by Jeff Gunzel
A final look back at the forest stirred mixed feelings in the trio. They had come here seeking the legendary race of killers feared for both their ingenuity and combat prowess, a race thought long gone but feared by all, if even through exaggerated tales passed down from one generation to the next. Instead, now they were leaving behind lifelong friends —friends and allies that would soon be depended upon.
The swirling emotions finally settled into a vague form of acceptance: acceptance that the world was far too large to ever believe a single individual could bring change without the aid of others who shared the same dream; acceptance that there was still good in the world and humans just might find a way to survive if they ever learned to work together.
Now off to Taron...off to war!
These strong mounts were no less than Shantis had promised. They dashed across the landscape of Tarmerria, the light summer breeze feeling like a hurricane against their squinting faces. Jade’s black robe whipped like a flag behind her, making a cracking sound every so often when the manufactured wind caught it just right.
Eric suddenly felt a foreign presence as it began to seep into his mind. At first he shook it away as best he could, trying to convince himself he was imagining things, that the cooler air was playing tricks. His breathing became labored as his head began to throb. Throbbing, pulsing, the strange energy began to fill his head as he tried desperately to keep hold of the reins.
“GATE KEEPER!” came the booming voice exploding through his skull.
He let go of the reins and grabbed his head with both hands. It felt like someone had driven an iron hammer right through his skull. Eric leaned on the back of the horse’s neck as it continued to speed along and tried to use his elbows and knees to hang on while clinging to consciousness by a thread.
“GATE KEEPER!”
The second explosion rattling through his head was just too much. His eyes registered nothing but blackness as he rolled off the back of the horse.
Before hitting the ground, some part of him that still clung to reality could still hear Jade screaming.
Chapter 9
The cold, bitter winds bit the noses of Dronin soldiers as they marched down the narrow stone path leading from the city. They marched in lines of four while their arms and legs pumped back and forth in perfect unison. Thick black leather covered their chests, with the triple red slashes worn bold and proud, and long, tan fur strung from their legs and arms.
The foot soldiers who marched methodically were hardly all Corzon had in mind when emptying the city of its military. War machines pulled along by both oxen and horses were spaced between the marching soldiers. Catapults, siege ladders and collapsed towers that could be jacked up when the time came rolled along nosily as iron wheels screeched their protest. Wagons pulled by sturdy horses carried various supplies, including extra weapons, armor, rations, and several portable tents, considering no one knew what length of time would be needed for a successful campaign of this magnitude.
Corzon rode along at the front of the line. His great, brown warhorse was outfitted in white leather armor except for the breast piece, which was black and stained with three red slashes. Corzon himself wore plain, polished, white leather armor displaying no symbols at all. Two long-swords rested in black leather sheaths strapped across his back. His hair was cropped tightly across his head then tied into a spidery ponytail filled with white beads that flipped up and down as he rode. His long, black beard had also been braided tightly into multiple strands and strung with red and white beads. He seemed to rattle more than Athel this day.
Athel reluctantly rode by her father’s side, her wild, beaded hair rattling away with every step of the white warhorse. With the horse itself being white and the matching white armor her father insisted on, she had complained that she might as well paint a target on her back.
Corzon assured her the gods would smile on them and that she had nothing to worry about. A little humility and common sense would have made her feel much better. At least she was given the option to wear the body armor of her choosing. Under her dark wolf’s fur coat she wore thin, light-brown leather possessing only slightly more protective properties than regular clothes, but very light and flexible—perfect for maximizing speed and agility.
Her flashy half-moon blades rested in their custom-made inverted sheaths under her coat. It made her nervous that she couldn’t reach them easily right now, even though they should be days away from any sort of conflict. She kept shrugging over and over just to be reassured they were still there.
She rode along wearing a permanent scowl, a few of her wild braids draped over her eyes and face but doing nothing in the way of removing them. “Soon we will make history throughout the land,” said Corzon as he made a sweeping gesture with an open hand. “We will crush our enemies. Dronin will be glorified for cleansing Tarmerria of the witch queen. Taron’s evil will finally come to an end, and the name of Corzon Thenalra shall be whispered on the winds for all eternity.” He leaned over in his saddle as his dark eyes narrowed. “Perhaps my daughter could show a little more enthusiasm and support for the greatest campaign ever assembled since the Undead War.”
Athel whipped her head around, throwing her wild braids from her face, and matched his stare with green eyes filled with fire. “We will crush our enemies, you say?” she hissed. “These enemies...this evil...tell me, father, what aggression have they displayed toward our people? Why has Taron suddenly found itself in your crosshairs?”
“Shut up, girl!”
“What if it is true, and the Gate Keeper really has come forth?”
“Silence!”
Athel held his gaze, tilting her head slightly as a lopsided smile turned up one corner of her mouth. “The enemies of Dronin? The enemies of all of Tarmerria?” Her voice lowered to a hissing whisper. “Or the enemies of Tamera and Grimton, the foreigners you clearly hold so dear?” She nodded her head over her shoulder, gesturing to the covered wagon where the two foreigners were riding comfortably.
