Against That Shining Darkness: Boxed Set Trilogy

by Chogan Swan

“I have begun to think you might know me already,” replied Seth. “I will say, first of all, that we represent two of the strongest forces in the East. But, before I say any more, your voice sounds familiar. Will you uncover so I may see your faces?”

  “I think that might be unwise,” replied the general.

  “Well then,” replied Seth, “Though I was told your name was Kilan, I believe that to be a fiction. Would it mean anything to you if I promised not to put frogs in your bed?”

  The general was silent.

  Arturo stared at Seth.

  “What if I mentioned I took the door to the sea?”

  “What's going on,” rasped Arturo.

  Seth touched Arturo's arm to steady him.

  The general waited a moment before speaking. “These things might mean something to me, but they could as well be ill-gotten secrets. If I know you, then you are much changed. Tell me. Do you know what was dropped down the well on the eve of the Fete of the Herring Run?”

  Seth took off his helmet, “A silver cup from Kyrdystan. You shouldn't have left that cup there in the first place.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  And that is how Seth and Wyatt met again, from across all the leagues of the East and North. They shouted and came together like magnets, holding on as though to life. The two armies watched amazed. And—though they were all unsure what was happening—the shout of the brother's mingled voices made their hearts leap in their chests as with memories of home.

  Chapter 5 (Fear and Avarice)

  “There,” said Wyatt, pointing down the pass to the northwest, “The camp of Tyr-Goth.”

  Early morning shadows still lay across the valley, but Wyatt could make out the tents and the fires with no trouble. The camp—no longer strung out in a long ribbon through the foothills—came together at the base of the mountain in a mass that covered a square mile.

  “They are still two days march away,” Wyatt said, “but they are in no hurry. They think we hold the pass for them. We still have a little time to prepare.”

  The sound of feet running up from behind made them turn. A young Perthian page churned his way toward them. “My lord prince... princes,” he gasped, “The raven. He's back.”

  “Come on,” Seth said to Wyatt. “He'll have news.”

  “Who will?” asked Wyatt. “What news?”

  “You'll see,” Seth called over his shoulder.

  Wyatt followed Seth into the tent where Arturo knelt next to a large raven sleeping on Arturo’s cloak. The bird was so worn out he couldn't even perch.

  “Don't wake him,” said Arturo and motioned for Seth and Wyatt to follow him.

  “What did he say?” asked Seth. “Did he get through to Gynt again?”

  “No. He was harried by a flock of the enemy's birds and had to turn back, but he spotted something. Tarrian legions are making for the pass. They will be here tomorrow.”

  Seth hissed. “The Tardek has thought better of his decision to sit still while Tyr-Goth advances. Tyr-Goth must have leverage to make him commit to their side.”

  “Balaak is good at that,” said Wyatt, voice dark. “When they find we are defending the pass, we’ll have a fight on two fronts, and that means no supplies except what's with us. How many are coming from Tar?”

  “He said two legions, so two thousand mounted, and two thousand foot soldiers,” said Arturo.

  Seth looked away down the hill with a start. Wyatt turned to follow his gaze, but nothing was there. “What is it, Seth? What's wrong.”

  “Something,” replied Seth. “A power; evil. My task. I’ll go face it.” He walked away.

  Wyatt and Arturo looked at each other. Arturo shrugged then they both followed Seth down the hill. As they went down, a mounted messenger came urging his mount up the rise. He pulled to a stop and jumped to the ground. Wyatt noted that he was shivering.

  “Oh baron, lord prince, three are coming. They say they are ambassadors of... of Tyr-Goth, they demanded to speak with... someone in charge. Then they came on and none would... could stand against them. Fear... it's all around them.”

  “I know,” Seth said. “I'm going down.”

  They had gone little further when three figures—wrapped in drab cloaks—rode out from under the forest cover. When they came into speaking distance, they halted.

  Wyatt eyes widened when they addressed Seth in dragonspeach.

  “Hail, drake of the north, for an instant I mistook you for a man, walking in that guise. Indeed, you look like unto a man I hunted for once.”

