Kinimod glanced at him, wanting to saw something for his comfort, but struggled as his own heart needed comforting. It all had been like a nightmare, but it felt so real. People had been killed right in front of their eyes, destroying their innocence, and now the home of Stylinor’s family was gone. They were all gone.
Stylinor began to walk numbly toward his broken home, the ground beneath his feet beaten by many thousands of feet that had been trampling toward an unknown destination for an unknown reason. Kinimod moved behind him, unsure whether or not he should stop his friend from looking beyond those smashed windows and that broken door. What horror waited within?
Stylinor stopped suddenly, looking down at his frozen fingers as if discovering for the first time that he had hands. And then he fell to his knees, tears streaming out of his eyes as he clenched those hands into fists and punched the ground. He shivered as a wind blew into the clearing, and he coughed over sobs as Kinimod put a hand on his shoulder.
“This is it, then,” Kinimod said, looking remorsefully at the broken homestead. “Everyone is gone. There’s no hope to fight back now. But who did this?” He paused, as if waiting for the very wind to give him a response. “I cannot say.”
Stylinor looked up tearfully, eyes red, wind blowing his hair out of his face. He felt as if he should say something, but had no words. All was quiet for a time, save for the rushing air, and then the blasting of a horn echoed up from the road southward. Many voices and figures approached, with sticks of glowing flames in their hands.
Kinimod grabbed Stylinor and pulled him back into the trees, practically dragging the boy as he looked dumbfounded toward the voices coming up the road. A cluster of pines offered perfect protection from the sight of the newcomers, whoever they might have been, and so Kinimod stumbled into their shadow with Stylinor near at hand. They lay in the bed of needles and watched many shadowy figures come into the clearing, some carrying lit torches while others held swords, bows, or spears.
They approached Stylinor’s house with the flames, walking up to the windows to toss their flaming brands into its interior. Others went about collecting the logs Stylinor and Gryl had chopped themselves, and threw them in to feed the fire. As the house caught flame, and the light of it increased, Kinimod and Stylinor could see the purple cloaks draped over each individual’s back, and the pale complexion of their faces and hands.
“What are they?” Kinimod asked in a horrified whisper.
“Devils,” Stylinor answered in a low, livid tone.
Epilogue
The Flight of Valdorin
Duoreod nodded to the city guard standing outside the gatehouse, spear to shoulder, as he and his two companions departed under the enormous archway. They rode astride the finest horses, with coats of sleek fur that shimmered in the bright sunlight; Milstrom upon the back of a pure black stallion, Andril seated over a chestnut mare, and Duoreod proudly sitting upright upon a mare of the purest white. Their manes flowed in the gentle breeze that greeted them through the open gate, and Milstrom’s stallion tossed its head in eagerness.
The sentry tipped his forehead to the prince, and then raised his long spear up in a salute to the small company, the silver blade upon its end shining in the noonday sun. The other guards of the Silver City, all clad in silver armor and armed with a long spear and short sword, underlain with shirts of interlocking chains. They all stood upright as he passed down the street, and they all saluted just as the sentry at the gate had done. Those upon the ramparts of the city wall looked down as they passed through the archway of the gate, and they watched with solemn expressions as the noblest of the Adya people passed onto the windswept road, their golden hair whipping in their faces as they watched the huge cloud of darkness spread across the western horizon.
The sun would not so gently set that night, nor would it for nights to come.
A pair of Adya sentries patrolling the parapets looked northward, toward the woodlands of Heinsfar, and there they saw distant clouds of black smoke rising in clusters from the darkened trees. There were vague shapes moving among those shadows, many of which appeared to be fleeing southward from the smoldering woods, while others moved north in large formations.
They halted abruptly, exchanging concerned expressions. They spun round and dashed back to the guardhouse set upon the city battlements, their chainmail clinking as they ran with glistening spears to shining shoulders.
The swiftest of the pair threw open the door, startling the sentry stationed at the horn inside. “Sound the alarm!” he cried to the other, “Awaken the city! Call the sentries to their stations! Whatever are you waiting for, we must be vigilant! Sound the alarm!”
The other did as directed, putting his lips to the great horn of the city, and he blew a mighty blast. It seemed to shake the city, echoing from glistening spire to the shining dome tops of the citadels, arousing all peoples to the situation at hand. Soldiers leaped from barrack and citadel, strapping swords to their waists and shields to their arms, gathering into their assigned groups to be marched to the gate by their captains.
Commanders mounted horses prepared by the husbandmen, all arrayed in silver and gold, and called out to their captains as they galloped down to the gate.
There were so many shouting, so many voices giving orders and acknowledging them, that Duoreod and Milstrom and Andril were halted on their way. They turned about; looking back up the city street as hundreds of soldiers came marching down the way, spear tips shining above their silver helmets.
“I wonder what the matter is,” Duoreod said aloud, looking to Andril for guidance.
Andril just shook his head, frowning in confusion as he watched the soldiers come toward them. “I haven’t the slightest idea, my lord,” he said.
