Last Stand of the Blood Land

by Andrew Carpenter

  The Griffins chowed down on all of the meat the Cherubim had to offer before beginning their second flight. Ignatius hated to risk exhausting his only rideable Griffins, but he knew the only path to victory at Fort Hope was to take whatever risk was necessary to hold the position until Taragon and the snows arrived. Fed and loaded with another cargo of warriors, the pride of griffins took off from the unknown clearing high on the mountain side to make the journey to the hell that was unfolding on the other side of the peaks.

  The Riders made three more trips that night, ferrying all seventy Cherubim to the fort. On the final trip, Ignatius could feel Kaizen sagging. Even the alpha griffin couldn’t make so many trips up and over the mountains with so much weight without growing weary. With the last of the Cherubim free falling through the moonless night towards the flaming wall below, Ignatius pulled on the kudzu reigns to guide his steed down towards the battle. He had instructed Sage, Rondo and Onidas to land up the canyon, away from the fight, where they could safely water and rest the animals, but as he felt Kaizen straining against his commands, longing to attack the prey he could see below, the Cherub felt the blood born rage of his ancestors calling him to battle.

  Kaizen knew this warpath better than any creature that had ever lived, even the Angels, and Ignatius trusted the beast to know his own limits. He leaned low in the saddle and felt his adrenaline pushing away the cold that had frozen his muscles. He reached down, pulling Donus’ spear from its scabbard where it rested at his side. With the wind rushing past, he looked up and suggested a target so that they wouldn’t hit one of their own. There. The thought crossed his mind, coming out of his legs and subconsciously guiding Kaizen towards a hulking Yeti where he had reached the top of the wall.

  They were flying faster than Ignatius had ever ridden, coming at the Yeti from the east where the warrior thought he was safe. Ignatius had time to reach down with the spear, dragging its curved hook through the fleshy neck of a second Yeti who was tossing men up onto battlements like they were sacks of flour. The hook ripped free, jarring his entire body, just as he was slammed into Kaizen’s back by the force of the impact. The enormous Yeti, who had been holding four Cherubim warriors at bay, so his comrades could gain a foothold on the wall, was pierced through and lifted from the wall. The hard-pressed Blood Born looked up in amazement as Ignatius, Kaizen, and the Yeti streaked over them in the darkness.

  After a hundred yards, the weight of the Yeti overcame the griffin’s momentum and they smashed down amongst the burning wreckage of the fort’s now crumbled buildings. Ignatius was dazed by his own strike on the other Yeti, as well as Kaizen’s blow against this Yeti and their landing. He slid from the saddle, grateful for the warmth of the burning buildings, and hit the blood-soaked mud with one knee down. He rested there, his wings spread wide, with one hand still holding Donus spear. Above him, the griffin gave a primal screech.

  “KRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

  Ignatius rose, looking down at the twitching body of the Yeti where it lay pinned beneath his friend. Sensing a weight on his spear, he looked up, stunned to see the head of a second Yeti where it had caught on the hook of the spear. The blood trickled down onto his head, streaking down his war paint as well as the feathers in his hair, and he felt the fire light dancing across his face.

  Looking out, he saw the terrified looks of a dozen of Fritigern’s young warriors where they were taking shelter among the ruined wall. They had been preparing to reinforce Albedo’s warriors, to charge down into the maw, but now he could see fear in their eyes as they looked upon an ally so startlingly fierce that their young hearts paused, frozen. The growl that was building in his heart died in his throat at the sight of their weary, terrified, bleeding faces. He spotted a Cherub youth he recognized, Timna, and the fear in her eyes was directed at him. I am as frightening to her as the South.

  Then she was there, darting among the wreckage, running towards him. Sage, her kestrel flying above, her kusarigama in hand, had a look of anger and horror on her face at the sight of him. The image of her pointed ears and her freckled face added emotions to the warrior’s rage that Ignatius felt, emotions he knew would make him unwilling to do what was necessary. Reaching up, she took Kaizen’s bridal and with a concerned look, motioned for him to follow. For a moment, he resisted, unable to think clearly as he looked from the wild eyes of the young defenders to her green gaze and up to Kaizen’s harsh yellow glare.

