by James Dale
As if reading his thoughts, the knight reached up to the wound on his face. He looked curiously at the blood on his fingertips as if pondering the same question, then returned Jack's stare.
"We will hold them," he replied defiantly, the tone of his voice implying he was insulted by the mere suggestion given this second chance, the Galekindar could possibly fail again.
His unshakable confidence might have buoyed Braedan's flagging spirits enough given time, but his attention was drawn to a disturbance among the leading ranks of the grim'Hiru. They parted quickly, cringing in fear at something moving forward through them. A chill ran down Braedan's spine as he saw the mounted figure that emerged from their midst.
At first, he thought the missing sorcerer had returned, but some sixth sense warned Braedan this was not the same man he had encountered earlier. Though he was almost identical in appearance, there was something different about this one. Something warned him this sorcerer was nothing at all like that other man, or the ones he had faced during the raid on Norgarth and on the Sword of Urgiss in Brimcohm's harbor. Something told him those three were mere parlor magicians by comparison, amateurs who had only been playing at sorcery.
The sorcerer stopped his mount several paces from the Galekindar and slowly lowered the hood of his dark robe, fixing Braedan with eyes that glowed red like they were being consumed by some inner fire. He felt a darkness suddenly probe his mind. A cold, terrible pressure filled his head as if an icy hand had reached inside his skull to caress his brain. Braedan closed his eyes tightly against the pain and instinctively threw up a protective, mental wall around his thoughts. The pressure disappeared almost immediately and the sorcerer started in surprise. But his look of shock was soon replaced by a cruel smile.
"So, it is true," he said quietly. "After all this time, you have returned."
"Yes," Braedan whispered, opening his eyes. "I have returned."
"I do not know how you did this," the sorcerer said, inclining his head toward the knights gathered around him. "But they are no match for my power. Nor are you."
Though his words were haughty, the wizard eyed the Galekindar uneasily. They had already survived the full force of wizard's fire once, despite their now bedraggled appearance. "Send them back to whatever grave you called them from," he continued. "Surrender to me, and perhaps when my Master awakens, he will let you live out the remainder of your days chained as a slave at his feet."
"No."
"No?" the sorcerer asked. "Then you care nothing for the Amarian?"
"What Amarian?"
"Come now," the sorcerer chuckled softly. "I know you came here with him. It is you the Master desires. Surrender and I will release him unharmed."
The sorcerer's words were calm and soothing, and carried such a strong compulsion Braedan found himself becoming hypnotized. Before he knew what was happening, he found trying to agree. "I...I..."
"Yessss?" the sorcerer asked, his voice like the hiss of a hungry constrictor about to swallow its paralyzed prey.
"No." Braedan almost choked on the simple word but with his refusal the spell was broken. The Galekindar however, also trapped by the compulsion of the sorcerer's voice, began to mutter angrily at his refusal to exchange himself for their king.
"I will not ask again!" the wizard shouted, the air around him crackling with his rage. "You have no concept of the power rising in the east! You do not have the sword! You cannot save him! Neither can this undead rabble you have raised! They are powerless to go beyond these walls! With the coming of dawn, they will fade back into the mist that spawned them! Decide quickly! Even now the Amarian slips from your grasp. By morning he will be in Gorthiel!"
"No!" Braedan replied, stronger this time. "Return him to me and perhaps I will let you live to see the sunrise!"
"Fool to refuse my Master!" the sorcerer shouted. "Then die like a fool! But die knowing this. Without his help you will never live to touch the sword! This I foretell! Without the Amarian, you are doomed to fail! Before two years have passed, Aralon will be my Master's footstool and its people his chattel!" With that, the sorcerer turned his horse about and galloped back towards his grim'Hiru.
Braedan watched until he disappeared into the silent horde, then closed his eyes, sighing in relief as he wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. The conversation and battle of wills with the powerful sorcerer had left him nauseous and weak. But he was recovering quickly now with his loathsome form was hidden from view. He began to sense the Galekindar's leader studying him, and after several deep breaths, opened his eyes and looked at the knight.
