by CW Thomas
Khalous’ face paled. “And Broderick?”
A massive black boulder drew Brynlee’s eyes to the sky. Arching its way into the city it struck a nearby watchtower in a spray of dust and mortar.
A huge fist latched onto Brynlee’s shoulder and lifted her out of the way. It was Khalous, and he had Scarlett tucked under his other arm, her tiny legs kicking, cheeks covered in frightened tears. Brynlee glanced behind her and watched the tower fall across the road in a billowy haze of gray dust.
“All of you,” Khalous said, “stay close to me.” He sounded angry, unlike any tone Brynlee had ever heard him use before.
The alarm bells of the city were ringing again.
“They could not have breached the city already,” said Pick in astonishment.
“Move!” ordered Khalous.
Brynlee hurried after her siblings, following the captain up the road. They passed by terrified commoners running for protection and more Aberdourian soldiers racing toward the gate to join the fight.
They passed the deserted wagons of the city’s vendors, some spilled in haste, with horses, goats, sheep, and a lazy black pig left roped to their hitching posts. Stores had been left open and abandoned by their owners—the brick burner, the silversmith, the man who baked the tiny cakes. She saw Jonathan Mills, the potter who made the funny cups with the faces on them, furiously nailing boards over the door to his shop as if that would quell the invading brood.
Brynlee cringed at the thought of black vipers stampeding into Aberdour. Her tutors had described them as merciless men, driven to be cruel by the will of the Black King. Orkrash Mahl had begun his campaign three years ago when he conquered the capital city of Perth on the west coast. From there he made his way across the realm, giving rise to what had come to be called the Falls of Edhen as kingdom after kingdom succumbed to his rule.
Aberdour was the last of nine.
By the time Brynlee and her siblings were approaching the castle, so had the battle. Enemy soldiers clashed swords with Aberdour’s finest in the muddy streets, slaughtering civilians, and setting fire to their homes. Soldiers from both sides were lying dead in mucky pools of blood, the reek of which made her gag.
“Those aren’t vipers,” Pick said.
Khalous led the Falls children down an alleyway. They stopped and crouched low.
Brynlee huddled behind a wooden barrel and peered out into the street. The enemy soldiers she saw were not adorned with the symbol of the high king. They didn’t look like black vipers at all. They were bigger, feral, and covered in tattered animal skins.
“Jackdaws?” Pick asked.
The word made every muscle in Brynlee’s tiny body tense with fright.
“No,” Khalous said. “Not even Orkrash himself could tame a Jackdaw enough to fight for him. These are barbarians. Hired muscle from the north.”
Brynlee watched one of the barbarian soldiers grapple with a young woman. He threw her to the ground and tore open her dress. His giant fingers, greased in blood and filth, clutched at her unblemished skin. He unfastened his belt, fussed with his pants for a moment, and then plunged his hips down into the woman. She screamed and beat his shoulders, but her fists were like gnats against stone.
A man, who looked old enough to be the woman’s father, sprinted out of a small cottage, a short sword raised high. He charged the barbarian, shouting in rage, until a second soldier plunged a bone axe into the man’s gut.
Brynlee fought down a wave of nausea as the barbarian proceeded to scalp the man.
Dana’s hand slipped under Brynlee’s chin and pull her head away from the awful sight. “Don’t watch,” she said, her voice quivering. “Stay down. Look at me.” She brushed dirt and hair from Brynlee’s cheeks. “We’re almost there. We just need to be brave.”
Brynlee withered, shrinking into herself. “I’m scared. I want mama.”
Dana pulled her in for a quick hug. “I know. Me too, love.”
Khalous wiped his forearm across his sweat-sheened face. “Down!” he whispered.
Everyone huddled low as a group of barbarian soldiers ran past the alleyway, their cold steel drenched in Aberdourian blood.
“You know what we do when we’re scared, Bryn?” Dana asked.
Brynlee looked up at her sister, eagerly awaiting the answer.
“We pretend to be someone else. Someone stronger.”
