by James Dale
An eerie silence settled over the ruins, then suddenly there came the sound of a rushing wind like the inhalation of breath into a thousand throats. The wolves began to howl anew at the sound, but this time their howls were not of accusation, but of fear and terror so palpable and overpowering that Braedan shrank back into the saddle as if to avoid some unseen blow. Eaudreuil shifted nervously, wanting desperately to flee the horrible howls but not knowing which direction to run.
The grim'Hiru who had chased them from the ancient palace grounds stopped abruptly in their tracks and pointed in fright up at the sky. Following their frantic gestures, Braedan quickly discovered the cause of their distress. The clouds overhead had begun to roll and churn as if stirred suddenly by some great, invisible hand into an angry, cyclonic frenzy.
Like the grim'Hiru, Braedan instinctively knew this disturbance was no natural part of the storm, but for some reason he felt no fear of the vortex swirling above him. He was filled instead, with a wondrous, soothing, calm. He did not feel the wind unleashed once more or the first ominous drops of rain as they began to fall.
"Elar Amar," he whispered, lowering his sword. "Elar Galekindar."
As the last syllable passed his lips, a blinding bolt of lightning struck the ground barely twenty yards away and an earthshaking thunderclap split the night. Eaudreuil reared in terror at the deafening roar, and though Braedan was blinded by the flash and stunned by its closeness, he somehow managed to restrain the frightened stallion, pulling sharply on his reigns and shouting words of encouragement. It took him several seconds to regain control the skittish Val'anna, but after the first initial shock had passed, Eaudreuil calmed quickly.
When his vision began to clear, Braedan's gaze was drawn to a strange, glowing ball swirling on the ground where the lightning had struck. At first, he thought he was seeing a ghost image left behind by the bolt, a phantom picture seared onto his retina by the blinding flash. Then the glowing ball began to slowly move towards him and the grim'Hiru dropped their weapons and fled in terror.
Jack rubbed at his eyes furiously, not believing what he was seeing, and looked again. It was still there. The glowing form began to shimmer as it came closer, becoming more defined, more... human-like with every second. When it stopped only a few paces in front of him, its transformation was complete.
The glowing ball had become a man.
"Are you seeing..." Jack started to ask, but he could tell by the way Eaudreuil quivered beneath him the Val'anna was also witnessing the startling event.
The strange apparition was not actually a man, but a ghost. It was well over six feet, with flowing black hair and a translucent body covered from head to toe in shimmering silver mail. In his right hand was a heavy, double edged broadsword and in his left was a rectangular shield. Though his weapons seemed to be made of mist as well, they nevertheless looked to be decidedly lethal.
Braedan's gaze was drawn to the man's eyes, which were like two dark mirrors into another universe, and he was plunged helplessly into their depths. Captured by their hypnotic stare, he found himself suddenly falling, tumbling across the heavens between the emptiness separating the stars. He felt the darkness closing around him as he hurtled deeper and deeper into the void, and could feel his essence slowly slipping away. The darkness sought to seduce him with offers of eternal rest and peace, but he could sense in the void only emptiness and the cold of perpetual night. With an effort of will that required all his strength, he broke free of the spirit's magnetic gaze.
When Braedan dared to look again, he saw the ghost's eyes were no longer filled with stars, but infinite sorrow and ancient pain. A memory surged up through his wonder and he looked down at the device painted on the ghost's shield, a silver lightning bolt embossed upon a field of gray. Though he could scarcely believe what was happening, he now realized who this ghost was. He was from the first vision of his Elohara. This man had fallen along with the rest of his companions defending the walls of Tanaevar against the hosts of the dark King Graith, and though he had been dead for over eight hundred years, he had somehow come in answer to the ancient war cry of Amar.
The specter standing before him was a Galekindar.
