The Eternal Darkness (The Jake Thomas Trilogy - Book 3)

by Steven A. Tolle

  Marcus was troubled when saw some of the other nobles nodding at that. He had been working the other nobles to counter Genela’s questions and demands, reaching out and speaking with them. He trusted Helgrant and wanted to impress that on the others.

  “We could, my lord,” Helgrant said respectfully. “Of course, if the enemy wishes to deny us that opportunity, it will be a long and bloody slog back to the city. If we are outmaneuvered once we are out of the hills, then only a shell of this army might make it back.”

  He paused, and then continued, “Consider this, my lord; while we are here, so is the enemy. While our losses are bothersome, they have not significantly degraded the fighting capabilities of the army. If the enemy comes against us, I believe that we have a chance for victory. So we are, in a way, keeping the citizens as safe as if we were sitting behind the city walls. Further, if the enemy has secured the Keep for themselves, we must be in a position to keep them bottled up in the mountains. If we gain reinforcements from our southern garrisons, then we can consider taking the initiative and launching an assault.”

  “I agree with Commander Helgrant’s assessment,” Marcus stated. “We will remain until the conditions change in our favor.” He looked at the nobles. “While we may disagree, I expect, no, demand, that everything said in this tent remain amongst us. You will keep your men motivated and focused. I will not tolerate anyone causing dissention in the ranks.”

  There was some muttering from the nobles, but Genela gave Marcus as stiff bow. “It will be as you say, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Marcus replied with a nod.

  Marcus settled back as Helgrant continued with his report. One thing still troubled him. Where are our reinforcements?

  …

  In the early afternoon, as the light of the sun streamed down from breaks in the clouds, brightening the day, Marcus stood with Daen and Nathen, observing the enemy line from the hilltop behind the rows of archers. He could see the wooden fortifications that had been built, barriers to slow and pin any attackers. He saw the enemy soldiers manning their lines, spears facing out. Behind the barricades, he saw demons moving about, still numbering in the hundreds. Just outside of their lines, enemy cavalry rode back and forth, a tempting target to try to draw out Marcus’ riders.

  Shaking his head, Marcus began to move towards the archers when distant horns sounded. He looked back across the open ground. To his surprise, he saw the enemy riders slip through their own barricades and disappear behind the hill. The demons also headed in that direction. More horns blew and the enemy soldiers began to pick up their weapons and retreat from the line.

  Gesturing to his friends, he ran towards the command tent. When he arrived, he saw Helgrant looking at the enemy lines as well, surrounded by his commanders. Helgrant noticed Marcus’ arrival. “Do you see that, my prince?” he asked.

  “Do you think that they are trying to lure us out?” Marcus inquired, watching the enemy lines empty.

  “I cannot say for sure. We need more information,” Helgrant stated. He looked over and saw Sergeant Werdan nearby. “Sergeant! Come here,” he called out.

  Werdan ran over and saluted. “Do you think you can make it over to the enemy line?” Helgrant asked. “I need to know what they are doing.”

  “I will try, Commander,” Werdan told him, saluting and running to his horse. He leapt into the saddle and rode out.

  Marcus watched, tension building like a knot in his stomach, as Werdan rode boldly across the open ground separating the two armies. He saw the scout reach the top of the opposing hill, drop off his horse, and slip between the barricades. The man disappeared behind the hill.

  For several anxious minutes, they waited. Suddenly, Werdan came running back over the hill, stooped over, with arrows flying past his head. He made it to his horse and raced back to the camp.

  As Werdan cleared the line and reached the tent, yanking his horse to a halt, Marcus saw an arrow shaft sticking out of his side. Marcus ran over to help the man out of his saddle. “Cleric!” he shouted as he had Werdan, grimacing from the pain, lie down.

  Helgrant knelt on the other side of Werdan. “What did you see, Sergeant?” he asked urgently.

  “Another army is approaching from the north,” Werdan said from between clenched teeth. “With the distance, I can’t be certain, but I believe it to be Beragan, fifteen to twenty thousand strong. The demon army is repositioning to meet it.”

