave up hope of ever finding their secret entrance.”

  Keltin wanted to ask more about what lay beyond the entrance, but before he could speak, Aemetta’s dark form glided across the bridge and rushed over to Tilia. “It’s as you described, but there’s a problem,” Aemetta said with a worried frown. “The entrance is blocked only a few strides past what you can see from here. There’s a door—more like a wall—of solid metal preventing any further progress.”

  The Voice of War closed her eyes and lowered her head in thought. “There’s only one option left to us, then,” she sighed, then turned to face the group of scrid that clung to the canyon wall. “To me!” Tilia commanded, and the eight scrid that had riders scuttled one by one onto the peninsula. Once the enormous creatures were in place, Tilia continued. “I spoke with some of you on the way here, and though much has changed in a very short period of time, my overall intentions remain the same: the scrid will transport the inured from Aldhagen and Locboran back to our camp. Originally, that would’ve occurred after our successful infiltration of the Hall on foot, but that route is blocked and so the plan must change.

  “That is why, while the haugaeldr are suppressed, you will use the bridge to cross the river and access the main plateau. I want all of you to climb over the walls and deliver our fighters to Aldhagen with the speed of lightning itself. When the first group is in place, bring the scrid back here for the next one until we are all up there. Our primary task is to neutralize those weapons the Cultivators are using, then we can begin extracting the wounded. Questions?” The Voice of War looked from one rider to the next, but no one spoke. Though their faces were obscured by Watch helmets, Keltin could feel the Cynmeren’s anxiety as they glanced at the walls high above.

  With a nod, Tilia sent the scrid into motion. After lowering their cages and loading the first group of fighters, the riders led their animals across the bridge carefully—one sting from any hidden haugaeldr would doom the entire group on the peninsula. As they ascended the face of the plateau, Keltin squinted into the rain to watch the scrid move closer to the walls of Aldhagen. Others on the plateau joined him; this moment marked the beginning of the liberation of Aldhagen, an event of unrivaled importance, and they were eager to remember it. The green orbs from the Hall still flashed against the clouds overhead, but the Cultivators’ focus had shifted to the workers inside the walls once more. Then, in one horrifying instant, their wrath returned.

  As the first scrid reached the capstones at the top of the wall, a burst of green light enveloped the creature, sending its charred remains tumbling down the side of the cliff a moment later. The other riders faltered, but not before two more had arrived at the wall’s apex and met the same fate. Keltin heard screams, some from the people with him on the ground, some possibly from the fighters far above. He couldn’t speak, though—all he could do was watch in wordless horror as the plans to free Aldhagen unraveled one piece at a time. The three smoldering scrid carcasses plunged into the river one after another, sending plumes of water high into the air as smaller bits of debris splashed down around them.

  The Voice of War stood in silence as well until Ansund leaned close to her and said something Keltin couldn’t hear. Tilia then seemed to regain her focus. “Fall back!” she shrieked a moment later. “By the Kingdom, get off of the walls!”
The five remaining riders, though many strides above, could either hear or see Tilia’s desperation and were all too eager to descend after witnessing the demise of the other scrid.

  As the riders hurried back towards the peninsula, Keltin noticed several of the Penitent Faithful gesturing frantically towards Wracandyr. At first, nothing seemed unusual about the tall column of water, but then a dark form appeared within the tumbling cascades before it disappeared into the lake below. A few seconds later, another spot of darkness repeated the action, then another. Keltin scanned the surface of the lake and found five large lumps drifting away from Wracandyr. It wasn’t until the water began to churn and froth with a sickly yellow glow that he realized what those lumps were.

  “They’re using the dead!” Eyrie screamed as she and Cailla raced back from the water’s edge to seek help. With every step they took, more haugaeldr appeared from the depths of the Lake of Skulls to feast on the Cultivators’ latest offering. Already the horrifying wall of creatures to the east began sliding back towards Wracandyr and the group of fighters on the peninsula. Confusion was rampant as no one knew where to concentrate their efforts first; to add further complication, lightning and thunder erupted from the clouds with sudden fury. In the midst of such chaos, it seemed likely to Keltin that soon the haugaeldr would once again be the only living things left in this land of the dead.