  Then a blast of heat nearly knocked him to the ground as a missile exploded in the fort, sending flaming shrapnel onto Kaizen and burning his shoulder. The shock jolted him to action and he ran with his steed and Sage up the canyon, past beleaguered Centaurs and Giants waiting for the next wave of attackers, past Albedo’s implacable Blood Born whose hot breath steamed in the cold air. Eventually, the sights and sounds of war receded. The canyon walls enveloped them in darkness, in silence. They walked for a moment, shivering now in the winter air, and she grabbed his hand.

  “It’s ok,” said the Nymph.

  Ignatius looked at her in shock, confused by her words.

  “We did what we set out to do. The Cherubim can hold that wall. Now we must tend to our animals and prepare for the next mission.”

  He remembered a desperate battle, north of the wall. He remembered running for his life as the Centaurs closed, leaving Parfey behind.

  “I must go to them.”

  They reached a large cave that sat next to the stream and he could see Katana, Paladin and Neap in the light of Onidas’ fire.

  “That was foolish, risking a Griffin like that. Now we must rest them, protect them, they are the future of the North.”

  He stopped, pulling his hand free from hers. “Timna is the future of the North, and she is back there.” He pointed back up the canyon.

  “Timna?” she asked.

  “Onidas,” he said to the archery master where he was caring for their steeds. “Can you fight?”

  The Dwarf nodded, his black eyes glinting in the fire light. Rondo nodded as well, his tomahawks already in hand. Kaizen joined the other griffins, sharing the body of the Yeti. Together, the animals began to feed, ripping limbs and organs apart, feasting on the body of the furry warrior. Sage looked away, grimacing.

  “We had planned to meet here, you exposed yourself, and now you want to leave me behind?” said the Nymph angrily.

  Ignatius mind raced. How can I tell her that I don’t want her to see me for what I am, that I don’t want to have to fight and worry that she is unsafe? He said nothing, watching the violence of their steeds, and wondering if it was wrong to let them eat an enemy.

  Snow began to fall, soft and silent, and a chill wind circled around them. He breathed, wishing for the calm peace he had felt at the lake, wishing that he could keep Sage away from the warrior inside. He breathed in, out, watching the snow settle in a perfect circle outside the reach of the fire’s warmth. Finally, he spoke.

  “I wish there was no war. I wish the youth of the North were not down there, bleeding and dying.”

  Onidas nodded his agreement as he strung his bow. “You may as well wish there was no winter,” said the Dwarf.

  “If there was no winter, there would be no kudzu,” said Sage, pulling the chain of her weapon taunt in frustration. The muscles in her arms and shoulders stood out from her sleeveless jerkin where the bearskin robe exposed them over the fire, the kusarigama glinting in the light.

  Ignatius struggled to make a decision, standing in the cold, worrying about the battle they could be fighting and worrying about the exhausted griffins.

  “What do you mean, no kudzu?” he asked absentmindedly.

  Sage looked at him and he tried to wipe the now frozen Yeti blood where it ran like frozen tears down his scarred face. He knew she was seeing the violence that the young warriors had seen, was seeing the monster that he carried and could not, must not, lose.

  “Without the winter, we could not keep the koona in control. Without the koona, there would be no kudzu.�
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  Ignatius thought for a moment, happy to be distracted from his current thoughts. No winter, no koona. He remembered the voracious hunger of the koona he had cared for in the west while he tamed the griffins. He could picture Calma at the castle, the cages they used to contain the glowing little beetles. With the onset of winter, the koona that had not made their way into a kudzu pod had indeed began to wither and die.

  “If there was no winter, the koona would destroy the forest?”

  “They are like the South,” she said, an exasperated look on her face. “They would destroy everything. It has happened before, only the winter saved us from them.”

  Ignatius thought for a moment, his mind trying to tell him something, something about the koona, the South, some memory, but his exhausted body could not remember. With a sigh, he gave in.

  “She is right.”