  Brother Trence arrived, his form already shining with power. He nudged Helgrant out of the way and examined Werdan’s wound. When he was finished, Trence looked over at Marcus. “If you would, Highness, please hold down that arm.”

  Marcus gripped Werdan’s arm while Trence knelt on the other one. “This will hurt,” Trence told Werdan. He gripped the arrow and turned it slightly to line up the arrowhead as a low moan came from Werdan. Carefully, Trence pulled and removed the arrow, tossing it away, and grasped Werdan’s head. Marcus watched as the cleric’s power stopped the blood flow and the wound closed.

  “You can release him now,” Trence told Marcus. Marcus let the arm go and stood. Trence helped Werdan back to his feet.

  Once Marcus was on his feet, he saw Helgrant speaking urgently with his commanders. He went over and joined them.

  “I understand why the enemy abandoned their lines,” Helgrant said. “They had to withdraw enough forces to meet this new threat, but do not have enough forces left to adequately man their defenses against us. If I were that commander, I would attempt to defeat this new threat quickly while they have the numbers, and then turn to face us where they have room to maneuver. It is a risk, but the alternative would be to wait to be caught between two forces, always a tricky place to be.” The man suddenly smiled. “This may be the chance we have been waiting for, Highness.”

  “Go on,” Marcus said.

  “We should immediately attack,” Helgrant stated. “We can close the distance with the enemy before they can engage with the Beragan army, forcing them to turn and face us. Unless we have to chase them out onto the plains, we will retain the high ground and that will give our archers an advantage. If they don’t try to maneuver away from both of us, we should be able to trap and crush them between us or at least push them up towards the Keep.” He looked over at Trence. “The main unknown is how the demons will react. The clerics will have to see if their plan works to counter the demons if they mass up again.”

  “I agree, Commander,” Marcus stated, adjusting his shield. “Give the orders.”

  …

  An hour later, Marcus, with his friends close by, rode out of the camp, taking up positions behind the archers as they marched at a near run towards the abandoned enemy defenses. The knights, under Sir Alleon’s command, thundered ahead to clear any enemy that may have remained. The cavalry rode back and forth on the edges of the army, looking for any enemy scouts or outriders. The infantry rushed forward to seize the enemy hilltop.

  The army slowed as it navigated past the obstacles, and then stopped to reform ranks on the other side. Marcus halted his horse near the top of the hill and tightened his shield and armor. As he waited for Helgrant to give the order to advance, Marcus looked down towards the town. He immediately saw the enemy army moving past the town and gathering into tight formations, while the demons gathered into large groups. Horns sounded, and elements of the enemy forces turned to face them.

  Beyond that army, he saw a dark rectangular mass moving on the plains as the Beragan army slowly approached. That army seemed to be made up mostly of infantry moving in tight lines, their spears reflecting the sunlight, though there were several mounted elements that rode on its edges.

  Marcus estimated that between his army and that of the Beragans, they came close to equaling the number of the enemy. This would be a close run thing, regardless of their advantage of terrain.

  “Army, advance!” Helgrant cried.

  As the soldiers began to march, the knights split into two elements and joined the c
avalry riding on either side of the infantry. The archers followed the infantry, bows ready. The army moved down the slope, closing with the enemy.

  Helgrant called out again, “Archers, attack when in range!”

  As Helgrant had predicted, the enemy had committed the bulk of their forces to attack the Beragan army, while they deployed a blocking force to attempt to pin down his soldiers. Most of the demons stayed with the blocking force, their malevolent presence like a dark cloud.

  The distance closed between the armies and, with a sudden thrumming of thousands of bows, the battle began. Now within range, the archers stopped, loosing volleys at the enemy as the infantry continued to advance. The enemy soldiers crouched beneath their shields as the arrows rained down.

  The demons ran forward, like a large undulating mass of terror, sending their dark fire streaking towards the infantry. As they did so, the clerics, disguised as cavalry soldiers, rode forward, staying tightly together, their golden power colliding with the darkness, sending noise and light echoing throughout the hills. The demons were caught unprepared as the clerics raced past, their magic striking into the mass of bodies. Demons exploded into ash, creating chaos in their ranks while the clerics wheeled about for another run.

