by James Somers
Jagged pieces of red tile crossed the gap, smashing into the chests and faces of the soldiers standing unafraid in the windows. Cries of pain echoed to us from the other side as men fell away from their positions, only to have others step into their places. Incoming ordinance shattered the tiles around us as we ran, allowing us to replenish our own ammunition along the way.
As we approached the roof hatch where we had first accessed the roof, we pulled up short. The door had flown open before us and soldiers were coming through with guns.
“Some secret passage,” Jillian said as we turned back on our course. She hurled a tile into the face of the lead man coming through. The next pushed the first aside and fired with his rifle.
Shots now came at us from two sides. Still, we hurled our tiles at the men in the windows across from us, hitting them with greater accuracy than they were showing with guns. We weaved through the chimney stacks in serpentine fashion, trying to keep bricks between us and the soldiers now pursuing us across the roof.
We three turned left across the roof then flew across the gap between this building and the one perpendicular. Our men had disappeared in the chaos. We had more than a half dozen soldiers running hot on our trail with no time to turn and fight because of the gunfire around us.
We came to two large stacks, having a gap in between. We would have to bottle-neck at that point and become easy targets for the gunmen behind us. Thurl and Tobias darted out from behind the two adjacent chimney stacks, yelling, “Down!”
Instinctively, we dropped to the tile roof on our bellies as Thurl and Tobias opened fire at the onrushing soldiers. The soldiers were caught by surprise and had no time to defend themselves or take cover. The small firestorm was over quickly. Thurl and Tobias spent the ammunition in their guns, purchasing for themselves nine corpses that spilled their blood upon the tiles, or fell off of the roof to the courtyard below.
Ezekiah, Donavan and Varen leaped up to join us as we three wraith dancers sprinted past them. The lot of us tore off across the gable, descending the other side in hopes of shielding ourselves from gunfire. Tiles exploded behind us as more soldiers took up pursuit, though they were still some distance away since the access hatch lay far behind us now.
Thurl led our charge toward the great barn that kept the palace horses. It was nearly half the size of the palace itself. When we leaped down to the tin roof, our combined weight caved in the place. We rolled out inside a loft filled with hay.
“Praise Elithias!” Ezekiah shouted as we picked ourselves up. “Good place for a hayloft.”
I laughed with him, as did Tobias and Andrea. The others were still too rattled by the chase to care about such seeming coincidences. But I was beginning to see how Elithias worked behind the scenes of things that might seem ordinary, or, at best, luck.
Soldiers shouted over the rooftops and in the courtyards of the palace, but none were near to us yet. We didn’t waste time with hiding. Soon Prince Marco’s men would be everywhere, and we would be dead. Thurl led us down to the stables below where each of us took a healthy animal from King Riven’s private stock.
Thurl took for himself a fine black stallion.
“That’s a magnificent animal,” Donavan commented as we started out of the stalls.
Thurl laughed. “I’ll give your regards to Prince Marco,” he said. “It’s his horse.”
We galloped at speed into the underbrush, emerging within a dense forest beyond. Thurl used the little talk-box he carried to communicate with his loyal soldiers. They would meet us at our destination.
TURBULENCE
Belial soared high above the azure sea below, riding thermals in spiraling loops that kept even his great bulk aloft. The fog had steadily dissipated and, though not completely removed, the way was much revealed for his army of death walkers marching below. These feral creatures, born of demonic possession by his will and that of his fellow dragons, went two by two along the narrow rail bridge that should ultimately lead them to Haven; a city known only to the dragons by prophetic words upon ancient parchment.
The mighty crimson dragon watched the procession curiously. There was some difficulty at the moment. The sea was becoming more turbulent. And though the fog was removing, Belial couldn’t help feeling somewhat like a rabbit drawn into a snare.
The nameless rabble below kept their arduous pace without rest or complaint. Rags that might have once been actual clothing hung limp in the breeze from their emaciated forms. Demonic engines drove their bodies forward at their master’s will regardless of the pain, regardless of the strength that otherwise would have been lacking.
They had fed upon those within their patron cities that had not been transformed with them. In some cases their madness had driven them to feed upon the entombed dead. Certainly, nothing that could be found had been left alive.
The foremost death walkers marched as the fog allowed them visibility enough to see the tracks beneath their feet. They paid the roiling sea around them no mind. At least until the first wave hit.
A wall of water rose up to a height of nearly three stories above the bridge. The death walkers never even considered the massive wave headed for them until it was too late; not that there was anywhere to run.
The sea slammed into thousands at once, tossing them a hundred yards from the bridge before consuming them. Farther back, another wave, rolling in from the opposite side, carried away another few thousand walkers. Belial roared out his fury high above. But there was nothing he could do. The sea was a mighty beast that no living creature could ever hope to tame. It obeyed only its creator’s call.
Again, another wave swept toward the helpless walkers, coming from the retreating fog, as though it were a wolf waiting for its cover to be compromised before springing upon its prey. The massive wall of water followed the line of the bridge with exacting care, the finger of the Almighty directing it on its way contrary to all tidal logic.
