Gymir and his fellows had conferred with the High Fathers of the order, those with power beyond that of body, those endowed with power of mind and of foreknowledge. And those great and wise men had spoken in trembling voices of armies in the tens of thousands, even ten, ten thousand. Armies without concepts such as peace, negotiation or mercy.
‘There will be only cruelty and death.’ Gymir spoke softly. Then he grasped the Lord Audemar roughly by his shoulders and in a loud voice said, ‘There will be only cruelty and death for all! Every man, woman and child, in all the lands at our backs! That is what we fight for!’
‘We shall break them! For our people! For He who is Greatest of them all! And for our brothers!’ Audemar roared to the cheers of warriors. Men struck shields with swords, a thunder of defiance.
Gymir leaned close into Audemar and whispered in his ear, ‘If the fortresses fall, then so will the north. Take who you can and flee to the south. Hold the mountain pass and the race of Man may endure.’
Gymir gave no chance for Audemar to respond. He left the battlements and descended the spiral stairway. Joined by his fellow brothers, he left the fortress he had known as home for his many years and ran to join the line.
Audemar watched him leave, then turned to the army of Darkness that stood before him. ‘So, the time of peace is over.’ He spoke quietly and to himself. ‘And now begins the time of war.’
Chapter Thirty-five
From Beneath
Cameos stood on a raised dais before the assembled might of the Elven race. Nearly two thousand warriors stood, naked steel in their hands, and determination etched into every aspect of their features. In the great cavern they waited, beneath the very heart of the kingdom of men. The contraptions that would release the soil from above were ready and once the devices were sprung the platforms would collapse bringing thousands of tons of soil and rock down and creating the vast defensive trench that would mark the boundary of Elven land.
He looked up to the ceiling and marvelled at the good fortune or fate. The great cavern had been a lake once, deep within the earth, and trickles of water still ran in tiny streams that were once tiny subterranean rivers. Tiny shafts of light could be seen in the cavern roof, vertical tunnels that had once drawn water through wells from the lake.
The scaffold the Elves had built for the purpose of extracting the earth and building the platform that held the roof from collapsing prematurely, had been removed and converted into ladders they would use to ascend the great trench and come out of the ground to slay their enemies like the dead risen to turn sweet dreams and comfort into nightmares and slaughter.
Cameos turned to the warrior host who stood ready before him. He studied them for a long whilst, his mind turning back to a time that seemed ages past but was in fact not quite two years. A time when smiles and merry eyes adorned his subject’s faces. Now scars and anger made those same people seem almost alien.
Fathers stood with sons and daughters, children, not yet thirty years in age, children armed and ready to march to war. Likewise, mothers stood with their own parents. Entire family groups were ready to take back their heritage. Here was the full strength of his people. Less than one hundred of the Elven race would stay behind to await the news of victory.
It would be this day, Cameos thought, that would be the last for many. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind and finally he spoke.
‘This day …’ he faltered; his mind raced back to the day when he had first heard the Mother call to him in his sleepless dreams. He found resolve in the warmth of the memory of her voice calling his name. ‘… Is the day we march to take back what is ours!’ His voice was loud now and full of passion. ‘We have lost brothers and sisters in the dark days of late, but not without purpose shall their deaths be! Our children’s children shall have the home and the gifts the Mother intended for her chosen people!’
The gathered warriors had nothing but hatred burning within them. They shook their weapons and roared their battle cry. Since the murder of Thakern, and the realisation that Joleata had been the perpetrator of that murder and the slaughter of the unarmed and defenceless Stephine, the Elves hearts had turned to one purpose, to leave this accursed place and by steel and fury they would take back their rightful home.
Cameos let the clamour continue and his gaze fell upon Releaka. She stood in a far corner; her face expressionless, her eyes fixed upon Cameos with a burning intensity. Her words from the previous night came to him, and he suppressed a tremor at the memory of her cold and calculated words. ‘If you slaughter the women and children you will pay dearly, Cameos, my son’s father’, she had said to him in the quiet of their chambers.