“Like papa?” Brynlee asked.
Dana smiled. “Yes, yes! Like papa. Can you do that?”
Brynlee nodded.
Khalous snapped his fingers at them, signaling them to follow him.
A moment later Brynlee ran out from the alleyway and into the streets of Aberdour once again. She wasn’t herself though. She was her father, a mighty warrior in thick armor, with true grit and stone cold courage.
DANA
The sight of blood had never troubled Dana. She was three when Lia was born and though her memory of the incident was vague she could still see the blood from her mother’s open belly as the assistant stitched her closed. She had seen the wounds of a hunter mauled by a bear when she was six, fetched water and clean bandages for one of her family’s tearmann when he was attacked by Jackdaws, and she had put stitches into Broderick’s leg after he cut himself on a nail when he was eight.
Dana had stomached things that had made even her brothers curl their lips, but today was putting her mettle to the test.
She led Brayden, Lia, Brynlee, and Scarlett up the street to the castle, her careful eyes never ceasing their scan of the surroundings. She analyzed the corners as she ran and watched the body language of Khalous and Pick for hints of oncoming danger.
In the back of her mind Dana fought down thoughts of her father and mother, both now dead. Her eyes were hot, but dry, and she intended to keep them that way, at least for now. After the battle there would come a moment, she knew, when she could allow herself to process this nightmare. Then she could fall apart. Then she could mourn. But not now. Now she had to be strong.
The gray castle of Aberdour appeared just over the rise, broad and tall, strong and proud. The front entrance faced south, its outer columns and stonework decorated with elaborate carvings of plants and beasts and scenes from ancient tales. Since the Black King’s arrival on Edhen, the castle of Aberdour had become a symbol of fortitude and hope for the entire realm, an immovable rock amidst the wash of the high king’s flood. Not any more.
The streets before the castle bore a grisly scene. The guards stationed there had been slaughtered, their entrails strewn across the ground, giving rise to a foul odor akin to vomit and manure. Dana held her breath as she passed, hoping she wouldn’t recognize any of the fallen men.
The doors to the castle had been smashed off their hinges. A thick wooden battering ram capped with a large metal boar’s head had been tossed aside in the vestibule.
“They’ve sacked the castle already,” Pick said in astonishment.
“Hired barbarians with a viper commander leading them,” said Khalous shaking his head, “a force to be reckoned with.”
“But where are they?” Pick asked. “Why aren’t they fortifying their position?”
“They’re not here to siege Aberdour,” Khalous answered, gripping his sword. “They’re here to destroy it.”
“Why?” Dana asked.
“No one has opposed the Black King more than your father. If I had to wager I’d say this attack is pure vengeance.”
Lying on the floor and speckled with dirt and shards of rock lay the navy blue flag of Aberdour. Its silver emblem of a white-beaked rook lay smeared and tattered from the stampeding feet of invading vipers.
Brayden ran ahead into the Great Hall and called for Broderick.
Khalous sprang after him, yanking him back into the hallway. “Foolish boy!” Khalous chided, trying to keep his voice down. “The enemy could have severed your head just then. Do not leave my side!”
Brayden hung his head. Dana could tell that the captain’s brutish scolding h
ad frightened and humbled her brother.
“Pick, check the bedrooms,” Khalous said. “The five of you, into the kitchen. Quiet now.”
Dana took Brynlee’s hand and started for the kitchen.
In the doorway, she stopped. An armed barbarian, clad in black armor and a spiked helmet charged toward her. She dodged back as he swiped at her, narrowly missing her torso. Khalous descended upon him in an instant, plunging his sword so deep into the man’s belly that it burst through his back. The enemy’s arms went limp and he collapsed to the floor in a rattling mess of metal armor and chainmail.
Huddled with her arms around Brynlee and Scarlett, Dana blinked away her shock.
Pick returned, called back by the commotion. No sooner had he arrived then two black vipers ran into the castle. One of them rushed Khalous. The second charged Dana. She shrunk back with her sisters just as Pick sailed toward them to stop the attack.