However, Milstrom steered his horse about, the stallion pounding its hooves into the ground with fury, and pointed a long finger to the northern steppes. “My lord, look hither!” he cried. “See the smoke and the fire, the innocent and the evil? I say darkness has come upon us at last! See, here they come, running like sheep driven before a pack of voracious wolves!”
Duoreod and Andril both looked to where he indicated, and saw the smoke and the flames leaping up from the treetops, and also the people running, screaming, to the safety of the Silver City.
“Valdorin and Hemingway, they come in numbers uncountable!” Andril exclaimed. “My lord, what do we do? What do we tell them? How might we…”
“Peace, my friends!” Duoreod cried, silencing the Adian with a sharp gesture of his hand. He let his hand fall to his side, then, the other gripping the reins of his unsteady mare stepping here and there, tossing her main in worry, and felt the cold steel of his silver scimitar. He watched the people come, stumbling and falling as they ran themselves exhausted, and he narrowed his grey eyes.
“War is upon us,” he said.
Book Two
One Life, One Opportunity
Blinded by my hate and anger, even sorrow, I began to grow sick. I was not stricken by a disease of the world as much as I was stricken by the overpowering emotions that consumed my heart. I brooded for so long in the hatred and the anger that my heart began to fester like a moldering corpse. My heart cried out to me in my dreams, yearning for release from the torture. But as stubborn as the Vulzdagg name had made me, I did not listen to even my own desires. I was determined that the course my life had taken was the path that I desired, and that there was no other way to go.
Death and destruction followed us across this world. We pillaged and burned, beat helpless men into the earth. I remember those who yielded to us, begged for their lives to be spared, but our commanders ordered their blood to be spilled... We did as our commanders commanded.
I’m tired of trying to excuse myself of their blood, it’s on my hands just as well as it is on the hands of the Urden’Dagg. I’d like to think that I didn’t know what I was doing, but deep down inside my rotting soul I believe that I really did know. What I didn’t know was what I was do
ing to myself. But even after this realization, I refused to believe it.
It had become so much a part of my life to kill, to fight the battle of my bloodthirsty god, to destroy everything that had belonged to the people who had driven us into the earth. I wanted to hate them, to blame them for all that I had endured. But as I continued to watch them die at the side of my dark companions, the words of my brother were again spoken to me by the mouth of a fellow Follower of the Urden’Dagg. It hurt me to think that I was making a mockery of myself and my namesake, to think that perhaps Dril or Vak, or even Leona’burda or Gefiny would look upon me with those expressions disappointment that I had been so accustomed to.
All I ever wanted, all I ever lived for, was to make them proud. But what have I done with my life now? How have I carried their names? If Dril’ead saw me now, would he smile or would he turn his face in shame, afraid to look upon what others might think he had created? I don’t know the answers, and this is why I sometimes cry myself to sleep at night.
There is but one life, and one opportunity, to seek out the truth and take it for ourselves like a gem to spend somewhere along the road of this life. I like to think of it as a mighty hunt, an adventure that will take us far away from the comfort of a bed and roof to the place that will determine who we really are. But the hunt for the truth continues still. I fear it shall ever mark my path through this life, with death as the final relief.
If ever I see my family again... Well, I’m afraid to see them now. Perhaps my fear is the answer to this terrible question: Am I in the right, or am I wrong?
~ Neth’tek Vulzdagg
Chapter 11
Glory to the Urden’Dagg
The orange glow of the blazing fire lit the night, casting long shadows of the trees surrounding the ten battalions of The Followers of the Urden’Dagg, each shouting and dancing around a burning homestead that had once been the home of a poor soul. They took joy in the destruction of these people, in the sight and smell of their blood on the earth and their weapons – even their own hands. They sang about it. But Neth’tek could not get himself to sing or to dance, or even look at their celebration. Instead he brooded in his anger, standing outside of their separate crowds of friends and battalions, staring into the blazing fire with unblinking eyes.
It stung him to look so fiercely into the blaze; but for some reason that he did not fully understand, he enjoyed the feeling of the tears dripping down his face. Perhaps it was because it felt like a just punishment for doubting his masters’ plan, for taking slight pity for those he had allowed to be murdered? They were monsters after all, and monsters were dealt with according to how these people had been. They were monsters, and it was because of these monsters that his forefathers had been driven into the Shadow Realms, robbed of their birthright and all that could have been theirs... it was because of these monsters that his family was now dead, buried in the Shadow Realms, never to partake of the glory of this world.
He clenched his fists at his side, continually staring into the flames consuming the house, and imagined it to have been his own home.
“Reconciliation, restitution, revenge, it is all done according as the Urden’Dagg has wished,” said Vexor, stepping up and standing at his side, following his searing gaze into the fire. His own expression was solemn as always, almost confused. “You know, we are a lot alike, Neth’tek Vulzdagg, perhaps in more ways than we can understand. All I have ever asked for is to understand. If I could just grasp the concept of this universe, tie the events of my life together into one package, than perhaps I might finally realize the necessity of my struggles both above and beneath this world. Have you ever desired such a thing?”
“My answers lay before me,” Neth’tek replied without removing his eyes from the fire. “Death, destruction, torment and grief... all that we have ever had to endure, it will now be the burden of this people to endure. I hope it will destroy them as it has destroyed my family.”
