Yelin could not think a clear thought. He relied solely on instinct as sword tips and spearheads sliced and stabbed around him. The immovable shoulders of men pressed against him, making it impossible to squeeze out of the position he was in.
He could smell their desperate breaths and thick aroma of blood in the air.
The Blacktree men held strong, using their shields well to deflect the onslaught and take on Seynards one-by-one with any chance they got.
A Seynard attempted to jump Yelin’s tower shield. He saw fingers on the top edge, gripping firmly. So, he sliced. The fingertips were cleaved off and Yelin turned away to avoid blood spatter in his face.
Every chance he got, Yelin looked to his right to make sure the king was coping. He glimmered in his stunning armour like an impenetrable statue, but it also made him a target.
Yet, King Emery still retained his skills and was able to hold his position well, using his small shield to block each oncoming attack.
Another man charged into Yelin’s tower shield, knocking him back. Yelin lifted the shield slightly, before hammering it down onto the attacker’s feet with a sickening crunch, breaking his toes. He charged back out, knocking the Seynard away.
The noise of the melee grew louder as men fell, shrieking for mercy and an end to the pain.
The paved ground was slick with limbs and freshly spilled blood, steadily growing into a larger carpet of bodies.
King Emery roared as he lanced a young Seynard boy in the chest with an outstretched arm, but another soldier struck back, striking Emery’s forearm with a huge hammer so hard that Yelin swore he heard his forearm break.
Emery barked obscenities as he stepped back, unstrapping the warped gauntlet, and clutching at his clearly broken arm.
Emery and Yelin looked to see the man responsible and were overshadowed by the tall figure of Sen Dorval, grinning menacingly.
“Fall back, my king,” Yelin ordered, but before Emery could react, Sen Dorval shoulder-charged the guard so hard that it knocked him off his feet.
Yelin lost his grip on the tower shield as he flew backwards into his men. Others rushed to fill the gap as Seynards charged into the broken line, but it was no use.
Sen Dorval struck them down with ease, his war hammer shattering one man’s face so hard that his jaw broke, and teeth flew out of his bloodied mouth. He was dead before he sank to the ground, his jaw unhinged and dangling from one side with a waterfall of blood streaming out of the cavity.
“Defend your king!” Yelin barked, dragging Emery out from the mess.
Sen Dorval howled like a maniac, swinging his war hammer as the Blacktrees rushed to cover the injured king’s retreat.
“Make way! Make way!”
Yelin pushed through the thick crowd of soldiers with the slouched Emery under his arm. He heard a worrying noise as Blacktrees began shouting at the flanks of their defensive square.
Seynard men had gone around to attack from the left and right, rushing through the side alleys and slamming against the force from three different fronts.
Just what Yelin had feared would happen.
They were being surrounded.
“Defend the flanks! Do not let them get behind us!” Yelin ordered, but his command was futile as no one voice could cut through the cacophony of battle.
The fighting was spreading from the streets as Seynards and Blacktrees climbed over rubble and through burning houses to try and catch their opponents off-guard.
Other houses were raging firestorms. The superheated air rising from the intense flames gave life to bigger fires in a raging cycle.
Whole buildings went up in seconds.
A few talented archers managed to climb the guttering of some two-storey dwellings, taking position on the roofs and balconies to unsuspectingly drop arrows down into the streets below. Other men smashed through windows to jump down onto their enemy in the streets and alleys.
The battalion grew more and more disordered, fighting on separate fronts across several terrains.
The men around Yelin were wary, wide-eyed, filled to the brim with fear. They held their weapons nervously, sweating beneath their armour.
They knew they were being circled and trapped.
Their morale was dissipating by the second.
Yelin noticed the hand he had on the king was wet. He looked down to see his fingers smeared with blood.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Yelin said into the king’s ear. He must have been in a great deal of pain, his arm bent so obscenely.
“We… we need to find Petir,” Emery gasped, wincing with each movement.
Suddenly, some familiar horns blared from somewhere distant, and the roar of soldiers clashing grew even louder and more desperate. Another confrontation was starting elsewhere, nearby in town.
“Are they ours?” Emery asked, referring to the horns as they boomed through the destruction.
“Aye, my king,” Yelin said with a breath of relief. “It must be Baron Artima.”
The baron had circled through the burning fields back into Tellersted from the north in a pincer move. They met the Seynards on multiple fronts throughout town, easing the pressure on the encircled battalion by stretching their forces out.
The horns signalled their impending arrival to Emery and Yelin. A welcome relief.
“We may actually stand a chance after all,” Yelin chuckled as he brought the king to a safer spot at the back of the fighting battalion.
From a dark, almost hidden alley nearby, Baron Artima appeared with several soldiers… and Petir Blacktree.
Emery, hunched over in agony, could not help but smile with relief as his son ran up to him, embracing him firmly.
“Are you alright, father?” Petir said with concern, his face speckled with drops of dried blood.
“I will be fine. I’m just glad you are safe. I feared that… that…”
Petir nodded while rubbing his hands together awkwardly. His sword was dented and bloodied and his armour looked as though he had rolled in a firepit.