He had dismissed her at first, not understanding her words or her tone. ‘Be damned with mercy, I shall destroy all in my path and pay nothing, only reap the lands they have stolen’, he had said, his words as sharp as the steel he wore at his belt.
‘You know nothing of the cost’, she had replied. A look of determination had set her face in a harsh look. ‘For I shall not live in a land drenched in the blood of those who committed no crime nor wielded weapons against our kind.’ He had looked at her then, hearing her demand, and his tone grew soft.
‘We must be ruthless, my love, for they are many and we are not’, he had said, reaching out a hand and gently brushing the hair from her face.
‘I wish to hear of your victory. I wish to hear our people’s young go to their new home. I long deeply to leave this place that has become a grave. But if I hear of slaughter of young or the killing of those without need, I shall take a dagger to my heart and stay beneath the ground evermore.’
Cameos, chieftain of the Elven race, snapped out of his troubling memories. ‘But we shall not start our new life on bloodletting alone.’ The noise had died down to nothing now. Weapons were held low once more. ‘Those of the race of Man who do not raise their weapons in anger against us will not die beneath our blades.’ A look of confusion passed amongst the crowd; these words were contrary to those Cameos had preached with passion previously.
‘There will be punishment for those who kill the young or the defenceless. I, Cameos, chieftain, decree this to be law.’ Releaka nodded once, almost imperceptibly, from the shadows. The army before Cameos murmured their shock at the bold decree.
‘How do we take back the land if we allow those who have it to live?’ an unknown voice called out from the crowd.
‘We are warriors!’ Cameos called back, in a voice loud and authoritative, silencing the voices once more. ‘We are warriors,’ he said once more with less anger, ‘warriors of honour. I shall not let the memory of those great and honourable warriors, such as Malik and Thakern, who schooled you all in the ways of the warrior, be spoilt by the tainting of our skills. Let only those worthy of our might be slaughtered by our blades, the rest shall be cast from our land as we once were, to find whatever home they can.’
Cameos left the dais, the crowd parting before him, Talako to his right, Tatanka to his left. He made his way through the assembled warriors of the Elven race. They raised their weapons and chanted his name. He stopped before the great rope, the bloodlust of his brethren raised beyond measure. He drew his sword from over his shoulder and silence descended; the steel scraped from the dried animal hide of its scabbard loud in the silence as the warriors awaited. Sword held high, he roared, ‘To war!’ and he severed the great rope with one slice of his sword.
The reaction was slow at first. The rope sprang into the air as the giant boulder it held plummeted to the ground. Then another fell, and another, until the distant crashes of boulders falling to the ground could be heard steadily, like the sound of a drum as tremendous weights fell throughout the entire eight-mile stretch of trench.
The anticipation was heavy in the air and time seemed suspended; planks of timber flew from their position. Other timbers split and snapped under the enormous weight as the trench’s support structure disintegrated.
Then the ground shook. The
earth quaked. All were thrown to the ground. A storm of soil exploded outward as the roof of the trench came tumbling down. A wave of moist soil washed over the Elves, and they covered themselves and prayed to the Mother for protection.
Then it was quiet. And the Elves sprang from the soil like blades of grass. Cameos raised his head and saw the night sky above them. ‘Ladders!’ he called out. And immediately Elven warriors ran forth in groups, carrying the ladders. Each group was eight strong, carrying the fifty paces long ladders that three Elves could climb abreast. They footed four ladders on the mounds of fresh earth. The ladder tops braced against the gaping chasm that turned the very centre of the kingdom of Man into an island, an island that was about to be invaded.
Cameos mounted the ladder first, flanked by Talako and Tatanka. He turned to look at the host that waited eagerly behind him, their flesh covered in the soil from out of which they would burst, their swords dazzlingly bright in the dullness of the soil.