"Who are you Lord?" he asked again. "Why doth this wizard so desire thee?"
But before Braedan could reply a searing bolt of red fire shot into the night sky, turning the clouds above them into a crimson, boiling mass. The wolves surrounding them howled and the beast-men charged with a deafening roar.
The Galekindar answered with a shout of their own and braced to absorb the coming wave. The horde crashed into the waiting knights and they groaned with effort as their shield wall compressed under the weight of the attackers. A hoarse cheer rose from the throats of the grim'Hiru as they pushed the knights back several steps and their circle began to tighten. The grim'Hiru raged against the shield wall and for several anxious seconds, Braedan thought the beast-men would surely break through the defensive ring. There was no way so few men could withstand the ferocious onslaught of such superior numbers. But somehow the Galekindar held their ground and the initial thrust of the attack was halted.
With their charge stopped, the front ranks of the grim'Hiru became pinned against the swords of the Galekindar by the surge of those following behind them. The beast-men, trapped and unable to advance, died by the scores. The wolves with them, driven mad by the dark power of the sorcerer but prevented from sinking their teeth into an enemy, turned on each other. Dead bodies quickly began to pile high at the feet of the besieged knights, and a wall of flesh was soon formed between the two forces.
The battle began to lose some of its urgency and eventually the grim'Hiru broke off their assault and fell back to regroup. The respite was short lived however, for they soon returned, driven forward again to the attack by the searing red fire of the sorcerer at their rear. Braedan was shielded from the fighting by the knights between him and the grim'Hiru, and spent most of his time dodging the odd arrow launched by the frustrated attackers. At times however, a bulge would appear in the Galekindar's defenses and two or three of the grim'Hiru would slip through into the circle. When that occurred, he would charge forward on Eaudreuil and the two would quickly dispatch the invaders. Then he and the stallion would add their weight to strengthen the spot until the knights could once again close the breach.
For hours it seemed the battle raged. The grim'Hiru, driven forward mercilessly to the attack by the crimson fire of the sorcerer, hurled themselves again and again at the shield wall of the Galekindar, only to be repelled each time by the determined and stalwart defense of the knights. With each failed assault the grim'Hiru left behind more and more of their dead, and as time passed, their numbers began to dwindle.
But the same did not hold true for the Galekindar.
Braedan knew that many of the knights became injured. During each assault by the beast-men, he had watched as several of their wounded were dragged from the edge of the battle back to the center of their defense. Then one or two of the grim'Hiru would slip through and he would be forced to turn his attention back to the fight. After they had been dealt with and the attack had broken off again, he would turn to find the injured Galekindar gone. He knew they had not vanished back into the lightning which spawned them, for their numbers never seemed to shrink and no more of the silver bolts rained down from the sky bringing others to replace them. Apparently, given a few minutes of respite, their wounds miraculously healed and they returned to the battle.
When the sorcerer did not join his grim'Hiru and the wolves in their assaults against the inexhaustib
le knights, Braedan soon realized he must have also noticed this phenomenon. As the battle went on and hours passed, the sorcerer seemed content to remain apart from the fight and simply continued driving his servants to their deaths against the Galekindar's shield wall. It became clear he had conceded this victory to the knights.
Braedan was at first heartened by this knowledge, then he realized the reasoning behind this strategy. By so cavalierly throwing away the lives of the grim'Hiru against the swords of the Galekindar, the sorcerer was telling him winning this battle was of little consequence. Although he might survive the night, with every passing second his friend was being carried farther and farther away. Had the sorcerer been telling the truth when he said he would never touch Yhswyndyr without Tarsus' help? Was it possible? 'By morning,' the sorcerer had said, 'he will be in Gorthiel.'