  “And do you hunt for him still?”

  “I might,” replied the voice with a hint of chill. “But that is not now. Who leads these men in the pass, and what is their allegiance?”

  “You are impolite,” Seth said. “I did not agree to answer your questions, and you did not offer to pay for an answer.”

  “It may be I forget the conventions of your kind,” said the leader.

  “I—however—know the conventions of your kind well,” Seth said.

  “I see you hold something against us,” said the chilling voice again. “We will not trouble you longer then, but we would pass.”

  “You may not.”

  “We are acting in agreement with Darkfire, first-born of your kind.”

  “He was not first-born, and he is cast out. I do not give my leave.”

  “Will you stop us then? Do you think you are a match for the three of us? Or do you claim authority we do not perceive?”

  “For this I have been given authority,” Seth said. “The Creator has given me it, and you shall turn and ride away or face destruction.”

  “We will see,” snarled the leader, spurring forward.

  Seth raised his hands and spoke; the three riders fell back. Wails of anger and hate rang in the air as the three leapt from their rearing, panicked horses. The horses, released from their captivity, fled down the hill.

  Dark, red flame rose, beating against the barrier blocking them three figures. In the fire, their cloaks burned away, revealing bronze-colored shadow figures warring against the power called to hold them back. They lashed out, thrashing at the barrier, but the wall pushed them back, until they turned at last and fled.

  After a few moments, Seth sat down and drew a weary breath.

  “What happened?” exclaimed Arturo. “I've never seen anything like that. What were those creatures?”

  “Fallen spirits,” said Wyatt, “powerful ones. I had thought only one man left in the world could stand against that sort.”

  “What was that language they spoke?”

  “They spoke Dragon,” replied Wyatt, puzzled. “Why did they think you were a dragon, Seth?”

  Seth chuckled though fatigue laced his voice. “These days dragons, consider me a dragon. I've been adopted.” He motioned for help, and Wyatt pulled him to his feet. “One thing I know. They won't leave this alone, and they’ll be back with reinforcements. I didn’t withstand them on my own. That was a loan.”

  “Tell me the story of this adoption soon,” said Wyatt. “You've been busy since I left.”

  Seth leaned on Wyatt's shoulder. “Get a horse to take me up,” he said. “I need rest, and there is much to do. The legions will be here from Tar soon.

  Chapter 6 (The Dragon and the Rose)

  Jedediah raised himself to drink the cup of water that the young page held for him. “Thanks, Jamiel, you're a good lad,” he said then winced as he lay back. He'd caught a Tarrian crossbow quarrel in his right shoulder in the early fighting yesterday and taken a fever in the evening that had left him weak.

  “Are you feeling any stronger, captain?” asked Jamiel.

  “Still weak,” admitted Jedediah, “but my head is clear at least. How does the battle go for us?”

  “If it were only the Tarrians, we would be fine,” said Jamiel as he checked the dressing on Jedediah's shoulder. “But with Tyr-Goth coming up on the north, we'll be squeezed. Some think we should strike out at the Tarrians on the chance w
e could scatter them and turn our attention to Tyr-Goth. Some say we will need everyone we have to stop Tyr-Goth as it is. Any casualties with Tar will seal our doom with Tyr-Goth.”

  “Both sides right, no doubt,” said the wounded captain with a sigh.

  “Are you still lazing about over here, Jed?” came a voice from behind the pile of stacked stones.

  “Darthe, you old cakhound, what are you doing here?” said Jedediah.

  Darthe chuckled, stepped over a nearby boulder and hunkered down next to his friend. “Tar's pulled back for a space. I thought I'd come visit. Your boys want to know when you can sit your horse again.”

  “Tomorrow, I'd guess,” replied Jedediah. “Maybe. If I need to.”

  Darthe looked at Jamiel. Jamiel gave him a brief secret head shake.

  Darthe sat down, but shouts from the battle lines down below and the sound of far off trumpeting made him jump on a boulder to stare back down the hill. With an oath he leaped to the ground again and ran down the slope.

  “What is it, Jamiel?” yelled Jedediah, struggling to sit.