  “Archers, shift targets!”

  The archers quickly turned and unleashed an arrow storm on the demons. Marcus saw demons collapse under this assault. At the same time, the clerics attacked from a distance, staying under the flight of arrows. The demons tried to counter, but the twin attacks left them reeling.

  With a crash of steel and shouts, the infantry smashed into the front ranks of the enemy’s blocking force. There was a jumble of spears, swords and shields as the soldiers pushed forward, driving the enemy back. Men began to fall on both sides as the battle devolved into thousands of individual fights, everyone struggling to stay alive.

  With the sounding of horns, the knights charged forward, striking into the flanks of the enemy lines. The enemy line seemed to shudder, and then sections collapsed under the weight of the knights’ attack.

  So far, so good, Marcus thought as he observed the battle, with Daen and Nathen on either side of him, shields and swords ready. Helgrant and Trence’s plan seemed to be working. He shifted in this saddle, feeling the urge to ride forward and help. I hate just sitting here.

  Even as he thought that, with a loud cry, enemy riders burst from the nearby tree lines, slightly behind the rows of archers. Some broke off and rode forward, using their short bows to attack the mounted clerics, while others charged towards the archers, spears and swords ready.

  “On me!” Marcus cried to the other nobles on nearby horses as he drew his sword. He wheeled his charger and rode for the enemy riders. Daen and Nathen caught up with him, as the other nobles fell in behind. The ground rumbled under the hooves of their horses as they raced ahead. The enemy riders saw them and shifted their course to meet them.

  Men and horses screamed as the two elements came together in a collision of metal and flesh. Swords flashed and spears stabbed as they were swirled away into the chaos of combat.

  …

  His arms aching and lungs burning, Marcus swung his sword, slashing his opponent across the belly while blocking his overhand blow with his shield. The man cried out and collapsed, falling amongst the other dead and dying. Marcus grimaced from the pain of several cuts and bruised flesh as he shifted to meet his next adversary.

  Marcus was on foot, his horse lost when they had charged into the mass of their foes pursuing the outriders. He was now fighting in the midst of the chaos with the infantry soldiers, unclear on how the battle was going, only concerned with staying alive. Daen and Nathen were somewhere nearby, separated from sight by the push and pull of the fighting. They were slowly driving forward, but the enemy fought tenaciously.

  Behind their opponents, he saw an enemy banner appear. Ahead of that banner, a large man with a scarred face in leather armor strode forward, a large warhammer in his hands. Smiling, he swung it at Marcus’ troops as they tried to close with him, sending soldiers flying, wielding death. Using that hammer, the man cleared an area around himself, while yelling orders to his soldiers. He was obviously a commander of some sort.

  Feeling a sudden surge of strength and wild purpose, Marcus charged into the line of enemy soldiers, trying to break free and challenge this man. He knocked men back, swinging his sword with skill, but others closed in, slowing his progress. With a cry, his soldiers surged forward to protect him. Men fought all around him as he battled towards that banner.

  Before he could get clear of his foes, he saw Nathen burst out of the jumble of soldiers and move towards the enemy commander, shield and sword ready. The man laughed and stepped forward, hammer blurring as he swung it in a large arc. Nathen leapt back, narrowing avoiding the blow, and then bounded forward before the man could recover, stabbing with his sword. Marcus saw the sword pierce the man’s side, but the man brought the hammer back around and Nathen retreated.

  That battle was lost for some moments while Marcus was forced to concentrate as another enemy soldier appeared in front of him. A short fight ensued, but ended when the man slipped on the bloody ground and Marcus struck quickly. Once he had finished the man, he located the enemy commander and saw Nathen strike, sword slashing, but the man anticipated the move and dodged. The man swiftly countered, swinging his hammer with great force. Nathen could not avoid the blow and brought up his shield. As the blow landed, Marcus saw him grimace as he was knocked sideways by the blow, but recovered his footing. However, Marcus noticed that Nathen’s shield arm was down, as if he could not lift it. Nathen tried to strike, but his opponent deflected the blow with the haft of his warhammer and slammed the haft forward, catching Nathen squarely under the jaw. Nathen collapsed, falling onto his back, blood coming from his mouth and nose. The man, dark eyes hard, stepped forward, straddling Nathen’s body, and swung the hammer above his head.

