Emerald Fire

by Kathryn Blade

  They tended to their needs as best warriors can in the field. Twigs of birch rubbed their teeth. Cold water splashed on their faces chased the last dregs of drowsiness away. They passed through the camp until Derek’s tent loomed before them. A rough-hewn wooden table sat before the tent. A map of the Olde World was carved in its top. Painted stones represented each group of warriors.

  Derek and Orizahr strode from their tent to stand by the table. Derek cleared his throat before speaking. “We should begin. Allies in the northern lands report movement of mercenaries and the king’s guard. Our first battle will be near Froudown. Most of the people there are sympathetic to our cause. Many of them remember you, Kaegan.” Green stones represented Derek’s men. He placed them in a triangular formation to the south of Froudown.

  “Garyson’s archers will be more strategic when we take Helmsfield Keep,” Kaegan said as he placed red stones to the south of the king’s keep. “Loriann will travel with the Ashapii to Landow. I will accompany them there.” He placed blue stones near Landow. “The daerveth have requested they be allowed to travel ahead of us. They wish to clear the way. What are your thoughts, your grace?”

  “Word has come that mercenaries travel to Ebonbarrow. We would be ill advised to ignore that position,” Derek replied. He placed black stones at Ebonbarrow. “The daerveth, their mammoth, and githok will be dispatched there. Once they have cleared Ebonbarrow they will move west to Landow. Our combined forced will march from Landow on Helmsfield Keep.”

  Loriann spoke, eyes moving across the map, lingering on each set of stones. “I will travel with Kaegan and the Ashapii. We will ride ahead of the others. We are outnumbered in numbers only. The rage grows. It hungers for Cedric and Willem Jarin.”

  Derek inclined his head in response to Loriann’s words. “We should address the men. Loriann, would you speak to them?”

  “It is not my place, your grace. I am but a humble servant.” The words hung in the air, as frosty as the Waters of Englecier. Ebin joined Loriann, standing at her side, his face flat.

  “Gather the men,” Derek replied.

  Word was dispatched by a page to a drummer who began to pound upon a hide drum with a wooden mallet wrapped in leather. The rhythmic pong, pong, pong carried throughout the camp. The drummer paused for a moment, then began again. By the third round of drum beats all the men had gathered in front of Derek’s tent. A sea of several thousand warriors stood quietly in the light of the rising suns, awaiting their lord commander’s words.

  “Today we begin our march on Helmsfield Keep. Cedric must be removed from power before our land is smothered by his tyranny. Willem Jarin and the king’s guard await us. Mercenaries who only know the thirst for coin and bloodshed have joined their cause. Our battle begins today.” Derek’s voice rang out in the quiet air. It echoed across the plain.

  A celebration of the coming war began. Githok squawked as they stretched leathery wings skyward. Mammoth trumpeted as daerveth roared their approval. The Ashapii held spears and swords aloft, an ancient warrior’s chant rising in time with their stamping feet. Garyson’s men held bows and arrows aloft, hooting loudly. Derek’s men punched their fists into the air as they shouted “Aroo! Aroo! Aroo!”

  Loriann, Kaegan, and Ebin found their horses without further delay. They joined the Ashapii and Garyson’s men. A cloud of dust rose as the hundreds of horses bearing riders moved northwest to Landow. Loriann remained watchful, eyes following Derek and Orizahr as they rode away with the company of men marching in Froudown.

  A half day’s ride from the camp, Loriann’s party crossed paths with a company of five hundred men. Their dark armor marked them as mercenaries hired by Cedric. Loriann called out to the Ashapii, encouraging their thirst for blood. War-painted horses galloped full tilt as screaming warriors hurled spears into the approaching company. Screams of wounded or dying men and horses filled the air. The metallic stench of blood wafted on the breeze.

  “Should we join them?” Kaegan asked, pulling hard on the reins as his destrier pranced in eagerness for battle.

  Loriann watched the unfolding battle. “You encourage me to allow the men to have some sport,” she replied. “The Ashapii are equal in number to the band of mercenaries. It is not fair to keep Garyson’s men at bay. Perhaps I would like some sport, husband.”