Death walkers, which never fled from any danger, turned back from their course, attempting to evade the predator now stalking them. Belial swept low, barking out commands, ordering the walkers to escape despite the futility of it all. The wave consumed hundreds of thousands this time as it followed the walkers retreat mercilessly.
By the time the waves dissipated altogether, Belial had lost as much as half of his deadly army upon the bridge. Helplessly he watched as thousands upon thousands of wretched human slaves struggled against the current, trying to tread water toward the bridge. For moment, Belial supposed that there might be hope for many of them to actually make it. His forces might still be salvaged.
As walkers splashed and thrashed among the gradually calming sea, gray fins appeared, slicing through the surface like knives. Belial saw them from above, his dragon’s eyes picking out the swarm of sleek gray beasts surging toward his water-logged army. Pale, gaunt faces disappeared beneath the surface; ripe fruit plucked from trees.
Walkers fought tooth and nail for survival as sharks by the thousands came for them. But even the fierce energies of death walkers were still only contained within human flesh. They were no match for the massive carnivores now tearing them to pieces beneath the waves.
Belial and the other dragons watched from above, circling the bridge and the surrounding water where most of the carnage was taking place. They roared in their anger, but could do nothing to stop the destruction of those walkers that had been taken by the sea. Still, the waves had calmed, and the fog continued to open the way before them.
As high as they could fly, they saw nothing. Again, the lingering doubt crept up. Was Elithias ordering these calamities, or was he drawing Belial and his army to a final showdown. Could both be true? The more he considered it, the more enraged he became.
He would not back down. Elithias had attacked his forces and taken many, but Belial still had many thousands left ready to fight. After all, human flesh was highly expendable, not to mention tasty. He dove down and scooped a dozen or more up in his great claws. Briefly they lo
oked hopeful that their master had saved them. He opened wide and shoved the creatures in. The crunching of bone and rending of flesh soothed him somewhat over his losses.
Using his mental link with the death walkers he ordered the survivors forward. This was no time to stop his advance. Elithias may have dealt him a setback, but that was the extent of the damage. When he reached Haven, there would be plenty of hungry death walkers ready to devour their enemies.
Belial ascended again upon the air currents buffeting his scales. Thermals bore him aloft, high into the sky and farther away from the insulting scene below. He returned to his circuitous track through the sky, observing his army. His fellow dragons, taking their cue from their High Serpent King, dove down toward the sea to gather for themselves some of the tasty meats going to waste below.
Lieutenant Kendle sat by the fire burning in the pit, eating a piece of rabbit he had caught and cooked earlier. The wind was almost too much for a fire up here on the mountain overlooking Haven and the sea beyond. Private Warman stood within the brick outpost, built years before under King Riven’s directive, used for watching the sea and surrounding area for any attack.
A bulky telescope had been mounted so that, from this distance, almost anything inside of the city limits appeared so close as to become blurry. However, beyond the coast, the telescope brought the watcher a crisp clear image from fifty miles away and more. Usually, though, there was nothing to see but the endless fog that remained fixed over the sea.
Warman, a new man to this outpost, scanned around with the device, talking incessantly about almost anything that came to his mind. Kendle had been trying to relax. That’s what this outpost was all about in his opinion. Nothing ever happened. And since the fog never dissipated, there was never anything new to report. After years of doing this, his reports had become routine. He didn’t even look through the telescope anymore. Just a glance toward the horizon told him all he needed to know.
Warman, on the other hand, was eager; too eager if Kendle were asked on the matter. He hoped for excitement. Kendle laughed when he thought about it. The only thing that ever changed in Haven was the problems with the monarchy.
Everyone knew that Prince Marco and his father had fallen out with one another years ago. And everyone knew that the king’s illness would probably lead to Marco taking over. It was only a matter of time. He had made his peace with it, despite General Thurl’s hope otherwise. Subsequently, a division had grown within military ranks.
“Lieutenant?” Warman said.
“What is it now, Warman?”
“I’m seeing something here...you may want to take a look.”
“Fog is fog, boy.”
“This isn’t fog, Lieutenant,” Warman said. “This looks more like an army.”
Kendle stopped eating. He stood, walking over to the telescope. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Warman stepped aside. “Out there…the fog is dissipating for some reason.”
Kendle observed the breakup. “What in the world?” He bent to look through the telescope, finding something he had never expected to see. In Haven, you didn’t take myths and legends seriously. Yet, he realized myth and legend was on its way toward them.
A great red dragon could be seen soaring high above a line of people coming along the bridge. Without the telescope, they were hardly a speck to the naked eye. But viewed through the device’s powerful lenses, they were a menacing sight, almost like the dead marching.
He could see five dragons in total now. Kendle backed away, mumbling to himself. “This can’t be happening, it can’t be real.”
“Sir, we’ve got to notify the king!” Warman said.
Kendle came to himself. “No, we take this straight to Prince Marco.”
ENCAMPMENT
We arrived early the next morning at an outpost Thurl had established several years ago; when it became apparent what fate he would endure if Riven did not survive his illness. Then Marco would take possession of the throne. The camp was dark except for a few small electric lights that men carried with them. These they swept over our group when we first emerged from the forest. Guns rattled as they swung toward our position, and a pass code was required.