  Jamiel clambered to the top of the boulder, “I'm not sure,” he called back. “The Tarrians are up to something. They are splitting up. Some of them are riding east, back into the wood. Another group is cutting across the clearing.”

  “They circle the wood,” muttered Jedediah.

  “There are riders in the wood!” shouted Jamiel. “They are coming through. Who can it be, captain? They are not Tarrians, but I can't see the banner, it's tangled in the pole. Look, the wind unfurls it now.... It's the Dragon and the Rose! Gynt! It's Gynt!”

  Jamiel danced a precarious jig on the boulder.

  “Gynt? How can it be Gynt?” said Jedediah in confusion. “The keep was destroyed; we arrived too late. I saw it with my own eyes. The mountain collapsed and buried everything—everyone.”

  “But it's the Dragon and the Rose! It flies. Who else would hold the banner?” whooped an exultant Jamiel.

  “A trick, must be a trick,” muttered Jedediah.

  “The Tarr legions that cut into the woods are moving to engage. They're going to block them. They'll cut them off.”

  A crashing and the screams of horses rose up the slopes, the sound grew louder as more riders collided.

  Jedediah groaned and struggled to get up, but collapsed again. “What’s happening?” he moaned. “Oh, if I could get on a mount.”

  Another blast of trumpets sounded, this time the note was different, silvery and clear. “The king!” shouted Jamiel. “King Arod himself is on the field. I see his greatshield with his sigil. They ride for our lines. They are like a wave, hundreds of them; a thousand. They drive the enemy back.”

  A new trump, brassy and loud split the air. “Ah! The Tarrians are reinforced, their line will block them. More Tarrians are closing from the wood, circling behind them. Ride Gynt!”

  The drumming of a thousand running horses grew nearer like an approaching thunder.

  Jamiel cried out in despair, “They won't make it; the horses, they are tired, they must have come far; they've been ridden hard.”

  “Why is no one helping them? Why is no rescue force going out?” shouted Jedediah.

  “They try, but they are all on foot at the lines, behind the barricades. Two, three squads are trying, but Tarr rides them down. They cannot fight against mounted spearmen. Oh! Oh! Watch out!”

  “What? What is it?”

  “The king is beset. His guard gathers around him, but they are only twelve. The king draws his sword as well. Ah! They beat them back. Well struck! Well done! Oh! They are fearsome fighters. But more Tarrians are coming; each guard holds off two. The king! He rides to help. Ay! He strikes down the Tarrian captain. But now more are coming; the whole legion is driving for the king's banner.”

  Jedediah moaned in frustration, “Oh, if I could rise. I would ride to him if there were a hundred legions between us.”

  Horns sounded on the hill.

  Jamiel cheered. “It's Darthe! The van. The vanguard is mounted. They ride to help. Darthe has them saddled and...”

  “What? Tell me what is happening?” cried Jedediah.

  Jamiel choked; his young face contorted. “So few, They are so few. They had no time. They ride, but they had no time. They were all spread out hold the barricades, and only forty horses this side of the pass. But oh, they run like wind. Ride! Ride Perth! Ride for the king!”

  “Creator save them,” whispered Jedediah.

  “They stack back as they go. Long spears in the braces. Eight to a line, they leave seven yards apart. The Tarr cavalry is turning to meet them. Ay! They feint and go past the first line and the second... four rows they go by.”

  A loud clamor and screaming rose over the rest of the noise.

  “They strike all at once, four rows deep!” shouted Jamiel. “They cut into them like fire, Oh, they've struck deep.” A new call came on the trumpet from the forces of Gynt.

  “The King sees them! Ah, no! No! Darthe is down. He's trampled. Pertha! Godgil! ... both down. Two of the King's guard unhorsed! Oh... They're dying,” Jamiel sobbed in horror. “The vanguard strikes again, deeper into the legions, all with swords now... red swords... blood. Terel, brave Terel, pulled down....”

  Jedediah tried to fight to his feet again, but fell back. “Tell me,” he wept.