  The Dwarf and Cherub frowned, and the Ignatius knew that all of the Riders wanted nothing more than to be with their comrades in battle. It was what Onidas had lived for, what Rondo was born for, but Sage was the only one who could see the bigger picture.

  “We are Riders now, and we must be like Pathmakers. Sage will stay with the Griffins and we will go to find Fritigern and Albedo, but we cannot risk Riders in these battles.” At this, Sage shook her head and Ignatius repeated, “Onidas will stay with the Griffins and while we go to find Fritigern and Albedo.” At this Sage nodded and Onidas laughed, his dark skin crinkling around his darker eyes.

  Together Sage, Ignatius, and Rondo made their way back down the canyon. As they walked, the Cherub could sense the wisdom in his mate, the way it tempered his rage. Perhaps it is for the best that she knows me completely. When the ruined fort came back into view, there was an eerie quiet. They walked, listening to the crackling fires, and they noticed the conspicuous absence of shouts, of screams. Moving down through the fort, they could see Albedo’s Blood Born hanging from the cliffs above the wall, keeping watch while their comrades dragged their casualties from the battlements.

  The few remaining defenders gathered solemnly as the dead and dying were laid in a short line amongst the glowing remnants of the bombardment. Fritigern stepped towards the approaching Riders. Ignatius could see the master commander was exhausted beyond all reason, his faced burned, a horrific gash on one shoulder causing his left arm to hang loosely at his side.

  “Is it worth it?” whispered the Dwarf in his thick accent.

  Ignatius embraced his brother in arms, whispering in his ear, “For freedom, for this land.”

  “They,” said the Dwarf so they could see the bodies, “are the blood of this land, the blood that pays for our freedom.”

  Ignatius looked to the bodies and recognized Timna there among the Cherubim, Nymphs, Giants, and Centaurs that had been killed fending off yet another wave of Southlanders. Ignatius was overcome, remembering how he had escorted this tiny member of his tribe, escorted her down from her home among the Angels and the Nymphs to be with her people at the lake. Looking at her wings folded over her little arms, the sword that had been placed in her hand, he wept. Her third way to peace and freedom.

  Fritigern was out of tears and offered the only condolences he could. “She did her tribe proud, she was a warrior, and she fought well.” He continued, speaking a few words in his own tongue before going silent.

  His words brought a thick wrenching pain to Ignatius chest, a pain he had never felt in any of the battles he had fought alone, and he stood, snow falling around him, hunched and hurting as the tears fell down onto his fur vest. After a time, she was there, her arms reaching up under his arms from behind and pressing into his chest. If I had been here. The thought welled up, the rage directing at Sage as she tried to comfort him. She does not understand, she would not let us come.

  Some part of him knew the thoughts were senseless, and he channeled his pain over the dead warriors and his anger at Sage into a slow fire of rage at the South. They must all die. It wasn’t a thought of rage, of instinct. He knew in that moment why Donus had killed Alexander. He hadn’t snapped into rage, he had broken into calm resolve. He knew the calm murder that was growing in his heart would be more terrifying to Sage than the dichotomy of the violent yet tear-filled warrior he had been that night. So, pulling away from her, he walked towards Albedo with Fritigern following.

  The two Cherubim grasped arms, and Albedo nodded, leading the way up the battlements. “They wouldn’t have held if we didn’t arrive when we did.”

  Looking out at the retreating soldiers, Ignatius could see them dragging away hundreds of bodies. It was the carnage of the Blood Born. They had cut them to pieces on the battlements.

  “It is not enough,” said Fritigern.

  They looked out towards the enemy camp where thousands of fires were burning faintly through the storm as the snow increased in intensity.

  “You held till the snows,” said Ignatius approvingly. “Now they will suffer.”

  As they looked on a young Cherub approached carrying a bucket of water. She threw it out into the air over the battlements, and Fritigern looked at her in exhausted exasperation.

  “Maraki, what are you doing?”

  Maraki looked up at the commander, her spotted wings were wrapped around her in protection against the cold. Ignatius could see they were matted in blood.

  She looked at the Dwarf master blankly for a moment, her own exhaustion obvious. Finally, she looked down and muttered, “Ice.”

