The Fallen Prophet (The Dark Prophecy Book 1)

by Cody Loewen

  “If this ambush can be successfully pulled off, our victory will be absolute,” Octavian declares, his pole returning the ground at his side as he finishes on the table. “Our scouts report that the troll army is smaller than the size of our forces, but as you know, the trolls are ferocious beasts. They will not fall easily. A failure to thin their numbers with the surprise of the ambush could lead to catastrophe. The battlefield must be prepared fully, and all of you must play your part to perfection.”

  With those words, he leads the way back out of the tent, and we gather around him once more. The sun has quickly dropped in the sky, and it will be dark soon.

  “The day is almost at an end,” he tells us. “Food is being distributed through the camp as we speak. The night is yours but rest up. In the morning, this camp will be transformed into a battlefield. Once the valley has been cleared, a final day of training will be used to prepare you for the chaos of true combat. Good night, Reavers. We are glad you are here.”

  Leaving us with those words of encouragement, he re-enters the command tent. As if on cue, a pair of soldiers approach our group with a cart laden with food, and I realize just how much we have become accustomed to salted meat and bread. With an army of this size, it is no wonder that fresh meat isn’t available. We are each handed our ration for dinner, and too hungry to wait, Rayfe and I eat our food standing right there in front of the command tent. When we are finished, we move back toward our sleeping place to find that a fire has been lit near our tent. There are a few other soldiers scattered around the campfire, and we join them as the sun falls the rest of the way beneath the horizon and the camp darkens, lit only by the blaze of a hundred fires scattered throughout the valley. We sit in silence, taking in the everything around us. I fall into my own thoughts, enjoying the heat on my face and the low drone of voices all around me.

  “I’m going to retire for the night,” I tell Rayfe, standing up a long while later. “I can barely keep my eyes open any longer.”

  He softly laughs and nods in acknowledgment. “I’m going to stay out here awhile and talk to our fellow warriors.” He motions at the other soldiers around the fire, who I had almost forgotten were there. “See you in the morning.”

  I nod my acknowledgement before I am overcome with a huge yawn, my mouth stretching open impossibly wide and my eyes filling up with tears. Rayfe turns back toward the fire, and I move to our tent. Just as I did back at the training grounds, I kick my boots off outside the tent, but bring my weapons inside. Laying my sword beside my bedroll, along with the belt holding my throwing, I lie down on my back, eyes gazing at the green fabric above me, the soft glow of the nearby fire flitting across the surface. My eyes drift close, the weight of my exhaustion too much to keep them open any longer, and sleep comes quickly, followed by dreams of bloodshed, revenge and victory.

  Chapter 12

  After what only feels like a few minutes since I closed my eyes, I am shaken awake by a soldier I haven’t seen before. He must have woken Rayfe first because he is already gathering his weapons when I look over. By the time the fuzziness leaves my head and I start to sit up, the soldier has already left the tent, headed for the next one down the line, I assume. Rayfe motions for me to lead the way, and I step out of the tent, immediately noticing that the sun hasn’t begun to rise yet. I stretch my arms over my head, and bend side to side at my waist to loosen up my stiff muscles.

  “Now what?” I ask Rayfe.

  “It looks like tents are being packed up,” he declares. Looking at the soldiers near us, I can see he is right. As more and more people wake up, tents begin to collapse around us. Rayfe and I dismantle our tent and roll it up as tight as we can. Once the tent, along with its supports, are in one small roll, we join the flow of the crowd toward the southern edge of the valley. Everyone else seems to know what they are doing, and I wonder if this was a part of the plan explained long before we got here.

  We climb the slope out of the valley, similar to the hill we walked down with the other initiates on the other end. This path is much wider, allowing the army to move faster. At the top of the slope, we turn, walking along the ridge overlooking the valley, and I look down. The procession of soldiers from the camp to where we are standing looks much smaller from here.