  “Nathen!” Marcus screamed, laying about him with his shield and sword, desperate to reach his friend. He stumbled into the open area around the enemy commander, and started forward, but knew he was too far away to reach Nathen in time.

  Before the man could bring the hammer down, Daen appeared out of the fighting. His armor was rent and he was bleeding for several wounds, but he charged the man, slamming into him with his shield, knocking him back. The man took a couple of steps backwards, and then recovered and swung his hammer.

  As if time slowed, Marcus could see that Daen was too off-balanced to respond in time. Even as Daen desperately tried to raise his shield, the hammer sailed past and smashed into his head, dislodging his helm and sending him tumbling to the ground. Daen shuddered slightly, and then went still. Daen!

  With a savage yell, the man again approached Nathen, who was struggling to get up, and brought the hammer back up. However, Daen’s sacrifice had allowed Marcus to close the distance. He reached Nathen and swung his shield, forcing the man to retreat. A cold wrath fell over Marcus as he confronted the man. His injuries and exhaustion temporarily forgotten, he fought like a man possessed. Ducking and moving, he avoided the man’s blows while he stabbed and slashed with his sword, drawing blood.

  His teeth clenched with rage, Marcus dodged a sweeping blow and stepped forward, stabbing downwards, hitting the man in the back of his thigh. With a brutal yank, Marcus hamstrung him. The man cried out and fell backwards, and Marcus drove his sword into the man’s chest, striking with all of his fury and strength. The man shuddered and collapsed, his warhammer falling from his hand.

  Kicking the mortally wounded man off his sword, Marcus stood over Nathen and Daen, staring at the nearby enemies, daring them to attack. Instead of attacking, the men looked dumbfounded by their commander’s fall and daunted by the fierce fire in Marcus’ eyes.

  Sudden horns sounded and, with a rumble of hooves, Sir Alleon, his notched battle axe in his hands, came over the slight rise with a group of knights and charged into the remaining enemy soldiers, scat
tering them. Cheering, Marcus’ soldiers surged into the gap the knights created and pushed forward.

  Alleon rode back over to Marcus, who had dropped to his knees next to his friends, exhausted and heartbroken. “My prince, we feared you dead.” He extended a hand. “You are needed at the command tent.”

  “I can’t leave my friends,” Marcus stated hollowly as he rested a hand on Nathen’s shoulder and stared at Daen’s body.

  “We will take care of them, my prince,” Alleon said sympathetically. He gestured for some nearby soldiers to come over. “You are needed, Prince Marcus,” Alleon repeated more forcefully.

  Tears streaking his face, Marcus nodded and rose as the soldiers gently picked up Nathen and Daen. Taking Alleon’s hand, he swung up behind the knight. Alleon spurred his horse and they raced back towards the hill, passing through the broken carnage of war.

  When they arrived at the tent, Marcus slid wearily off the horse and entered. He saw Helgrant standing next to the map table with Brother Trence, whose robes were scorched in places, testimony to his participation in the fighting. With them were two people Marcus had never seen before. One was a short dark-haired older man, armed with a sword and armored in chainmail, and the other was a tall attractive woman, wearing a breastplate and a sword, with a green cowl hanging behind her head.

  “Praise to the One that you are alive, Highness,” Trence said when he saw Marcus enter. The woman, nearest to the tent entrance, turned and saw Marcus’ injuries. Golden light surrounded her as she stepped forward and laid a hand on his cheek. Marcus felt the cleric’s healing warmth spread through his body and all of his aches faded away, except for that hollow feeling of loss.

  “My prince, this is Commander Railan, the commander of the Beragan army,” Helgrant said, indicating the man. “Sister Lilli leads the Beragan clerics.”

  “Sister Lilli, Commander Railan, be welcome to Sanduas,” Marcus said formally. “Your arrival is welcome and fortuitous.”