  “Then I say we join them in battle.” Kaegan drew the broadsword from its sheath, hand curling around the leather-wrapped hilt. “Ebin, will you join us?”

  “It would be my pleasure!” Ebin’s horse galloped toward the battle as he shouted his assent.

  Loriann’s horse nimbly galloped to the northwest, skirting the intense battle taking place near their initial positions. An arm moved outward toward the northern flank of mercenaries. A rippling wave of icy spires burst from the ground. Dozens of men and horses were ripped apart as the razor tips pierced their flesh. She rode south, dismounting in one fluid movement as a solitary mercenary appeared through the dust and dead.

  “I’ll have your head!” the mercenary screamed, dual swords swirling in the air as he approached, bloody armor glistening in the sun’s light.

  “Are you certain?” A dagger whispered from its sheath into her right hand. The left hand whipped a rope of emerald fire at the man. It cracked and snapped, leaving a smoking burn on his armor.

  “You’re Loriann Astus.” His eyes narrowed as the rope of flame whipped at him again, barely missing his throat. “The king has a price on your head.”

  “Turn and run away like the scared girl you are.” The taunt had its intended effect. The man roared, running at her full tilt.

  It was the advantage Loriann wanted. The flaming rope twisted about his ankles, ending his forward movement. The mercenary hit the ground hard. Loriann vaulted into the air, body twisting as she somersaulted forward. Before he could find his feet, the dagger plunged into his chest.

  Loriann pulled the blade from the man’s flesh. She cleaned the blade on the corner of his cloak before returning it to its sheath. All around her the battle raged. Ashapii screamed, spears stabbing into mercenary flesh. Kaegan and Ebin stood back to back, swords slicing through mercenaries as a hot knife through butter.

  A mercenary roared, “Retreat! Retreat!” The few living mercenaries turned and rode or ran toward the north. Kaegan and Ebin approached, faces splattered with blood and dirt, grinning and laughing.

  “Are you going to let them get away?” Ebin asked, pointing at the fleeing men.

  “I thought I could give them a head start, brother.” Loriann glanced at the sky, smiling as a cloud moved away from the twin suns. “It won’t be long before the eclipse.”

  She turned north toward the fleeing men. The rage grew as thoughts of Cedric and Willem came to mind. A roaring cyclone of emerald flame formed on the ground near her. She blew a puff of air in its direction.

  The cyclone ripped across the ground, searing everything it touched, roaring toward the mercenaries. Their cries of terror filled the air as the cyclone drew near. Loriann watched impassively as the hungry flames incinerated the retreating men.

  The Ashapii regrouped, victorious cries echoing in the air. Garyson approached, eyes wide, glancing at the smoking remains to the north. “I’ve never seen anything like that, Loriann Astus.”

  “Not many have, Garyson,” Kaegan remarked as Loriann returned to stand by his side. “We should regroup and find a place to camp for the night.”

  ***

  Derek

  Derek’s men made camp a day’s ride from their initial position. Scouts returned with word that Froudown lay less than half a day’s ride to the northeast. Sentries were posted as the bare necessities of camp were set in place. Derek and Orizahr retired to their tent. They sat sipping mugs of ale for a time before retiring for the night.

  Twin suns marked the beginning of another day. Scouts brought word of the encroaching force to the west of Froudown. Derek’s men broke camp as he developed strategies with men who served as leaders.


  “I recommend we break into three groups. One will ride straight to the center of the king’s guard. The remaining groups will circle to the east and west. We will crush them in a pincer,” Langael Gray advised, a stick tracing a map in the dirt at his feet.

  Langael had served as leader of Derek’s forces since their formation months before. He was a stocky man with reddish brown hair, a full beard, and piercing blue eyes. Blocky hands curled easily around the hilt of the blue steel longswords carried in heavy leather sheaths at his side. He chose to wield two swords while foregoing the weight of a shield.

  Derek glanced at Orizahr. “Brother? What do you think of Langael’s plan?”

  “I am not skilled in the art of battle, brother. But having had my finger nearly removed by a crab’s pincer reinforces the value of Langael’s plan. If you pursue the pincer formation, you may avoid being caught in a similar formation.” Orizahr’s hand stroked the length of the gray beard, rheumy eyes examining the diagram scratched in the ground.