  In less than a day, I will be standing here ready to do battle.

  I imagine standing beside Rayfe, watching arrows cut through the unsuspecting troll ranks below us. I picture our charge into the valley and cutting the rest of the monsters down. Picturing the slaughter of the troll scouting party in the forest, I smile and blow that image up to picture an entire army dying in this valley.

  I hope an arrow doesn’t kill Kromm before I can get to him.

  As we continue along the edge of the cliff, a cave comes into view. Before long, we are standing in the opening, adding our tent to the pile already stacked inside. Other belongings sit in neat rows off to the side, but neither Rayfe nor I have anything to add to it. The line of soldiers moves from the cave and travels along the ridge headed for the other side of the valley, where we first came into the camp. By this time, the red light of sunrise bathes the valley below us, now an empty field, save for the smoldering remains of the fires and the tracks of thousands of feet. As the line of soldiers re-enters the valley, small groups move to where each fire was, scattering the rest of the logs and kicking dirt over top to extinguish any stubborn embers. It needs to look like we left the valley days ago, to not tip the trolls off to our plan.

  By the time we reach the bottom of the slope and enter the valley, most of the fires have been dealt with, and everyone is converging near the center of the valley. Rayfe and I join the group, which continues to swell for several minutes as the remainder of the army finally returns to the valley. The sun has fully risen above the horizon by the time the entire army is gathered. I look around in awe at the sheer number of soldiers that surround me. I don’t know if it is the fact that it is still early in the morning and everyone is still tired, or the level of discipline of the army, but silence hangs over the group as we stand, waiting for our next move.

  Suddenly, heads around me begin to turn, all in the same direction, but the silence continues, save for the rustling of bodies, weapons and armor as people shift position. I turn as well and see Octavian standing to the side of our huge group. He must be standing on some sort of platform because he stands above, so everyone can see him.

  “Good morning soldiers,” he begins, his voice carrying easily to even those farthest away. Because of the lack of noise, he doesn’t have to strain to be heard, even with the massive size of the group he is addressing. “Today, we finalize our preparations for this crucial battle. What we do today will determine what happens in Sylvestra a few days from now. What we can accomplish today, and on the battlefield tomorrow, decides if our families are safe at home or not.”

  A sense of pride courses through me, along with a shiver of nerves running down my back. We are the only hope of the innocent civilians along the troll’s path. It is our duty to protect them. I keep my eyes trained on Octavian, his presence drawing absolute attention from every single person in the valley.

  “I have sentries posted in the direction the trolls are coming from, far enough to give us warning of their approach,” he begins again. “Today will not be a wasted day of waiting. We will train as we have every other day. Fight well but conserve your energy. All weapons must be wrapped. It wouldn’t do for the trolls to hear us as they march.”

  With those words of wisdom, he climbs down from the platform and disappears from my view among the crowd. Instructions begin to filter through the group, directing different groups of soldiers toward different locations and tasks. I try to make sense of it all but soon get lost as orders are shouted all around. I look at Rayfe, hoping he is understanding better than I am. He makes eye contact with me and must sense my confusion.

  “Nothing for us yet,” he explains, focused on the conversations around us. The group begins to dissip
ate, spreading out across the valley. I hear even less with all the movement and give up, tuning out the noise and trusting in Rayfe to hear our orders.

  “This way,” he instructs a short while later, leading me by my arm in the opposite direction as Octavian had been standing. “All of the new initiates are supposed to meet over here.”

  I follow him blindly, overwhelmed by it all. We break free from the main group, and I begin to see familiar faces around me. I meet Caria’s eyes, and she smiles and nods her head in greeting. Ambrosius stands at the center of our group, and I feel like we are back at the training grounds again. We gather around him, waiting for further instructions. By the looks of it, almost everyone else is as overwhelmed as I am. Somehow, Rayfe seems perfectly comfortable and confident like he always does. He shoots me that cocky grin when he notices me looking at him.