The fight that ensued was full speed, none of the controlled swipes and thrusts she saw from the soldiers during practice. Sword strike met counter strike. Jabs were dodged and blows absorbed against arms, legs, and hips. There were no tricks. Nothing showy. Just speed and ferocity. Pick was blazingly fast. His arms and legs were covered in a flexible brown leather and fabric armor, slick with wear and dark with old sweat.
Dana had always admired Pick, his strong jaw and level brow that hovered over a pair of kind, trusting eyes. She had always known how likeable he was, but never had she witnessed how violent he could be. It frightened and reassured her all at the same time.
Brayden and Lia made a dash for the kitchen, but the battle between Khalous and his opponent forced Dana to retreat onto the front steps with Brynlee and Scarlett.
Two hands grabbed her from behind, lifted and tossed her down the stone steps of the entrance. She landed in a heap on the ground below as hot sparks of pain pierced her elbows and knees. The burly barbarian who had thrown her came stomping down after her. In his hands he clutched a long club that had been fitted with a dozen sharpened bones. They sprouted from the log like a lion’s fangs.
Dana screamed at her sisters to run.
Brynlee and Scarlett dashed through the violence in the vestibule and disappeared into the castle.
The barbarian arrived at Dana’s side, growling as he reached for her.
From out of nowhere came Broderick, his small body sailing off the steps onto the back of her husky assailant. He tore off the man’s helmet and jabbed his fingers into his face. The attack threw the barbarian off balance and sent them both to the ground. Broderick tumbled away, his limbs slapping along the stone paving.
The savage righted himself, his face covered in scratches. He grabbed Broderick and lifted his boned club to strike when an arrow from a castle garrison impaled him. He reeled up, crying out, until his throat was torn away by the sword of Khalous.
“On your feet, both of you!” Khalous said.
An Aberdourian soldier galloped to the castle’s entrance, his silver armor caked with blood and mud. “Captain, the southern gate has fallen. The northwestern gate is smashed. We must retreat.”
Khalous didn’t look surprised. “Gather as many men as you can find and surround this entrance. We must protect the children. Collapse the tunnels behind us. Give us as much time as you can.” Khalous’ eyes darted up toward a tall tower extending from the castle. “Send word to the rebellion that Aberdour has fallen.”
A storm of flaming arrows streaked through the sky toward the castle, setting fire to bales of hay, wood carts, thatched roofs, and fleeing citizens.
“Down!” Khalous barked.
One of the arrows pierced the horsed soldier, knocking him off his steed.
As Dana ran for cover another black viper rushed from the castle’s entrance and engaged the captain in combat.
Dana cowered behind a short stone barricade of flowers and small shrubs that edged the castle’s entrance. She crouched there a moment, peeking over the top. She watched Khalous as he did battle with the enemy soldier amidst a second volley of fiery darts that soared through the air.
She noticed Broderick scurrying up the steps through the smashed castle doors.
“My lady?” came the voice of Alevious, one of Aberdour’s tearmann. He was hurrying toward the castle’s side entrance with a crowd of denizens from the school—plain clothed students, teachers, and servants. He hurried up to Dana in his long tan robe and brown leather belt, white wisps of hair dancing on his head. “Come with me, child!” He reached for her hand.
“We need to send out the broadwings!” Dana said. “The rebellion needs to know that Aberdour has fallen.”
Dana thought that Alevious, of all people, would understand the significant impact the fall of Aberdour would have on the realm. Like all tearmann, he was a historian of great wisdom and intellect, well versed in the rise and fall of the realm’s high kings, so it surprised her when he brushed her words away.
“There is no time for that, young miss,” he said. “We must get you to the tunnels.” He took her by the arm.
“No!” Dana said. “The rebellion must know.”
Alevious paused, frustrated, but finally said, “I will send out the broadwings. You get to the tunnels. Come with me now!”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Alevious took her hand and left the cover of the rock barricade. He was quick for an old man, his feet easily picking their way over the mess of destruction accumulating around the castle.