Emery looked to the Old Bear who bore an indescribable expression. The baron’s son, Simen, was nowhere in sight. “Where is your boy, Artima?”
It took him a moment to compose himself, almost fighting back tears. “He… Simen is-”
Emery gulped. Yelin felt a knot tie in his stomach.
“He’s dead, father… he died trying to save me,” Petir said. “The boy found me, but we were ambushed. We…”
Petir shook his head, not knowing what to say. Artima displayed no shock, no grief, no sadness. Only a blank stare off into the distance, unable to find words.
“I could not fight well, with my arm and all,” Petir explained solemnly. “Simen defended me until they cut him down.”
“Artima… I’m so sorry,” Emery said, patting the baron on his armoured shoulder. He couldn’t find the words.
Yelin could see that Emery felt some blame for his death. After all, he had been the one who commanded him to find Petir.
“He died following orders,” Artima said, meeting Emery’s eyes and standing straight with his shoulders back as if acknowledging that the time to grief was not then and there.
Emery nodded with a proud smile, trying to help console the boulder of a man. “Let us ensure he did not die in vain,” Emery said.
“Let’s finish these bastards off,” Artima said sharply, drawing his bloodied sword from the scabbard.
“The king cannot fight anymore,” Yelin interjected. “He is injured. And the prince is still healing from his wound.”
“Nonsense, it’s nothing more than a broken bone,” Emery said with a waving gesture.
“My king, your arm is near snapped in two,” Yelin corrected. “You will be a liability more than a asset out there.”
“I will be fine. I can still fight-”
“With all due respect, my king,” Baron Artima butted in, “your man is right. You cannot fight with that arm, nor can your son. Let me lead the army.”<
br />
Yelin looked to the baron, then back at the king, trying to determine what each was thinking in the moment. Petir said nothing, as if accepting that he could no longer fight despite the skills he once had. It was the most defeated expression Yelin had ever seen on the usually proud prince.
Yelin and Emery looked back at their men still brawling in the streets. The Seynards had been squashed into a narrower section of town with Blacktrees all around, yet they continued to put up a good fight.
Men were still being cut down on both sides.
It was then the earth began to rumble once more. Yelin looked to the frightened king as he spun around, trying to find the source of the shaking this time.
No more rocks were falling from the sky. What was causing it?
“What is it this time?” Emery barked.
The men in the battle stopped their fighting, gazing around at the strange, deep tremors, like the ground itself was breathing and groaning.
All fell silent as the battle seized in an instant. Soldiers who had just been slicing and stabbing at each other stopped to try and discover the source of the unnatural noise.
The flames burning through the town crackled and popped. Bricks crumbled and toppled from half-standing walls.
There came a sudden, monstrous shriek from behind. Yelin and the others around him swirled around, swords drawn, to where the noise had come from.
An enormous crater in the middle of the road, created by one of the flaming stars that had fallen from above. Yelin was sure the strange noise came from there.
Other inhuman shrieks echoed through Tellersted. Soldiers backed up in fear, turning their heads to try and source the noises, but it was as if it was all around them.
Yelin gritted his teeth, his eyes open wide. He tried to control his breathing steadily, but something about those noises made the hairs on his neck stand.
The rock in the centre of the ash-covered crater began to shatter and crumble before them. Red mist hissed from the cracks in its shell.
A hideous, guttural noise emanated from the rock.
Yelin took a step back, placing his hand against the king’s shoulder to pull him away as well.
“What… what is that?” Petir gasped.
The rock glowed a visceral red through its cracks. A thick, black substance dripped down to the broken cobblestone road, oozing like blood.
The stench hit Yelin like the cloud around a week-old corpse, causing him to wince and heave. It reeked of rotting meat and foul smoke.
Then, Yelin saw something he could not even begin to understand.
Long, spindly, ash-coloured appendages began to break through the cracks of the rock that sat in the craters.
Yelin shouted for everyone to back up, terrified of what he was seeing.
The fingers, long like a man’s arm, had dagger-like black nails. They slowly broke through the crust of the rock. First a few, and then more.
Yelin look to his side where he heard a shift in the rubble of a collapsed house. Another huge rock had smashed through the roof and floor of the two-storey dwelling, resting in a crater of debris half-buried in the ground.
That rock too was cracked and glowing red, with the ghastly fingers beginning to break through like a bird pecking its way out of an egg.
“We need to get out of here,” Yelin muttered in a fear-induced trance. He shook it off, blinked a few times and grabbed the king by the shoulders. “We have to get our men out of Tellersted, at once.”
Emery was just as hypnotised by the horror they were witnessing. He heard Yelin’s words and half-nodded, at a complete loss of words.
“This is not natural!” Petir said, beginning to panic. “This is not good!”
The Ashen men in the streets of Tellersted began to move away from the many craters spread throughout town as the rocks shifted and split apart.
Even the Caldaean men had been rattled enough to begin a retreat.
No horns blew, no orders shouted. In a silent yet mutual agreement, the fighting had seized, and every single soldier knew it was time to leave town. No good was about to come to them, and after all they had witnessed, no man wanted to experience what was to come.