Her father looked away in disgust. Her statement really hit home, as he had had the same debate with himself at one point, but ultimately concluded that they were correct and Taron’s intentions were indeed evil. It was far too late to second-guess his reasoning.
Firmly ignoring her now, he motioned to one of the scouts. The lean man with dark eyes and long, thickly braided goatee split in half rode up next to Corzon. “Sir,” he stated with a quick open hand flashing to his forehead.
“We will pass the towns of Brankin, Kopler, and Limpton before we reach Taron. They are nothing but farming communities but can still produce strong young men, if not particularly skilled with a blade.” Athel gasped in horror at what her father was suggesting. “Take fifty of the men and ride on ahead. Get every able-bodied man from those villages and have them ready when we get there. We won’t be stopping, so they better be lined up when we arrive.”
“Sir, there is bound to be some resistance,” the scout stated quietly, although quite sure of the answer he would receive to the question disguised as a statement.
Corzon’s eyebrows seemed to climb on top of his head. “If any resist, simply make an example so it doesn’t happen again,” he stated, as if that were quite obvious.
“Sir,” the man saluted once more and began to turn the horse around to assemble men for the new assignment.
Corzon cleared his throat loudly, prompting the man to turn around once more. “I’m sure I don’t need to say this, but just to be clear, don’t make the example out of able-bodied men we can use.” Athel’s horror amplified exponentially. “Use their mothers, daughters, or sons, if they are too young to be of use to us. You understand, correct?”
“Y-yes sir,” the man said with eyes suddenly the size of moons. With that, he turned the horse around much faster than he had the first time.
Athel stared straight ahead as her mouth hung open with her two front silver teeth sparkling intermittently in the sunlight. Her face was cold and emotion
less, her eyes half open and dry as bones. One would believe she had just awoken from a long, deep slumber.
Corzon drifted his horse closer to his daughter, who seemed frozen with the same dry look, eyelids heavy and only partially awake. When he was in range, he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. “Athel, you must understand, in times of war decisions must be made that—”
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked as she violently jerked away, eyes jolting wide open, as if seeing him for the first time. Many of the men heard the exchange and pretended to be occupied by...well, anything–as their eyes just wandered about.
Her green eyes were no longer dry; they leaked like rivers down the sides of her cheeks, staring at him with pure horror. Her jaw moved up and down but no sound would come, while her face remained contorted in anguish. When she finally found a voice, she squeaked in a shrill, broken tone, “I don’t know who you are.”
* * *
What started as whispers of war through the streets of Taron had now become cold reality. There was no more murmuring on street corners as people exaggerated a rumor of a rumor they heard from a merchant or bartender. This was really happening, and although no official announcement had been made, the ridiculous amounts of soldiers walking the street, combined with war machines being pulled to the front gates by heavy horses, left little doubt in the minds of any.
Stores and shops were now boarded up with wooden planks crossed over doors and windows, the clerks nowhere to be found. Those that actually lived in attachments to their shops were now huddled up in attics or basements. They might be here for days, as no one knew when the Dronin army would actually arrive, or if the numbers being tossed around by gossiping neighbors were exaggerated or not.
Others fled to their homes, telling their children they wouldn’t be opening the shops for several days and would probably just stay home for a while—harmless exaggerations meant to spare children the horrors of impending reality—then trying their best to dodge all the curious questions children ask when they know something is wrong, but just don’t know exactly what or why.
Many neighbors decided to consolidate their efforts by moving multiple families under one roof. Every little sound coming from the barren streets sent the men running to get their swords, only to stare at the front door for the next hour. Waiting for the unimaginable horrors to break it down and slaughter everyone was almost certainly worse than the real thing could ever be. The whole city was on edge now, and tortured imaginations combined with haunting fear can break anyone’s mind.
Large catapults were wheeled down the empty streets toward the front wall, along with wooden logs and other materials to reinforce the gate. The scene was completely surreal. A handful of brave locals did remain in the streets, asking every soldier that walked past if the Dronin were really coming. Of course, the only response was for them to go back to their homes and barricade every entrance. This response was as good an answer as any.
But not all the shops were closed this day. The blacksmiths and fletchers were working around the clock. Although time was running out for blacksmiths to make any more swords or armor at this point, they did help the fletchers by making as many arrowheads as they could. Arrows were going to be the key for this battle. Melee combat would be a desperate last resort. That meant the enemy had breached the city, or was at least on the walls—a last stand, to be sure.
The fletchers worked furiously with the yew and oak being carted into the shops as fast as possible. Every goose feather that could be found anywhere in the city was being rushed to them. They would require three evenly sized feathers per arrow for the flight to be precise.
The one advantage they might have was the well-known fact that the Dronin did not use heavy armor; therefore the more complicated bodkin arrowheads used to pierce heavy armor would not be needed. Not needing to make the complicated arrowheads would save time, and every second was precious.
* * *
Azek gazed out into the blue sky. Only a white, puffy cloud hung here and there. Perched high on the front wall with his arms folded over the stone rail, the gentle breeze felt good as it dried the sweat running down his brow. Taking a deep breath, his gaze swept over the grassy field. A man with bright green clothes was walking across, around three hundred yards out. As he marched along, he continued to place small white flags into the ground. When finished, he waved his arms frantically and ran clear off the field.