Chapter Twenty-five
The Sons of Storm
The ghostly knight studied Braedan for several seconds, then silently saluted him with his sword and slowly knelt before him on one knee. Three more lightning bolts instantly struck the hill, leaving behind a trio of glowing balls. They also made their way to him over the ruins, transforming as they moved into three more warriors of mist armed with sword and shield. Like the first knight had done before them, they saluted Braedan and knelt before him. As they did a series blinding of flashes filled the sky. Silver lightning bolts began to strike the ruins around him, each bolt summoning a dead warrior back from the grave. Soon Braedan was surrounded by a company of the ghostly knights. When the last of them had knelt before him, they stood in unison and the original knight to appear out of the lightning stepped forward.
"Who are you Lord?" he asked in a hollow, spectral voice, "Why have you called us from our sleep?"
The words echoed the deep pain and sorrow visible in his eyes, a testament to the agonizing despair the Galekindar had suffered, trapped in whatever purgatory they have endured after their defeat before the walls of Tanaevar. Braedan could sense the tortured anguish which had consumed them since that day, eight hundred years ago, when they had been slaughtered in their futile attempt to break the siege engulfing their city. Their heartrending pain was a revelation to Braedan and he suddenly understood why they had come.
Though Tarsus' invocation of their ancient war cry and his own desperate recital of it had somehow summoned the Galekindar from beyond the void, those words had merely served as the catalyst to open the door. The force which had truly breached the gulf between the world of the living and the dead, had been their own overpowering desire to atone for the one event which kept them from their eternal rest. The Galekindar had perished with the horrifying belief they had failed their people, their king. The knights could find no peace in death and had come to redeem themselves of that failure, to find the redemption that would give them rest.
But there wasn't much time.
"Do you seek peace?" Jack asked, thinking quickly.
"We do," the knights replied as one, their voices a chilling whisper that sent a tingle down his spine.
"Then listen to me!" he cried. "grim'Hiru roam the ruins of your city and the life of your king is in danger!"
As Braedan spoke he saw the centuries of agony in their eyes suddenly replaced by a wild hope, that this was truly their chance at finding eternal peace. That hope was quickly tempered by the first knight who'd appeared out of the lightning.
"Our king is dead!" the spirit moaned. "Our queen is dead. Our people are dead. We are dead. Be gone and leave us to our misery."
"Your king lives!" Jack cried.
The company of knights stirred restlessly at this news, but their leader was unconvinced. He had roamed these desolate ruins for eight hundred years, and no a king ever returned to rebuild them and claim them for his own. "What proof do we have that you speak truly?" the ghost asked skeptically.
"What other proof do you need?" Jack asked angrily. Time was running out! In desperation he pointed his sword at the gathered host. "You have been called back from death because you failed your king! Fulfill your ancient oath now and save his descendant, Tarsus Aernin, or return to your misery and be damned for eternity as cowards!"
The curse infuriated the spectral knights. As one they stepped forward with vengeance in their eyes, but Braedan was saved from their wrath when several score of grim'Hiru appeared on the crest of the hill. At their head was a mounted figure, and though he was visible in the darkness only as a silhouette, the aura of evil surrounding him burned Braedan's soul like black fire. He instantly recognized the rider as one of the Sorcerers of Sa'tan.
"Look!" he cried, pointing up the hill. "There is your
enemy!"
The ghostly knights turned, and seeing their ancient foes silhouetted above them, suddenly forgot their anger. The painful memory of the defeat they had suffered at the hands of the grim'Hiru came crashing back to them. Eight hundred years of pinned up anguish came flooding up from their tormented souls and they raised their voices in unison in a wordless, hate filled shout.
Driven into action by their sudden cry, Eaudreuil sprang forward with a bound and the spirits parted before him. Though Braedan sought desperately to calm the enraged Val'anna, he was unable to reach the stallion through the red haze cluttering its mind. No shout or command could stop the charge of the battle trained warhorse. With no other recourse remaining, he leaned forward in the saddle and tightened his grip on his sword. Behind him, one hundred Son of Storm lifted their voices in challenge.
"Elar Amar! Elar Galekindar!" they cried, the deafening shout ringing throughout the ruins. There was a mighty crash as the knights beat their swords against their shields, belying the fact they were made of mist, and the Galekindar charged.