“My king!” Yelin repeated, shaking Emery by the shoulders. Most of the Blacktree soldiers began a jog towards the east, filing into the main street and heading back the way they had entered town. The jog quickened as more and more men felt their fears swelling up. “Issue an official retreat! We still have men holding their positions.”
Emery looked to be in shock. His face was pale, and his eyes were glazed over as he stared at the enormous rock which began to break apart even further. Soon, the bony fingers were out from the rocky shell, giving way to charcoal-coloured, elongated hands.
The soldiers around them retreated from the battlefield in a rush, avoiding the strange rocks. They left a sea of dead and injured behind, but no man had the courage to even consider helping them.
“Why are we running?!” Baron Artima called out to his men. “Get back in there and fight!”
“Ser, the battle is over,” Yelin said. “Whatever is happening here is not good.”
Artima scrunched his face up, shaking his head. “Cowards! All of you!”
Emery broke his panicked trance, looking to the baron. “We must live to fight another day,” Emery said. “Ser Yelin is right. It is far too dangerous for us to remain here.”
The glowing rocks continued to hiss and shriek. Black ooze dripped from the cracks as more and more sickening appendages steadily broke free from their entrapment.
“Let me kill them! Let me avenge my son,” Artima shouted. He approached the king aggressively with a clenched jaw and sword drawn.
Yelin placed himself between Artima and the king, to which Artima stopped in his tracks. His expression turned to one of grief.
“Please, my king.”
“I’m sorry… We must retreat.”
The entire Ashen force was on the move as the official retreat was issued. Baron Artima stood silent for a moment, glaring at the fleeing Caldaeans still within sight across town. By this point, even Sen Dorval was retreating with his remaining men back towards Teller’s Square and the Citadel.
Their pace quickened upon hearing those guttural screams yet again. Whole limbs, bony and misshapen, were spilling out of the rocks, some a ghostly ash colour while others had textured skins like marble only a rich red and deep black.
Yelin could not deny that he was relieved to be fleeing. Whatever the things were crawling from the rocks, they were huge. There was nothing natural about them. The noises they made alone forced him to cover his ears and cringe.
No man wanted to fight whatever they were.
The Ashen army exited Tellersted, leaving the remains of the once beautiful town burning and crumbling. Hundreds of the fallen rocks shifted, crumbled, and opened.
The black smoke and roaring flames from the blazing crops and pastures around the town gave the retreating army some cover and before long, Tellersted was out of sight.
Screams of fear, calls for help, shrieks of horror, emanated in the distance. Then, monstrous howls and cackles, like fiendish gremlins.
No soldier, nor King Emery, Prince Petir, Baron Artima, or Ser Yelin, broke their pace to, for one second, even consider going back.
The field of fire roared around them as they made their escape.
Chapter 40 - Midnight
Tomas and Lynn Jhono desperately hammered their fists against the hardwood door to their cell as the ground beneath them and the stone walls enclosing them vibrated and shook. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling as the cracks in the stone began to spread.
We’re going to be buried alive, Tomas realised. He banged against the door even harder, feeling his heart accelerate and his breathing tighten in fear that the cell would crumble around them at any moment.
“Help us!” Lynn shouted.
“Landry! Let us out!” Tomas called.
Their voices echoed i
n the dungeon beneath the Grand Repository as the ground continued to rumble like a summer storm.
Still there came no response from outside. Tomas was unsure if the rest of the company would even be able to hear them from the ground floor of the Repository above.
Surely, they felt the tremors too.
Footsteps emanated from down the hall. Tomas backed away from the door, petrified of what was coming.
Then came the relieving sound of metal in the lock as the door swung open from the outside. It was Landry, key in hand. Tomas smiled with relief and grabbed the squire in a quick embrace before pulling he and Lynn out of the doorway.
“We need to get out. This whole place feels like it’s going to collapse,” Tomas said, catching his breath.
Landry did not even question Tomas, joining the two prisoners as they ran through the dungeon’s dark main corridor, back to the stairs which led to ground level of the Repository.
The stone walls cracked like shattered glass, but still refused to give way and collapse. Not yet.
They ascended from the decrepit basement, relieved to see the pale moonlight once more shining through the grand, glass, domed ceiling hundreds of feet above their heads.
Finally, Tomas felt he could breathe again. However, it was not long-lasting.
The long, sturdy rows of bookshelves around them shook. Dust filled the air and furniture toppled as the ground seemed to shift.
“What’s happening?” Tomas said to Landry, his wrists still shackled together.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I was searching the library. Found a weird old book, and as soon as I grabbed it the whole place started shaking. I heard your screams, so I came to help,” Landry replied in confusion, coughing as he tried covering his face with his shirt to stop breathing in the centuries-old dust.
“An old book?” Lynn asked, suddenly curious. “You said you found an old book?”
“Aye.”
“What was it called? Where is it now?”
“I don’t remember what it was. It’s over there with all our gear,” Landry said, pointing to a cluster of tables where the company had set their belongings.
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