  “Very well then. Langael, gather the men. We ride upon your signal,” Derek agreed.

  The men gathered in three groups, weapons at the ready, waiting for the signal to ride. A page carried the message to the drummer. Pong, pong, pong. The booming sound of the drum echoed across the grassy plain. They rode forward with a jingle of chain mail marked by the nickering of eager destriers who sensed battle was near.

  The king’s guard numbered in the hundreds. Their armor shimmered in the sunlight as they stood in formation. Trumpets blared as Derek’s men crested a hillock. The thunder of hooves roared in the morning stillness as the king’s guard began their attack.

  Langael sat astride a roan destrier. He held the reins firmly in one hand as he surveyed the approaching enemy. A longsword held above his head came down. Derek’s men split into three groups as their horses thundered toward the enemy.

  The reverberating clang of sword on shield came as the first wave of broke upon one another. Screams and shouts filled the air. Men cursed horses who fell beneath them. Blood and gore spewed skyward.

  The east and west group of men turned toward the mass of king’s guard. Destriers kicked with staggering force as enemies approached. A man’s head was crushed with a blow from one hoof. His body fell, lifeless and forgotten, as men and horses crushed his body into the ground.

  Derek sat astride his destrier, watching as the battle unfolded before him. He glanced at Orizahr. “Froudown is safe from Cedric’s threat.”

  “For now, dear brother. Never underestimate the man. He has been king for over twenty years. We should remember the man is no fool,” Orizahr replied.

  Langael approached as the battle faded. Dying enemies were dispatched humanely with a single thrust of razor-sharp swords. “We are victorious, your grace. None of the king’s guard remain. We suffered minor losses at best.”

  “We should move to the northwest to Ebonbarrow,” Derek commanded as his horse danced nervously. “I doubt the daerveth need our assistance, but it is a central point of reunification for our forces.”

  “As you command, your grace.” Langael rode away to relay the word to his men. Most of the men survived the battle. They gathered in formation before moving northwest in search of place to make camp.

  The scent of death was heavy on the wind. Derek inhaled its odor without reaction. Orizahr retched miserably upon inhaling the smell. He retched several more times as they rode past the bodies of the dead.

  “I have no stomach for war, brother.” Orizahr averted his gaze, avoiding the land to the east where the remains of the dead littered the battlefield.

  “No man has a stomach for war,” Derek replied. “We choose only to ignore its gruesome reminders.”

  ***

  Modr

  Modr perused the horizon, eyes flickering across the rolling plains broken only by an occasional copse of trees or rocky outcropping. “They flee before us.” His voice rumbled within the broad chest. He turned to the daervethi leaders gathered at his side. “What shall we do?”

  “Send the githok after them,” Drom intoned, bushy brows raised as he glanced skyward at the githok circling overhead. The harsh screeches spoke of their discontent. “They want war as we do.”

  Sveth and Torg spoke in unison. “We came for war. Do not cheat us, Modr.” Their toothy grins spoke of the amusement that marked their words. “We know you do not cheat us. Cowards cheat us.”

  Modr scratched his chin with a calloused forefinger. “We wait. They make camp soon. We go in the night.”

  The remaining daerveth gathered near. Mammoths curled trunks skyward, trumpeting at the githok. The daerveth joined the mammoth as they cheered, stone clubs held aloft as knurled fists pounded against their breast. Even the githok sensed their joy. The leather-winged beasts launched themselves higher in the sky, circling upward before diving toward the ground. A whoosh of air came as they flew just over the heads of the daervethi hoard.

  The daerveth spent their time wisely. Daervethi society delegated tasks to each man, woman, and child. Each daerveth completed their task without question. Their survival in trying times was fostered by the unwritten importance of work. It was no different on this day. Some rested on the ground in the welcome shade provided by a copse of trees. A few daerveth tended the mammoth. Others sorted through goods carried in packs before strapping the gigantic leather containers to the mammoths who carried them.

  Dusk fell on the rolling plains. Its welcome respite from the smoldering heat of the sun provided the opportune moment for the daervethi hoard to march north. Modr called to the githok in their tongue. Screeching, cawing calls warbled skyward. Half the githok screeched a reply before great wings caught the northern wind. The remaining githok drifted lazily above the daerveth and mammoth.