  The crowd quiets as Ambrosius speaks. “You will spend most of the day sparring, much like we did in training,” he says. “You will face veteran soldier pairs this time, however, to better prepare you for real battle.”

  As Rayfe and I square off against a pair of experienced swordsmen, I have to force myself to pull my mind away from the battle with the trolls and focus my thoughts on the current fight. I remind myself that these men are more experienced in combat. They are more skilled, and it will take my full concentration to face them. Both of our opponents wield a single longsword, much like the normal form of my sword. All of our blades have been wrapped in heavy fabric to dull any noise.

  The two fighters stand side by side, facing us with their weapons ready. Rayfe and I slowly advance on them. I meet the eyes of the man on the right and whip my sword into a downward diagonal chop at his neck. His sword flashes up, deflecting mine to the side. Continuing the momentum, he swings the sword in a wide arc, turning the blade in at my waist. I take a step back to buy a second more and point my sword downward, putting it in between my body and his sword. My direct block leaves my arms tingly and weak, and I realize I can’t match him blow for blow. He is much stronger than I am.

  We disengage, and I steal a look beside me to Rayfe and the other man, locked in a furious dance of steel. I pull my eyes away, not wanting to lose focus, and command my sword to shorten. Rushing back in, I throw myself into a horizontal chop. When his blade rises to parry the blow, I pull my strike, spinning my body to build momentum, and turn my blade to come upward at his chest as I come out of the spin. Once again, his sword finds mine, the wrapped blades sliding off each other as we disengage.

  This time, my opponent lunges forward on the offensive, launching heavy strikes from all directions. I dodge what I can and angle my blade to parry the ones I can’t, avoiding a direct block for fear of dropping my sword. The attacks begin to come too fast for my mind to keep up with, and my instincts take over, my sword moving almost of its own accord. His attacks are relentless, but I feel myself getting on top of them, slowly. His forward momentum begins to slow, and I manage to counter one of his blows with my own, and we are back on neutral ground. Suddenly Rayfe is standing beside me, swords at the ready.

  “Need a hand?” he asks, grinning at me. I glance behind him and see his opponent standing off to the side, his sword sheathed. Rayfe must have already dispatched him. We both advance on the lone fighter, and it becomes clear immediately that he is no match for the two of us. We quickly overwhelm him from both sides, until Rayfe lands a “killing blow” across his chest with one of his swords. The man sheathes his blade, and Rayfe and I do the same. I notice for the first time how spent I am, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. My opponent is also breathing hard, but Rayfe doesn’t even seem to be winded. By now, the man who fought Rayfe has joined us. We clasp hands with the two of them, who seem to be in good spirits about the defeat.

  “You two are a good pair of fighters,” Rayfe’s opponent remarks with a smile. “I’m impressed. It’s nice to have some capable new soldiers to fight beside.”

  My own opponent looks at me quizzically.

  “Your sword,” he says, like he is asking a question. “I could have sworn you started the fight with a longsword, but you now have a one-handed sword on your belt.”

  Rayfe lets out a laugh at his confusion.

  “She has a tricky weapon there for sure.”

  The man looks back at me, and I draw the sword, still in its short form, from my belt. As I display the weapon, I tell it to grow into its full longsword length, and the men watch in amazement.

  “Fancy blade,” Rayfe’s opponent remarks. “Is it limited to those two types of weapons?”

  “I have seen it become a few different weapons,” I answer, thinking back to the first day I realized it had this magic inside of it. “I’m not sure what all it can become though.”

  “Show us something else,” one of them requests.

  Suddenly, I am holding a spear. The short tip of the spear resembles the blade of its sword form. The long handle of the spear, made from metal, has the same symbols and wrappings of the handle of the sword, just elongated to almost my height. I shift the weapon into a dagger, and then return it to its regular form before sliding it into its sheath.

  “Fancy blade,” The man repeats, still staring at it on my belt. “Good for killing trolls.”