‘For our children’s children!’ he bellowed and scampered up the ladder to bring death to the betrayers above.
Chapter Thirty-six
Dark Wont
The king sat upon his throne, his mind attuned to dark thoughts, his cruel desire demanding satisfaction. ‘I shall have her.’ He mumbled to himself, unaware. ‘I shall strip her and take her, yes! And why not? Am I not her king? Her body is mine to do with as I please, and what wonderful things I shall do.’
The shadows lay heavy on the king as he muttered his dark thoughts. Candles flickered as the shadows danced to the soundless tune of the darkness.
There were prisoners in the castle dungeons. There was always a surplus of the doomed in the place where no sunshine ever cast its light. And maybe he would sate his thirst upon the screams of the manacled, but they were becoming a bore. He wanted her. The bright flower of a girl that had haunted his thoughts since that far off day. Oh, how I want to spoil that flower, he thought to himself, with an evil leer ever-present on his grey fleshed face.
Why wait! he thought suddenly and sat bolt upright with the thought. He was planning to dispose of the treacherous nephew as soon as he had word of the decimation of the vermin who named themselves Elven. So, why not take the girl now? She would certainly amuse him whilst he waited for the promised treasure to be delivered.
‘The fat priest!’ He called out to the empty throne room; his hands clenched tight upon the armrests of his throne.
A servant ran and bowed before him, fearing he had been summoned. The king snapped out of his dark brooding, a plot formulating in his cantankerous mind.
‘My king’, the servant stammered; it was not wise to be near the king when his dark moods took him.
The king looked down upon his servant. ‘Summon the swordmaster to attend me at once, boy. And have Baron Oswald join me once Malick departs.’ The servant bowed his head and ran, feeling grateful to be leaving.
A few minutes later, Swordmaster Malick entered the throne room and bowed low before his king. ‘My king. What service can I offer this day?’
The king said nothing for a whilst, his eyes darted here and there, his mouth twitched, suddenly he looked up and noticed Malick waiting patiently.
‘Ah, there you are, Swordmaster.’ He looked long and hard at Malick without speaking, then suddenly stood up and beckoned the swordmaster to stoop, bringing his eyes level with the king’s own eyes. He stared into the warrior’s eyes, as if searching for something deep within his soul.
‘I have a task for you.’ The king said finally. ‘A dark and wonderful task. Are you willing?’
Malick’s face turned to a tortured smile, a parody of humour. ‘It is my pleasure to serve my king.’ Malick’s’ face had no humour in it, yet he smiled wide and menacingly.
Holak stood outside Elysabeth’s door. His great size had been diminished since his rebuking and his punishment of fasting. He had taken to heart his queen’s words and put himself through a rigorous dieting. He had lost his huge, rounded stomach and gone was the layer of fat, but he had kept all his muscle and now looked a force to be reckoned with.
He had kept this watch now for nearly ten hours whilst Askia stood watch just the other side of the door. Wilhelm and Zachary were at rest and Elysabeth herself sat within the rooms taking lessons with Father Robert.
Holak turned his head to the left as movement caught his attention. Baron Oswald walked towards him, followed by a ragged-looking boy and two of the king’s own guard.
‘Greetings, Holak’, Oswald called.
‘Baron’, Holak replied in an even tone. ‘What business do you have at the Lady Elysabeth’s door?’
‘What business!’ the baron roared, unable to contain his fury at being addressed so. ‘Since when does a nobleman answer such a question to the likes of you?’
‘I meant no offence, Lord.’ Holak bowed his head by way of trying to placate the man who outranked him.
Oswald snorted his derision at Holak and calmed his manner. He then placed a hand at the back of the boy, of only twelve summers, and shoved him forward. ‘This boy has a message for Father Robert.’
‘And he is in need of such a fine escort, in the king’s castle?’ Holak said, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
‘It is no secret the king receives all messengers that come to his gates. I was with the king at the time and was ordered to guide the boy.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘The king clearly thought the message was of importance and sent me to hasten the boy and use my rank to bring a short end to any situation like this.’