Behind them the noise of war was growing louder as the army of the high king’s black soldiers snaked their way through the streets of Aberdour.
Dana bounded up the steps toward the broken doors behind Alevious and plowed into him after he stopped in the middle of the entrance. A single crossbow bolt had pierced his chest. Dana yelped on reflex. She dodged around him as the old man fell to his knees.
“My lady, run,” he wheezed.
The viper who had killed Alevious made a grab for Dana. She managed to slip by and duck into the dining room. Old Betha was there, one of the castle’s cooks, her plump body slumped against the wall beneath the window, her skull split open.
Dana shivered and ran into the kitchen. She saw the open door leading to the cellar where she hoped her siblings were escaping into the tunnels.
She paused, her eyes flitting from the cellar to a set of plank steps that rose in a circle up the castle’s northeastern turret. After a moment of consideration she sprang up the stairway, hands gripping the folds of her skirt. She noticed with a tiny shiver the stains of blood and dirt adorning the brocade fabric of her dress. It surprised her how dirty she had become in such a brief amount of time.
On the second floor she paused, trembling a bit as she glancing up and down the hallway.
Fear crept in, took hold, and wouldn’t let her move. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, assuring herself that she could move on.
“Not now,” she said to herself, fighting back the cold feeling that shivered up her spine. “Not yet.”
Her eyes went to the statues lining the wide hallway, marble heroes of ancient lore, men who had faced much greater challenges than she. How would they act were they in her shoes?
Dana forced herself out into the hallway where she tiptoed to the southern end of the castle to the broadwing turret, the tallest tower in Aberdour.
Khalous wanted the realm to know that Aberdour had fallen, but the higher Dana climbed the more she wondered if that was the best idea. When word got out that Aberdour had been taken by the Black King the threads of the rebellion would fall apart. They were already low on numbers, weapons, organization, and the true zeal required for victory. Did they need to lose the last of their hope as well?
The muscles in Dana’s thighs were burning by the time she finished racing up the circular steps of the narrow tower. The black broadwings within the tower’s cote were screeching in their cages and jumping about, undoubtedly irritated by the clamor outside.
The broadwing was a ro
bust bird, a little smaller than an eagle, and as smart as a crow. Each bird was trained to fly from Aberdour to one other kingdom or city on Edhen, which made them ideal for quick communication among cities.
Out of breath, her hands shaking, Dana scrawled Aberdour has fallen on five pieces of small paper for each kingdom she knew that still supported the rebellion, even if in secret. She paused, thinking, then added, The children of Kingsley and Lilyanna Falls are alive and will return! The rebellion would find hope in those words. The Black King wouldn’t. She smirked.
Dana affixed the messages onto the feet of five birds before opening the doors to the tower and setting them free. The large inky black birds with their yellow beaks and beady eyes soared from the tower, cawing and screaming over the battle below.
When Dana caught the view, she felt her heart chill. She leaned toward the window, taking in the distant sight of the southwest corner of Aberdour from which rose a billowing column of smoke. She saw the soldiers of the high king pushing through the streets like the fingers of a black flood while commoners before them fled.
Dana shuffled back from the window. The moment she was dreading where the weight of her fear and grief overcame her ebbed closer.
“No,” she whispered. “Not now. Not yet.”
She opened the rest of the cages, freeing the remaining birds and sparring them from becoming messengers of the enemy.
Dana hurried back down the stairs, exiting on the second floor to avoid the combat in the castle’s entryway one floor below.
She came to a quick halt, forcing herself to stifle a scream when an enemy soldier ran down the abutting hallway in close pursuit of a black haired boy. It took her only a moment to register that the boy was Broderick.
Dana gave chase, coming upon them at the top of the stairs. Broderick was on the floor, clutching his knee, with the black viper bearing down on top of him. Dana’s protective instincts took over. She plowed into the man and shoved him forward over the banister. His body broke and cracked as it tumbled down the stone steps.
“Did he hurt you?” Dana asked.