“Ready, men,” called Azek as he raised one hand into the air. The men at the front of the wall notched arrows and drew back their bows. The line of men behind the first did the same, although they had no way of firing with the others blocking their line of sight. Quivers of arrows were attached to the wall at their feet, so all they had to do was reach down and grab one. “Fire!”
The first line of men released a stream of arrows high into the air but immediately sidestepped while quickly notching another. The men directly behind them stepped up into their spots and let their arrows fly, then sidestepped as well. Basically, two archers continued to sidestep each other in a constant circle as they shot, so the time it took for one man to notch an arrow—about a second—was spent by the other sending his into flight. The result was a nearly endless barrage of feathered spears that darkened the sky. “Time,” yelled Azek as he raised his hand.
The archers halted and lowered their bows. If all those arrows had hit actual enemies, their casualties would have been catastrophic, but that was never the true intent of this drill. “Anthony, how many?” Azek called out to the short, stout man with long blond hair.
He fumbled around his many pouches before pulling out his looking glass, and then proceeded to sweep the field. He hiked the whole length of the wall, peering out over the flagged area, which now resembled the back of a porcupine. Then, lowering his looking glass, he glanced toward Azek. “Sixty percent, sir,” he said in a deep, low voice that just didn’t seem to match his short stature.
“What?” the captain yelled. “Only sixty percent cleared three hundred yards?” A crew was already sweeping the field, trying to gather as many arrows as possible. Almost all were still good, given they had only pierced soft grass. Azek kicked the side of the wall hard, making a loud clang with his metal boot. “They will be here in a matter of days!” he shouted as a pointed finger jabbed the air in front of the face of each archer. He spun quickly, turning his back to them, and began talking to the wind.
“There is so much more at stake than your own lives. If we can’t hold them here...” He turned to face them once again. “Will we perish? Yes.” Azek was simply stating what everyone was thinking. He paused a moment as a few of the men swallowed hard. “But so will our wives. So will our daughters.” His voice began to gain strength with every word. “No quarter will be given to our sons, brothers, sisters...our mothers!”
Bows began to click against the ground as the men were getting worked into a frenzy. Primal instincts were stirred by the harsh reality. “They are not coming here for riches or glory. They want to take our lives, the lives of our families, of our queen! Well, I say we return the favor. Let the barbarians see—no, let them feel—the wrath of Taron!” The yelling and shouting went on for several minutes as archers pumped their bows in the air.
“Archers ready!” Azek called out once more with a hand raised in the air. Men masked with determined scowls notched their arrows and raised their bows. “Fire!” They rotated in their tight circles as arrows took flight once more. The sky rained death as the men howled with every arrow released. “Time.” The men stopped, many taking deep breaths, bent over with their hands on their knees.
Azek just shot a look at the short blond man. No words were needed as he took out his looking glass and walked the length of the wall once more. He then turned to Azek, eyes bulging as if he had seen a ghost. In turn, Azek’s eyes narrowed, clearly not in the mood for the man’s stalling. “A-a-all of them, sir!”
Azek allowed himself a subtle, tight smile, one you would have to be look
ing for to even notice. Well done, men.
* * *
“Eric...Eric!” came the faint voice from far away. He blinked once, twice, before his dark eyes fluttered open. The land seemed to be trembling like on the thrall of an earthquake until his recently opened eyes fell on the source of his disturbance. Jade, mad with fear, was shaking him back and forth while incessantly screaming his name over and over. He began to sit up, but the throbbing in his head made him think better of it. He immediately lay back down.
“Oh, thank the gods you’re all right,” Jade gasped as she cradled his head on her lap and rocked back and forth.
Jacob peeked over, looking down on his fallen friend from an inverted angle as he said, “What happened? One minute you were riding just fine. The next, I saw you grab your head and slouch over. I tried to ride up on you as fast as I could, but I was too late. You tumbled right off the back of the horse.”
Eric was finally able to sit up now. He shook his head a few times like a dog as his curly hair flipped back and forth. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “I remember riding along just fine, then I started to feel...strange. My head began to hurt, and—” His blood froze as the hostile image flashed through his mind once more, only this time it was just the memory itself, which was still bad enough. “I saw him,” he said as he stared off at nothing, he eyes going out of focus.
“Saw who? What are you talking about?” asked Jade in a near panic.
Eric suddenly leapt to his feet. “That demon was in my head!” he exclaimed as he clenched his fists. “I saw him clear as day. That face, those eyes—it was Dragot. He has somehow figured out a way to get into my mind!” He shook his head again, still hurting from the fall off the horse as well as the mental intrusion.
Jade stepped in close to him. “If this is true, then we have to get you back to Berkeni as soon as possible. Look, these horses are strong. They can carry two of us easily.” Eric had only just begun to voice his protest before she cut him off again. “We can’t risk you falling off the horse again. I can’t risk it. You are riding with me!”