  Unfazed by the looming threats on all sides, Tilia and Ansund shouted orders to each person they passed on the way to the nysk carts. The scrid were brought to a standstill on the side of the Aldhagen plateau as a growing number of haugaeldr swarmed the waters beneath the bridge. Nysk carts regrouped as close as possible to the canyon’s northern wall and everyone was instructed to climb to the upper level of each cart. It all happened in seconds, but it still felt too slow compared to the rate of the haugaeldr’s approach.

  Once Keltin was in place, he looked around at the faces of those who stood with him—some were terrified, others were darkened by grim determination. There was one face he did not see, though, not in his cart nor in any of the other five. From his spot at the southern railing, Keltin saw the last of the Cynmeren and Penitent Faithful sprinting across the mud. Behind them all was Ryna.

  Her oar swung with an unfailing rhythm, each strike executed perfectly to banish more of the glowing beasts back into the Lake of Skulls. Twenty strides lay between her and the nearest cart, and haugaeldr from the main mass were beginning to trickle across the path she would have to travel to reach safety. “Ryna!” Keltin shouted, but she didn’t slow or even acknowledge his cry. There was no time to climb back down through the cart—Keltin eyed the mud four strides below the railing and reasoned that it would be soft enough to cushion his fall somewhat. Before he could leap, however, the Voice of War was at Ryna’s side, pulling her back from what would certainly have been her demise.

  Keltin exhaled a ragged breath as he watched Ryna arrive at the base of his cart. He took her hand as she stepped onto the crowded upper level, but it was clear from her stony gaze that Ryna didn’t need or want any assistance. “I hate this place,” she panted, shaking her head as she gazed out at the glowing waves of haugaeldr that surged ever closer. Keltin wanted to offer some words of comfort or encouragement, but he found himself awestruck as he watched the thousands of creatures writhing across the mud and bubbling up from the surface of the lake.

  “All of you, listen to me!” the Voice of War commanded from one of the other carts just before a burst of thunder and lightning ripped through the sky. “Ignore the uncertainty of what looms in the distance—focus instead on the threats closest to you. The haugaeldr will come, and they will invade these carts; your only task is to keep them confined to the lower levels. Be precise, be methodical, and do not be afraid. We have come so far even as foes—just imagine what we can do as allies. Now pull up the ladders and ready your weapons. This is where we make our stand.”

  So that’s why they call her the Voice of War, Keltin thought as he helped lift the ladder and watched determination blossom on every face he could see. Eyrie and Cailla stood in the cart to Keltin’s left and both of them already had their oars pointed at the opening to the lower level. Aemetta waited at the eastern railing of the same cart, watching the wall of haugaeldr in patient silence. Ansund and Tilia appeared to be doing much the same in the cart to Keltin’s right, while Ryna and Tir both nodded encouragingly to Keltin when his eyes met theirs. Everyone appeared calm and ready, but Keltin felt panic beginning to tug at him. He envied the nysks with their ability to tuck themselves away either within their shells or beneath the sand.

  Even with a raging storm battering the Deadlands, even with the roar of Wracandyr less than a hundred strides away, the approach of the haugaeldr carried with it a sound loud enough that it seemed to be felt more so than heard. It was as terrifying as it was disgusting: a wet, slapping rumble as thousands of the creatures crept over rocks, mud, and one another in their relentless quest for food and victims. Where everyone else had found hope and power in Tilia’s words, Keltin couldn’t focus on any phrase other than “the haugaeldr will come, and they will invade these carts.” He felt trapped in a way that echoed with similarities to his time spent on the High Conduit’s balcony, but at least this time he was free to fight back.