  Rumbling steps could not be silenced. Their sheer physical mass made stealth impossible. The githok served as silent scouts gathering information on the location of the enemy. As night fell, the githok returned. They shrieked and clacked at Modr before joining their brethren floating lazily in the sky above.

  “The enemy are north. Githok silenced sentries for us. We will be upon them. Attack without mercy, brothers and sisters.” Modr held the stone club aloft, a fist pounding his shaggy chest.

  Long strides shook the ground as he trotted north. There was no need to run. The daerveth stride easily outpaced mammoths. Drom, Sveth, and Torg shouted their cries skyward. The remaining daerveth joined in. Their bellows merged with the shrieking cries of the githok. The ground rumbled beneath their feet.

  Their intended enemy rolled from their bedding, fumbling for weapons. Some ran without looking back. The githok dove down toward the earth, claws catching a fleeing man in each claw. Their wings lifted their massive bodies skyward as claws opened. Dozens of men fell to their death on the hard-packed earth below.

  Modr drove the stone club sideways, smashing through a dozen men who stood trembling with weapons drawn. The remaining daerveth roared and pounded their way through the camp. Enemies were crushed beneath the leathery feet of stampeding mammoths. Screams of the dead and dying filled the air.

  Torg roared as a half dozen men attacked his legs. Their swords made shallow cuts on the tough skin. Drom and Sveth joined their brother with roars of rage. Blood and gore spewed from each stone club with each smash into the ground. The foolish men became one with the crimson-stained soil.

  Less than a hundred of the king’s guard and mercenaries escaped the battle. Modr observed their escape, a mad dash toward the north, each man astride a frantic destrier. “They will warn Cedric and Jarin of our attack,” he mused, turning to grin at the daerveth who gathered around him.

  “Let them come,” Torg growled. “Our people thirst for war.”

  “And war they shall have, brother,” Modr replied. “Let us rest. We must join Loriann Astus near Landow.”

  The roaring cry of victory joined thundering feet that stamped the ground. The daerveth celebrated their triumph with a passion that ra
n long into the night.

  ***

  Loriann

  Within three days the allies reunited. They made camp by a waterfall pouring into a stream that disappeared in a rocky opening in the ground. Loriann remained at Kaegan’s side. She avoided Derek’s men for fear he would summon her again to further discuss his parental claims.

  Ebin joined them by the fire as dusk fell. “I was afraid to talk to you after you learned Derek’s secret.” He caught her hand, clasping it within his as he spoke. “I’ve loved you as a sister since our time at Baeliton Keep. Knowing you truly are my sister deepens my love for you. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  “Thank you, brother. It warms my heart to know you are my blood.” Loriann hugged Ebin before pressing a kiss to his whisker-roughened cheek.

  “It does my heart good to see you both happy,” Kaegan said with a grin. “Now I have two magical beings in my life.”

  “Loriann’s the magical one,” Ebin remarked. “I’m just a healer.”

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Ebin! Healers are invaluable.” Loriann punched Ebin’s arm playfully. “We should rest. Tomorrow’s journey should bring us to Helmsfield Keep.”

  At daybreak the allies broke camp. The daerveth and their mammoth remained at the rear. The Ashapii and Grayson’s archers rode between the daerveth and Derek’s men.

  Loriann gazed at the sky as twin suns peeped above the horizon. Tendrils of magenta, crimson, and lilac spread across the sky. The githok soared higher in the sky as if welcoming daylight.

  Kaegan remained at her side. He glanced at her before speaking. “Have you thought of what’s to come, love?”

  “I’ve done nothing but think of it since Cedric’s men hunted me as a child.” Her fingers tightened on the reins. Thoughts of the past only brought the rage. Though accustomed to reining it in, she wanted nothing more than to set it free on Cedric, Willem, and any man who stood at their side.

  “And Willem? Will you kill him, or shall I?” Kaegan harrumphed as he cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine the pain you experienced after our baby died, Loriann. I beg you, let me cut Willem’s heart from his chest. It will ease the pain I still carry for what happened to our babe.”