On the hillside above, the sorcerer stood in the stirrups of his saddle and raised his arms. He clapped his hands together and was instantly encased in a sickening, red field of magic. The glowing force of 'evil will' began to pulse and expand, quickly gathering power from incantation he had invoked until it seemed the wizard would surely be consumed by the terrible force collecting in the air around him. Just when it seemed he would no longer be able to control the awesome powers he had conjured into being, the sorcerer extended his arms toward Braedan and the onrushing knights and a stream of crimson fire erupted from his fists.
Braedan could sense the hellish inferno unleashed by the dark King's servant, could feel the strength which had been required to harness such energy, but the blast had no effect on the charging Galekindar, and surrounded in their midst, he and Eaudreuil remained unscathed as well. Though the fire boiled around them and the very earthe beneath the Val'anna's hooves was scorched black by the blaze, they were miraculously protected from the fury of the blast by whatever force had called the Sons of Storm back from the grave. Seeing this, the sorcerer quickly turned his mount and fled, vanishing into the night.
The retreat of the sorcerer spurred the spectral knights on to even greater speed. They ran faster and faster towards the hill, eventually pulling ahead of the galloping Val'anna. As they ran, their insubstantial bodies became more corporeal, more solid, until finally, as the Galekindar reached the grim'Hiru picket line at the crest of the hill, they were no longer warriors of mist and fog, but men of flesh and blood armed with swords of cold, sharp steel.
The two forces met with a mighty crash. Though the combatants were evenly matched in size, the fury of the Galekindar carried them through the ranks of grim'Hiru as easily as if the Sons of Storm were still made of mist. Braedan briefly wondered if they were indeed real or if they had only taken on the illusion of solidity, but the deafening ring of steel on steel and the terrible cries of pain rising from the beast-men as they were overwhelmed convinced him the knight's bodies had indeed returned with their souls.
When he crested the top of the hill, there was not a single grim'Hiru left alive. But the battle had only just begun. There were at least several hundred more of the beast-men surrounding the hilltop. Braedan could already make out some of their numbers gathering in the darkness, further ahead near the ruins of the palace gate. Though he saw no sign of him, there was also the sorcerer to deal with as well. He could still sense his presence somewhere close by, heavy and oppressive. Even with the Galekindar's apparent immunity to his wizardry, rescuing Tarsus, if he even still lived, would not be a simple task. It would have to be done quickly, while the sorcerer was still in retreat and the grim'Hiru were still confused by the sudden arrival of the spectral knights.
Without waiting to see if they would follow, Braedan urged Eaudreuil onward towards the place where Tarsus and Gilasha had fallen. But the Galekindar had seen the grim'Hiru gathering as well and were close behind him. Seeing the host of mail clad knights led by Braedan on a galloping Val'anna, the beast-men were struck with terror, threw down their weapons and turned to flee. The plodding grim'Hiru had no hope of escaping the charging war horse or the reborn Galekindar, who ran with unearthly swiftness, fueled by eight hundred years of smoldering anguish and pain. They were quickly caught and put to the sword.
Braedan struck to his right and left, slaying a pair of the beast-men while Eaudreuil trampled another as he charged through their retreating ranks. Behind him cries of pain could be heard as more of the fleeing grim'Hiru fell and he knew without turning the Sons of the Storm were close on his heels. Ahead in the darkness more of the grim'Hiru were visible and Braedan urged the Val'anna onward.
As he drew nearer Braedan realized the foul creatures were gathered around something lying on the ground. A fallen body perhaps? He spurred Eaudreuil with a shout and the stallion bolted forward, crashing into the circle of beast-men. As they hurtled through the knot of grim'Hiru, Braedan caught a brief glimpse of the thing they were guarding. In that fleeting instant he saw a bloody form trapped beneath the hindquarters of a downed horse, then Eaudreuil burst through to the other side.
As they wheeled about, Braedan watched the grim'Hiru become completely engulfed by the following Galekindar. A fierce battle ensued, surging back and forth over the fallen horse and rider. But the Galekindar had become a raging human storm, their swords flashing metal lightning as they swept like a hurricane through the ranks of the beast-men. It was finished quickly and Braedan leapt from Eaudreuil's back, pushing his way through the victorious knights.