  The haugaeldr drew nearer and Keltin’s heart raced. Rain trickled from the ends of twelve spiked oars as everyone in his cart stood over the opening to the lower level, waiting. Suddenly, the darkness below was flooded with a pale yellow light. It grew brighter, spreading to the faces of the people standing with him, then brighter still until the cliff wall above burned with the fire of cold, lifeless light. It was a grim mockery of the dawn that hadn’t come.

  In seconds, the floor of the lower level was gone, completely obscured by the writhing bodies of haugaeldr. The cart creaked and groaned as even its mighty bulk was jostled by the swarm of ravenous creatures. To Keltin’s horror, they began to form a mound, piling onto one another to climb ever closer to their prize at the top of the cart. “Now!” Tilia cried. “Fight while there is life yet in you! For the honor of the fallen!”

  With a unified shout, everyone struck with their spiked oars. The haugaeldr died in droves, but such a sudden abundance of food only brought more of the frenzied horde into the carts. No matter how fast the oars stabbed down, the next wave of haugaeldr always seemed to be closer to the fighters than the last. Frantic shouts of rage and denial erupted from each of the carts; Keltin, however, was lost in thoughtful silence as he felt the end approaching. The sting would be painful, he had concluded that, but afterwards at least the fear would be gone.

  As these dangerous whispers sought to weaken Keltin’s resolve, he happened to look across the opening at Ryna. She fought with more fury than anyone else, and in a moment of unexpected clarity, Keltin suddenly understood why. It wasn’t just that she hated this place or the creatures that dwelled in it, or even that she was concerned with protecting herself—Ryna was fighting to save the people around her, no matter what sacrifice that required. She’s ready to die for you, Keltin said to himself accusingly. Are you willing to do the same for her?

  He hated himself for his earlier selfish thoughts that were only concerned with finding comfort or some escape from the terror that surrounded him. One image permanently changed his mindset, and that was of what would happen to Ryna if he chose to give up now. Unable to imagine her falling victim to the haugaeldr, Keltin refocused and attacked the creatures below with renewed energy. Slowly, painfully slowly, the glow receded.

  Just as progress was becoming visible, an inhuman shriek pierced through the sounds of the storm and the swarming haugaeldr. From the corner of his eye, Keltin witnessed the arrival of true horror as he continued to fight. A scrid, its belly glowing from within, rampaged through the wall of haugaeldr to the east. It flung dozens of the creatures with the sweeping of its tusks as the sharp points slammed together and impaled one haugaeldr after another. Then a second infested scrid appea
red followed by a third. They attacked anything that moved as the death rage drove them closer and closer to the nysk carts.

  After each thrust of the oar, Keltin’s eyes darted back to the approaching scrid. The other occupants of the cart mirrored his actions, including Tir and even Ryna on occasion. Fear was spreading with each glimpse of those blood-soaked tusks and the ease with which they ripped flesh apart. We can’t win this, Keltin admitted hopelessly, but still he fought on, forcing himself to focus solely on the haugaeldr for now.

  Moments later, one of the scrid shrieked from within a few dozen strides, and the sound made it feel like the beast was standing right behind him. Keltin winced, and a single deafening burst of thunder shook the cart just as he closed his eyes. As the thunder faded, the scrid shrieked again, but this time it sounded pained. When Keltin opened his eyes, he was met with a scene that was impossible for him to comprehend at first. Fire covered the ground in a ring around the scrid, its light replacing the eerie glow for ten strides in every direction. Two of the scrid had been reduced to burning piles of legs and flesh, while the third was flipped onto its back several strides away from the others. This one was still alive, but its underbelly and flailing legs were consumed with fire that quickly brought an end to their movements. Hundreds of flaming haugaeldr burst from the creature, but they soon succumbed to the fire as well.

  Lightning? Keltin wondered in amazement as he stared at the charred patch on the ground. Before there was time to grasp what was happening, seven more explosions ripped into the waves of haugaeldr. That clearly ruled out lightning as the source of this destruction, but Keltin turned and looked upward all the same. In that brief glance, he found hope gazing back at him from the top of the northern ridge line.