Thurl gave his response, “Wildcard.”
“It’s General Thurl,” one of the soldiers informed the others.
Thurl dismounted his animal, as did we all, supposing we were now in the good company of soldiers that could be trusted.
“This way, General,” the soldier said. “We’ve got food and drink waiting for you.”
“Very good,” Thurl said as he followed the soldier.
Two other men with guns waited until the rest of us fell in line behind Thurl. It made me uncomfortable to have them behind me with their weapons. We didn’t know these people; though I felt like Thurl was trustworthy enough. Still, in a volatile political situation, you never knew when things could suddenly go wrong.
We were led into their encampment where many similar horseless vehicles sat parked. Fires burned in several pits, all with soldiers sitting around them. They stared at us as we came among them. Not entirely friendly from my perception, but I might simply have been paranoid. Weapons were in abundance; mostly guns, but some swords and bows were also visible.
“When might we make our way on to the temple?” Ezekiah asked Thurl.
“We’re very close,” Thurl said. “We’ll need to refit all of you with weapons and organize the men for the journey. I have to speak with the commanding officer, but I think we can be underway when dawn breaks in an hour.”
“I’m afraid not,” a man said from behind us.
We all turned to find a soldier of rank holding a pistol aimed at Thurl. Four more soldiers flanked this man, also holding their guns on us. I prepared to act, but Ezekiah gripped my arm tightly, urging me not to do anything.
The rest of the soldiers in the camp fell immediately in line with this man, raising their weapons, taking aim at our group. Only Thurl had any recognition of the man.
“Marson,” Thurl said. “How did you find us?”
Marson smiled. “Did you really think that your men were so loyal to you that it would be kept a secret? You should know better by now, Thurl.”
“You don’t realize what you’re doing,” Ezekiah warned. “Great danger is heading toward Haven. We must be allowed to enter the Temple of Elithias if any of us are to be saved.”
“I suppose you are referring to the legends of mythical creatures that will come to destroy us all,” Marson said. “Personally, I believe in what I can see.”
“Why all of the talk?” Thurl asked. “I would have thought your prince had ordered us shot on sight.”
“Actually, Thurl, you’re not far from the mark,” Marson acknowledged. “That was my original order, and I would gladly carry it out. However, one of our outposts has made a disturbing discovery this evening. Now, Prince Marco wants all of you brought to him.”
“The temple is the most important thing,” Ezekiah said again.
Marson scrutinized him for a moment. “That may be,” he said. “But Prince Marco requires your presence, and to him you shall go.”
DISCOVERY
Our delivery back to Prince Marco was uneventful, if not embarrassing. I knew that between three wraith dancers, Ezekiah, Varen and General Thurl, all having military backgrounds, that we could have likely escaped the soldier encampment. However, for whatever reason, Ezekiah had felt it better not to make the attempt. It was possible that we might have lost some of our group in the process; a notion I could accept with regard to Varen and Jillian, but not regarding anyone else. Already, the old train engineer, Arthur, had perished. That was bad enough.
However, we were all surprised to be brought back to the bridge outpost where a device called a telescope had been set up overlooking the sea beyond. The sun was up by now. We were brought to the top of the outpost by a metal stair. Prince Marco was looking through the magnifying lenses of the device.
“At last,” he said, standing straight again.
Thurl gave the prince a menacing look. “I wonder, Marco, if your men are aware of your crimes.”
Marco’s face turned red with fury, but before either of the two men could speak again, Ezekiah interjected.
“Perhaps, this is not the best time to discuss such issues, General,” he said. “After all, I think what Prince Marco has to say is of exceeding importance to everyone in Haven.”
Marco looked thoughtfully at Ezekiah, calming at his words. “Indeed,” he said. “You are alive only because Haven is in grave danger. I admit rejecting the old ways for most of my life, but it would appear that I was wrong.”
Thurl brightened at the prospect. “What have you seen?”
Only then did we all take notice of the fact that the perpetual fog over the sea had dissipated to nothing more than broken wisps. Using the gifts, I called for sight upon sight. My reward was terrifying.
Belial and his fellow Serpent Kings were flying in formation toward Haven, following the line of the bridge. Below, their army of death walkers, taken from believers of every patron city in the kingdom, marched steadily. Only then, seeing their incessant pace, did I realize the true nature of my former faith in these devilish dragons. Binding oneself to the truth was a fate worse than death; a slavery that utterly destroyed the individual. These death walkers were the result.
I saw men, women and children among the throng moving steadily toward the mainland. All of them were emaciated, but fierce; their entire character changed from what they had been before as normal people. My skin crawled, realizing that, had it not been for my assignment to assassinate Ezekiah and my subsequent time in his company, I could have been one of these poor souls forever bound to do the will of the Serpent Kings; flesh puppets serving the whims of cruel masters.
Thurl stepped up to the telescope, peering out over the sea toward the approaching horde. He straightened without a word then looked at Marco. “What is it you want from me?”