As he fought his way to the form lying on the ground, a wild hope grew in his heart that they had arrived in time to save Tarsus, but when the Galekindar parted before him, it was quickly dashed. Pinned beneath Gilasha he found the grim'Hiru warrior who had leaped on the back of the Val'anna causing it to fall. Tarsus was gone. All that remained of the Amarian was his sword, lying in the mud close by, broken and useless.
But Gilasha still lived. The Val'anna's eyes fluttered open, rolling with fright and pain. A frothy mixture of blood and mucus bubbled from his nostrils as he took a deep, labored breath. The wounded stallion tried to rise when it saw Jack, but he knelt quickly, gently restraining the Val'anna while trying to determine the extent of his injuries.
"Easy boy," he whispered, a lump rising in his throat as realized how badly the horse had been wounded.
The hide on the Gilasha's flanks was shredded by long gashes that seeped dark, black blood, and protruding from his heaving chest was a large, wicked dagger, embedded to its hilt. There were other wounds on the horse's neck equally as serious; several deep puncture marks and many ragged, ugly tears that could only have been made by teeth and claw. One of the Val'anna's ears was also missing, having apparently been bitten off completely during the struggle.
"Hurts," the stallion sighed painfully.
"I know," Jack said, stroking the horse's mane. "Ah hell! Gilasha."
"Took...away."
"What?" he asked. "Who? Tarsus?"
"Two-legs took him..." the stallion beamed, and the dim picture of a figure encased in a sickening red aura formed in Braedan's mind. It could only have been the sorcerer he had seen earlier. "Evil two-legs on black horse...not stop...sorry."
"Sorry?" Jack cried, his voice thick with emotion. "Oh Gilasha! It's not your fault. I...I should have..."
"Hurts," the Val'anna sighed again. "Horse-brother... stop...pain?"
"Eaudreuil!" Jack cried in despair.
"I am here," the roan replied quietly from behind him. "I will end Gilasha's suffering. As his herdkin the duty is mine."
"Fight well...Horse-brother," Gilasha beamed. "Save…Storm King." Jack stroked the horse's mane once more then tenderly lowered his head to the ground.
"It will be swift," Eaudreuil assured him, gently nudging him away from the wounded stallion.
Braedan stepped back, tears blinding hi
s eyes as he watched the huge roan nuzzle his injured kin with obvious affection. The two Val'anna communicated briefly in a language Braedan could not understand, but he caught brief snatches of the images which passed between them; open fields, quiet meadows and new spring grass wet with morning dew. When images stopped, Eaudreuil reared and Jack closed his eyes, unable to watch. The Val'anna's powerful hooves struck with a sickening, meaty thud, mingling Gilasha's blood with that of the grim'Hiru who had died around him and it was over.
When Braedan opened his eyes again the leader of the Galekindar was standing before him. "There is no time to mourn," the knight said, but he spoke kindly, in a voice filled with compassion. "They come."
While Gilasha's final moments had been unfolding, the Galekindar had arrayed themselves in a circle, shoulder to shoulder and two ranks deep, creating a shield wall around him and the horses. Braedan turned and leaped onto Eaudreuil's back. Looking over the heads of the knights, saw that the beast-men were indeed forming for an assault. Hundreds upon hundreds of shadowy figures crowded the hilltop, inching warily closer even as he watched. Somewhere out in the night the sorcerer lurked as well. His evil presence felt like a cancerous growth on a Braedan's soul.
"They come," the knight repeated.
Braedan looked around at the Galekindar surrounding him. Their chainmail, once a shimmering silver, was now splattered with mud and gore and several of them appeared to be wounded. Even the one addressing him, the original warrior to appear out of the lightning, had a deep cut on his cheek and blood ran freely down his face to drip off his chin.
"Can we hold them?" Jack asked, suddenly doubting even the Galekindar could stop the horde now gathering against them. Though they had been magically reborn out of the fury of the storm and had survived unscathed the fires of the sorcerer, they were now obviously men of flesh and blood.