Even as he watched, Braedan saw the sky in the east beginning to brighten, and knew in his heart that it was true. "No!" he cried, as if his shout could hold back the sunrise. It echoed throughout the ruins, bouncing back and forth across the hilltop in an empty dance of hopelessness and despair. When it finally died away, Braedan could hear the sound of quiet, cruel laughter. It grew louder and louder until the sound of it filled his mind, then a blinding red flash exploded out in the night, the laughter died, and he knew the sorcerer was gone.
Under the sickening red glow of the explosion, the grim'Hiru began their final assault. Though their numbers no longer even matched the one hundred knights of the Galekindar, though they had been throwing themselves against an impenetrable barrier of steel for hours, dying by the hundreds, still they came. Driven forward for the last time by the sorcerer's will, the beast-men and the few wolves that still lived charged once more. They attacked with the same fear of the wizard's power and bloodlust for the deaths of their human enemies they'd possessed at the beginning.
Crawling over the bodies of their own dead they came. This time however, the Galekindar did not wait for them. As if reenacting their final charge of eight hundred years ago, the Sons of Storm broke from their shield wall and went out to meet the advancing beast-men with a lust for blood equaling that of their foes. With a shout, the knights stormed out of the old ruins where once the mighty palace of their beloved king had stood, to challenge the forces encircling them.
This time the results were much different. With sword and shield and mailed fist, the Gale-kindar utterly swept the enemy from the field. When the surrounding ruins were free of all living foes, they broke into squads of four and five to search the ancient city for others, even to the outer fallen walls.
Braedan followed them as far as the edge of the hilltop, but when they expanded their search to other parts of Tanaevar, he let them continue on alone. This was their moment, it was the reason they had returned from beyond the veil of death, and he allowed them to pursue their atonement without interference.
When the knights were certain no grim'Hiru or wolf remained alive within the confines of their destroyed city, there were but a few minutes until sunrise and they returned to the hilltop. Waiting for them at the ancient stone gateway of the palace ruins was Braedan, mounted on Eaudreuil, his bloody sword lying across his knees.
The Galekindar gathered around him in a half circle, their once shimmering chainmail now black with the blood of their enemies and their faces gaunt and hollow, drained of the renewed life they had been given by the storm. For the last time their leader stepped forward to address Braedan.
"We have failed," the knight said quietly. "The grim'Hiru are slain but the sorcerer has escaped with the king."
"No," Jack replied. "You haven't failed."
"The son of Tars Aernin is taken!" he replied bitterly. "The sorcerer spoke truly. We cannot travel beyond these walls to pursue him. Even now I can feel the life slipping from me with the rising sun."
"I'll go after him," Jack replied.
"Alone?"
"Alone."
"Who are you Lord?" the man inquired once more. "Twice I have asked thee. We have wandered these ruins for eight hundred years unable to sleep, yet at the sound of thy voice we are called back from the dead. You tell us servants of the dark King have captured the descendant of Tarsus Aernin, yet they care little they have him, parlaying instead to exchange thee for the King of Amar. Who are you?"
"I am Jack Braedan," he replied. "Last descendant of Ljmarn Bra‘Adan. Tarsus Aernin, your king, is my friend. He was...he is helping me to regain the Highsword Yhswyndyr and the throne of Immer."
Braedan could see the Galekindar knew nothing of the events which had followed after their deaths eight hundred years ago. They did not know Ljmarn had exiled his son during the siege of Dorshev, that a Lord of the Staffclave had taken him through a doorway to another world when it looked as if the war would soon be lost. They knew nothing of the Highswords or how the Lords and Ljmarn had overthrown Graith and his Iron Tower. Or that the dark King, aided by the power of the Bloodstone, had actually survived and was now stirring again in the east. They didn't know Aralon was defenseless because there was no High King to stand against him.
The sun was rising quickly now and Braedan saw that the Galekindar were beginning to fade. In a rush against the coming dawn, he told the knights of his visions in the Elohara and how Tarsus and Tereil Annen had summoned all the remaining clans of Amar here to Tanaevar to select a new Galekindar to accompany him to help reclaim his crown.