  “Now another of the cohorts is turning to charge them. They pull back from Gynt to strike at the van. Oh! Fly! They are too many. They will crush them. Oh!”

  Jamiel broke off with a sob, unable to speak the rest of the slaughter of the remaining knights of the van.

  So Jedediah did not hear of the anguish in Arod's face as he realized he could not help the men who rode to their deaths to save him. Nor the desperate dash to the lines through the hole they'd opened.

  When he could, Jamiel continued, responding to Jedediah's pleas.

  “He's through now; the King is through; a hundred have broken through. They are at the lines, but they turn; they don't ride to safety.” Gynt's trumpet called again. “They call the rally. They've cleared a path and our line moves forward to support them.”

  More shouts and screams filled the air. “Our line holds the cohorts back, and now the rest are coming through,” he said, hanging his head. “Gynt's thousand are safe, but none of the van return. They never thought to, nor never hesitated.”

  He slumped down on the boulder, and his body shook with sobs.

  Among the vanguard had been three of his cousins and two uncles. And he could not see—as Jyrmak did—when their spirits rose from the husks of their fallen bodies with a triumphant shout. Nor when the host of heaven caught them up in a flurry of wings and a whirling of shining wheels. Or hear the song of praise they sang as they ascended.

  To him the world was only emptied of them: wise voices, strong hands and kind smiles.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  Jedediah stared at the clear sky. His head felt peculiar and his body prickled. He could feel every blade of grass beneath his back, even through his tunic, and they all seemed to stab him like tiny knives.

  He heard Jamiel's voice, “He is over here behind these rocks, sir. The fever has come back.”

  Jedediah turned his head to the side with an effort. An old man with a torn and dirty tunic, bloody armor and a spear climbed over the low space in the boulders and looked at him with piercing green eyes.

  He thumped his spear on the ground, and Jedediah felt the earth shake beneath him. “Begone, fever,” said the man. “Jedediah Jehoiman, rise up.”

  Jedediah had heard that voice before, even though his mind was fogged, still he knew he had a duty and he turned over and struggled to rise. As he came to his knees, his head cleared a bit. He raised himself higher by pushing against a nearby boulder, and he felt strength begin to come into him, to where he could stand. As he turned to face the old man, he realized who it was and would have fallen to his knees, but the old man caught him by the shoulders.

  “I s
aid 'rise up' not 'kneel down',” he chuckled.

  “Yes, my king,” said Jedediah. “It is good to confirm Perth is still loyal to the throne, Captain,” Arod said.

  “Perth will always be loyal to the throne, Sire,” replied Jedediah, “for as long as the king is loyal to the Creator.”

  Arod smiled a sad acknowledgement, “Just as it should be,” he replied. “though it saddens me to count what that loyalty has cost this day. Where is your baron?”

  “He is farther up the mountain, my king. They are preparing the battlements for us to fall back.”

  “Fall back?”

  “We are pressed from both sides.”

  Arod nodded with a troubled expression. “Now I understand why Jyrmak was in such haste to get to the top of the pass, and I must follow him. You are in charge now; continue on as you were instructed by your baron. I must go up to see what I can find out for myself. Are there any fresh horses?”

  “There are a few saddle-trained donkeys, my king. They are much better at climbing the mountain than the horses. If you have need of haste, I suggest one of them.”

  “That would be fine, Jedediah,” said the king with a laugh, “even fitting somehow, that a king should ride up a mountain on the foal of an ass.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  Jyrmak waded through the bustle of activity.

  Some men were rolling rocks into place for other men to stack them. Others were constructing crude war engines to cast stones at the enemy. Still others built walls for protection from arrows and slings. Jyrmak leaped up on a rock and looked down the slopes to the north; his face was set like stone. He did not stay long, but jumped down and walked to the command center.

  Wyatt and Arturo were consulting tally sheets of supplies, Seth sat nearby on a rock, sending out messengers and listening to reports at the same time. When Jyrmak arrived, Seth held up his hand, stopping the messenger in mid-report and ran to embrace him.

  “So, teacher,” he said, drawing back to face Jyrmak, “you have looked to the north already.”