  His eyes return to mine, a smile on his face. I give him a slight smile in return, and nod in agreement. We clasp hands with the men once more and move away from them, back to where Ambrosius is standing. Many of the other initiates have also returned to the area. Looking around, I see some fights still underway, but like us, most of the remaining soldiers are visiting with their opponents, the fights already finished.

  I wonder how the other pairs did against the veteran warriors? How would my fight have ended up if Rayfe hadn’t stepped in?

  I glance over at him and feel that excited pride flow through me again at the fact that they felt I deserved to be matched up with him.

  After several more minutes of waiting in the group with Ambrosius, the rest of the initiates are finished.

  “You fought well,” Ambrosius says. “I didn’t get to watch every match, but you held your own. Remember, you fight as a team. There is no such thing as individual combat if you are a Reaver. While it may seem simple in a two on two fight to just match up with one opponent, often times it is more efficient to outnumber a single opponent quickly, and then move to the next. With a partner, a fight can end quickly if your opponent is caught off guard with a sword in the back because he forgot that there were two of you.”

  His words ring true as I think back to our fight and how Rayfe stepped in to help. I might have been able to finish the match, but at what cost? In our battle with the trolls, a small pause in my own fight with an enemy could mean an opportunity to strike down Rayfe’s opponent while he is unaware.

  After the short instructional talk, we are matched up to fight another pair of soldiers. This time, Rayfe and I face a slight elf with two short swords and a tall human with a single bladed axe. The human gives us a friendly nod before setting his feet into a fighting stance, the elf following suit.

  “Let me fight the elf,” I whisper to Rayfe. “I want the practice of fighting against two weapons.”

  He shrugs nonchalantly, swords held easily in his hands. “Works for me.”

  We take our positions across from our respective opponents, and step forward, weapons ready. With my short sword in one hand, I pull my dagger off my belt. As I close the distance between me and the elf, he surges forward, leaping into the air in a spin, both blades flying around in a double swipe. I step backward quickly and drop into a low crouch to get out of reach of the two swords. He lands cat-like, already in motion by the time his feet touch the ground, charging directly at me. I deflect a thrust with my sword and barely dodge out of the way of the overhead chop of his second sword. His blows continue to rain down at me, swords alternating left, right, left right. Avoiding trying to use my dagger to parry any strikes, I am forced to stay back on my heels as I duck and dodge an
y strikes that come while my sword is engaged.

  Knowing that I am overmatched in this fight, I continue to give ground, defending myself from each strike as best as I can. I manage to slide my dagger in toward his torso between two of his attacks, but he contorts his body enough that I strike only air. Suddenly, I take a step back, and my back hits something solid. Risking a glance around, I see that I am now back to back with Rayfe, who is also furiously defending himself from the human’s axe. Unable to retreat further, the elf’s strikes begin to overwhelm me. I miss a block and feel the painful thud of his sword bouncing off my shoulder. Unable to fully deflect a thrust, I take a hard stab to the stomach, stealing my breath.

  Suddenly, the loud cry of a hawk pierces the clearing, and the elf’s strikes abruptly stop. As he slides his swords back their sheaths, the hawk shrieks again, three quick notes in succession.

  “The trolls are here,” he declares, his breath slightly ragged from the fight. “We need to move to our positions.”

  A quick wave of fear washes over me, but I steel myself, pushing it back down and replacing it with the determination of vengeance. Replacing my own weapons on my hips, I turn to see that Rayfe has done the same. Knowing that the trolls could arrive ahead of schedule, we already carry everything we need for the battle. Rayfe wears his longbow across his back, quiver full of arrows.

  “Let’s go,” he says to me, already moving toward the opening into the valley. “We don’t want to miss all of the fun.”

  Like we were instructed, we move to the opposite end of the valley from where the trolls will be marching. Our latest opponents walk beside us through the valley.