When he finished his narrative, the knights as one knelt before him. "Lord High King," their leader bowed. "I am Tanis Annol, Captain of the Galekindar. How may we serve thee? We would atone for our failure to do as you commanded us."
"You didn't fail," Jack repeated with a weary sigh. "You have earned your rest. From now until the end of time. Amarians... all of Aralon...will remember how you came back even from death to fight for your king. That I promise you. I also promise you I will not take one more step towards Immer until I have rescued Tarsus. Even if it means I have to break down the gates of hell itself."
"I know now why we were permitted to return," the knight said. He stood and for the first time, Braedan saw the man smile. "You have given my men the gift of peace when I feared we were doomed to spend eternity in despair. For thy gift of redemption Jack Bra’Adan, the Galekindar offer all we still possess.”
The knight saluted Braedan with his sword, then drove it point first into the soft ground, hung his shield on its cross guard, and bowing, he faded into nothingness.
But his sword and shield remained.
As one the remaining Galekindar repeated their captain's action. When the last knight was gone, there were one hundred swords thrust into the ground before Braedan, each holding a rectangular shield with a silver lightning bolt a on a field of gray.
***
The sun stood high above the ruins of Tanaevar when Tereil Annen arrived at a gallop later that day, at the head of a company of thirty-seven mounted and hastily armed villagers. He had been awakened around midnight out of a troubling dream and by the fading echo of the ancient war cry of the knights of the Galekindar.
At first, he'd thought the haunting sound was only a lingering aftereffect of his nightmare, but when he heard the low rumble of thunder and saw the unnatural storm raging in the distance, his heart was filled with the sudden premonition his grandson and Jack Braedan were in grave danger. He quickly mustered as many men as could ride and headed east, guided through the dark night by the flashes of red fire springing from the direction of Tanaevar.
When they found Eorl Tannor and other Amarians he had sent with Tarsus and Jack Braedan, Tereil felt as if his soul was being torn asunder. Then they began to encounter score upon score of dead grim'Hiru as they drew near the center of the ruins. When the count of dead beast-men reached in the hundreds, the Regent of Amar’s fear turned to confusion. He sent Rol Aeson and two other stout men to scout ahead. Several anxious minutes passed until Aeson came galloping back, his face as pale as death.
"What is it?" Tereil asked, fearin
g the worst.
"It's...I..." he stammered.
"Are they dead?" Tereil whispered, suddenly feeling every day of his seventy-one years.
"I think you should see this for yourself Regent," Aeson replied.
The old man sighed, the last of his hope fading, and Rol Aeson wordlessly turned his mount and led the Amarians to the hilltop that had once, long ago, been the sight of Tars Aernin's palace. The ruins of the hilltop were littered with the dead bodies of a hundred more grim'Hiru and in the center of this slaughter was a huge cairn of stone.
"What...?" Tereil asked, confused. grim'Hiru did not build cairns for their dead and certainly didn't make them for their dead enemies. But if the beast-men had not made the cairn, then who?
"We removed a small section of the mound," Rol Aeson replied. "It is the Val'anna Tarsus was riding."
"But..."
"That is not all," Aeson interrupted in a voice filled with wonder. He led the company across the hilltop, to the other side of the ruins, to the ancient stone gate that had once been the entrance to Tars Aernin's palace. There the old man discovered the reason for his friend's amazement. At the foot of the giant archway, forming a half circle at its base, were one hundred broadswords together with one hundred gleaming shields.
"Do you recognize the design on those shields?" Aeson asked in a whisper.
"Of course," Tereil replied. "But...How...Where?
"Regent!" one of the villagers cried suddenly. "Look! There are words written on the archway!"
Scratched in charcoal on the ancient stone were words written in the common tongue of the Whesguard.
The swords are a gift from the Sons of Storm.
With a little luck and if God wills it,
we will meet again and I will tell you
how we came by them.
Choose their new owners quickly.
Tarsus has been taken to Gorthiel. I am following on Eaudreuil.
My life and Tarsus' depend on you.