  Fritigern looked from the Cherub to the dark, body covered slope that ran up to the wall. “Ice?”

  Sage stepped forward, shaking her head. “Ice you fools, ice!” She laughed, reaching down to hug Maraki. “If they keep coming like this, even these Cherubim won’t hold them. But they can’t come if the way is ice.”

  Ignatius, Albedo, and Fritigern all realized what the little winged warrior was trying to do at once, and each in turn said, “Ice,” repeating the word louder and louder until they broke into hysterical laugher.

  Maraki and Sage shook their heads at the slow-witted males before leaving together to fetch more buckets of water. Joined by the Blood Born and a few dozen of the surviving warriors, they poured bucked after bucket down the battlements and onto the steep cutbacks that made the approach to the fort. They worked through the snow, churning a path as inch after inch piled up across the fort. They paused to warm themselves by the burning remnants of the buildings, fighting away frostbite and hypothermia as they became wet from sweat and the sloshing water in the swirling blizzard.

  Sometime near dawn, Ignatius paused to warm himself and watch the bucket brigade that carried gallon after gallon from the ruined aqueducts up onto the crumbling battlements. He could see Sage there, working tirelessly, and he knew she was as perfect a mate as he would ever find. If only I can hide what I have become, what I am.

  With the sun cresting, Fritigern called an end to their labors and the exhausted defenders sat together eating kudzu pods and watching the sun rise orange and purple through the last remaining flakes of the storm. Below, they could see the fruits of their labors. A thick sheet of ice stretched down away from the wall all the way to the base of the steep incline where it met the plains. In the cold, stormy night it had frozen solid, creating an impassible barrier that none of the Southlanders could hope to climb. A wall of water. With his leg pressed against Sage, Ignatius looked out at the snow-covered tents in the enemy camp and smiled.

  He thought of the bravery and creativity that had saved the fort and he felt pride for his people and the North. Pride not just for their strength as warriors, but for their ability to fight as one united tribe of different races. Sage was shivering, and he looked at her then nodded, watching as Fritigern led the defenders away towards the tunnels and shelters further up the canyon where they could get warm and rest after fighting and working through the night. The Nymph waited with him while he took one last look at the wall of ice. The bodies of Southland soldiers could be seen in various horrific death poses through
the clear sheen of ice and Ignatius felt vengeful joy at their fate.

  The Cherub looked out towards the camp where soldiers were trying to clear paths and tents from under nearly a foot of snow. Already they were beginning to haul new projectiles towards the catapults and trebuchets, and horsemen could be seen hauling lumber from the forest to continue their building efforts. He knew the Plainswatchers, along with Taragon, would be in the forests preparing to attack the Men where they gathered wood for their fires and buildings. He sniffed the air, smelling the humidity, and felt the cold air blowing down out of the mountains. He felt Sage pull him back from their exposed perch towards a meal and some rest so they could plot their next move. He resisted her for a moment, watching the dark snow clouds roll off to the east.

  “What is it?” she asked, her eyes on the waving feathers in his long hair.

  “Another storm,” he said, turning to look at her just as Archeo alighted on her shoulder.

  “It will bury them,” she said, her characteristic, playful smile returning.

  “We will bury them.” He said it calmly, smiling back at her. He hefted his spear, a plan forming in his mind as he looked at her blow gun and out to a single tent in the camp that was larger than all the rest. His smiling face calmed her, but he knew that the sense of peace he felt about the bloody mission he was planning would have scared her if she knew.

  They walked together back through the fort and, when they reached Albedo’s forces where they were building a temporary shelter out of the wreckage, Ignatius suddenly pulled the Nymph in close. She looked up at him expectantly, and he could see each one of her freckles. He moved his hands into her bearskin robe, sliding them in behind her jerkin and up onto the small of her back. She shivered at the touch of his cold, calloused hands, but leaned into him so that her thick fur robe enveloped them, and he breathed her in, growling slightly, before his chapped lips met hers. As they kissed he marveled that her lips were so soft, so full, and he was amazed at the contrast her lithe, supple frame made with his lean, hard body.