“That is if it was even these people who had driven us into the deep darkness,” said Vexor. When Neth’tek did not respond to that statement, Vexor continued, saying, “These people, of Hemingway and Valdorin, they had no part in our downfall. But it seems wisdom to the Urden’Dagg that all those who support the Silver City should be put down, even burned in the fire of his wrath.”
Neth’tek looked at him then, his eyes still red with pain and tears. “Do you doubt the Urden’Dagg’s plan?” he asked.
“No, my doubts go far beyond the plan, but are rather for the reasons why...” he said softly, his voice hardly above a whisper. Neth’tek felt the energy of his words, as if he had been waiting a long time to speak them aloud to someone. “For example,” he continued, “why do you suspect we were driven into the earth in the first place? There had to be a reason behind our punishment.”
Neth’tek considered his words for a moment, but before he could get himself to answer him he put the thought from his mind and looked away. “Your questions are blasphemous before the ever watchful gaze of the Urden’Dagg,” he said.
“So you fear the Urden’Dagg, then?” Vexor asked him.
“What is it you want?” Neth’tek demanded, suddenly feeling intruded upon.
“Only to know my companions,” Vexor replied. “I do not see wisdom in running into battle, accompanied by those who I do not even know. I already understand that many of us, or perhaps even all of us, come from houses that have been destroyed by the wrath of the Urden’Dagg. This is how we pay our debts to him, you see.”
“But not all were as stubborn as your own,” said Neth’tek, weighing his words carefully as they were spoken. “I mean, we were not all taken into absolute disobedience as yours. Many of us volunteered, taking advantage of the moment that the Urden’Dagg gave for our redemption.”
“Perhaps,” said Vexor, “but this is not redemption... no, this is punishment.”
Neth’tek, confused by the words of this stranger, looked away again and pondered privately to himself. “If this is just as much punishment for us as it is for these people, than I will take it as it is,” he said. “I shall forever bear the weight of a rebellious branch.”
He thought he heard, or perhaps he just felt Vexor’s breath come out in a heartrending sigh. But before more could be said between the two of them there arose a commotion across the way, and the crowd of celebrators were parted by the honor guard of the general of the ten battalions himself, sitting astride a large basilisk with black scales and long sharp talons.
“Attention everyone!” screamed the herald of the honor guard, carrying a long pole with the banner of the Urden’Dagg fastened to the end of it, the purple fabric sewn with the seal of the hammer and sword of the Urden’Dagg whipping in the highland wind. “I present Lord General Kalliboar of the ten battalions of the All Great and All Powerful Urden’Dagg! Kneel at his presence!”
The whole congregation of ten thousand and more Followers of the Urden’Dagg knelt at the command, passing the word along to those who were out of hearing. The roar of the fire became eminent as all other sounds ceased in the forest.
Lord General Kaliboar stood on the saddle of his basilisk and turned about, examining those in the congregation. He pulled back his purple cowl and raised his hand above his white head, the pale skin of his palm glistening in the firelight, and he said aloud in a booming voice, “In honor of our all great and powerful Urden’Dagg has this day been won! Our victory is nigh at hand, even on the morrow shall we march to war against these people we have encountered this day. Their blood shall be ours to spill! Their shields shall be ours to break! And their spears and swords and bows and arrows shall be ours to cast to the earth with their corpses, to be trodden under our feet on our march to the glory and the victory of our all great and powerful Urden’Dagg!”
He threw up his other arm at this last sentence, and all those surrounding him shouted and praised the name of the Urden’Dagg – everyone, that is, save Neth’tek Vulzdagg and Vexor Hulmir, kneeling right in front
of the flames of the burning house.
A guard was posted a few feet from them, keeping watch of the flames so that they didn’t get out of hand, and he took note of the two Followers who remained silent as all the others screamed and shouted in praises to their god.
“You two,” he said, nudging Vexor on the arm with the butt of his spear, “why do you not praise the name of our all great and powerful overseer? Have you no respect?”
They both looked at him, Neth’tek afraid that he would be punished. But Vexor just seemed to hold the guard in his gaze, a look of contempt in his eyes. However, before the guard could do more to trouble them, Vexor Hulmir threw up a fistful of ash and cried aloud saying, “Glory be to the Urden’Dagg! Glory and honor and victory!” and continued to repeat the praise again and again with all the others, encouraging Neth’tek to do the same.
Neth’tek felt odd as he shouted the praise. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he guessed it was because he wasn’t fully in communion with the deity of his people. His whole life he had been told to worship and respect the Urden’Dagg, the god of his people, but not until now had he really been made to do so openly. But he did even as Vexor Hulmir, repeating the prayer, “Glory to the Urden’Dagg! Glory, honor and Victory!”
And they did so long into the night, their voices carrying on the wind, haunting the whole world of Aldabaar.
Chapter 12
Differences Aside
“Sty, you’ve got to stop and rest yourself!” Kini said again for perhaps the fifth time, or more. “If you keep going on like this, you’ll walk right over the edge of a pit again. You want me to think you’re a fool?”
War of Shadow and Light: Part Three of the Redemption Cycle Page 6