Holak looked the guardsmen up and down appraisingly, and his look of contempt was enough to show his disdain at the men before him. He banged loudly on the door and shouted, ‘Messenger for Red Rob.’
The door swung open and the figure of Father Robert stood within. ‘Speak your message and be quick about it, boy.’ Robert spoke harshly.
The messenger stuttered and was rewarded with a cuff round the head from Oswald, who appeared to look bored and eager to be about his business.
‘The Grandmaster, Father Ederwine, has been injured and they require your skills.’ The boy stammered out.
‘And who is, “they”?’ Robert asked sharply.
‘Some villagers, Father, they wait outside the keep.’ The boy shrugged as if such knowledge was beyond him.
Robert said nothing. He turned and promptly the door was firmly shut.
‘Your message is delivered’, Holak said gruffly to the boy before bowing stiffly to Oswald. ‘My Lord.’
Oswald looked angered at being dismissed by someone of Holak’s station, but his message was delivered and so he left.
Robert went and stood looking out the window of Elysabeth’s room, which faced in the direction of the temple, where Ederwine apparently lay stricken. Both Elysabeth and Askia had heard the message but left Robert to his thoughts for the moment.
He turned abruptly and looked at Elysabeth. ‘I have a dilemma, my dear, between my duty to you and that of my friend Ederwine.’
‘You must go to him’, Elysabeth said, her voice filled with compassion. ‘If it is in your power to aid him you must, that is your first duty.’
‘I fear a trap, my dear. The king’s guard have little love for the men who once served the order but now serve the prince.’ He nodded to Askia. ‘But whilst they have no care for your bodyguard, they would not dare attack a father of the order. They fear the king but not so much as they fear He who is Greatest.’
‘And yet it is your duty to go, if the king wishes to attack me in full and in the open then he shall do so regardless of whoever stands beside me I fear.’ Elysabeth spoke with authority, but Red Rob merely waved her words away and returned to staring out of the window.
Elysabeth turned to Askia. ‘I remember you and your brother speaking to Jacob. Words were spoken along the lines of, “there are a few men in the castle who would stand beside us if we called”. Or am I in error?’
‘No, my lady, those words were spoken, and there
are a few men within the castle that serve the order over the king. I shall ask to see them and ask for their allegiance if swords are drawn. By your leave, my lady?’
‘My leave is given. And summon Wilhelm and Zachary.’
Askia left promptly and disappeared down the left-hand corridor, whilst Elysabeth came and stood by Father Robert. She placed a hand upon the silent priest’s shoulder and neither one spoke as the minutes passed.
‘I sense that something has indeed struck poor Ederwine, but to abandon you now would be folly, my dear’, Robert said in a sombre tone.
‘And I sense that the time for my confrontation with the king is long overdue.’ She gently pushed back on his shoulder and he faced her with tears upon his cheek, but her eyes were like steel.
‘You have little power against men with swords, which is why I have need of a guard. You will be about your priestly business and my guard will be about theirs’, Elysabeth said firmly. ‘And you shall return to me in quick order, Father.’ Her tone was formal, and the priest of the Order of Light recognised the strength in it, and the strength in her.
Red Rob, priest of power, servant of He who is Greatest, turned from his lady and friend. ‘It is as you say, my lady. I shall return with haste.’ He opened the door and as he walked through, he said to Holak in a low and menacing voice. ‘I leave the lady in your charge. Kill any who seek her harm.’
Askia returned shortly, bringing with him Wilhelm and Zachary. Zachary relieved Holak from his post at the door and joined Askia and Zachary inside. All four were fully armoured and tensed for battle.
‘My lady’, Askia began. ‘I have spoken with a friend within the keep. He is young and not yet a brother of the order, but I served with his father and his mother’s father. He will gather those who would support our cause, but myself and Holak will need to meet with them to persuade them of our righteousness.’
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 40