by Jeff Inlo
"And the thrastil?"
"Dzeb and I will try to keep it out of the town, but we'll follow it wherever it goes. We'll work on its weakest points."
Klusac eyed the delver with suspicion.
"You don't sound sure about this."
"It's the best we can do. I'll keep moving and do what I can to take out its legs. I'll have Dzeb try to outflank it, keep it as confused as possible. We'll try to keep it in the clearing, but it's so big that it's bound to make a few breaks in the wall."
"No," Klusac replied.
The simple yet forceful response caught the delver off guard.
"No? We don't have time for..."
"I know we don't have time, that's why you're going to get Dzeb and prepare to do just as you said, but my soldiers aren't going to just sit this out. I'm only going to order a quarter of the guard to return behind the wall. They'll stay in reserve and fight any undead stragglers that make it through. The rest will be outside... with me. We'll circle the thing, shoot it with arrows, swipe at it from every angle. Every bit of damage is going to help."
"Are you sure about this?" Ryson asked.
"Beyond sure. These soldiers won't let me lead them if I tell them to hide behind the wall. We'll do our best to stay out of your way, but if this thing is as big as you say, we'll all have room for a shot."
Klusac did not allow for further debate. He gave his orders to the signal towers. The town guard quickly disengaged from the few remaining undead and moved to the western edge of the city. Some took positions behind the wall, but most stayed in the clearing that surrounded the town. When the western gate was pulled shut, those outside looked to the growing clamor in the trees of Dark Spruce.
Knowing it was useless to argue, Ryson rushed off to get Dzeb, and the two returned just before the thrastil broke from the trees. He had seen a thrastil before... in the Lacobian Desert. He thought he was prepared for the monster. He wasn't. Alive it was a terrifying sight. Dead, yet still moving, it was beyond horrible.
It moved with all the grace of a half-crushed insect, slowed and imbalanced by its state of decay. Its yellow eyes were glassy and uneven, one slightly swollen and bulging from the socket. The scaled skin around its head bubbled and twitched with every uneven step. It appeared to chew on the air as if trying to bite some invisible prey.
The delver could not believe the stench surrounding the monster. A noxious cloud that grew stronger when the thrastil opened its long, protruding mouth rolled off its form like a dense fog pressed forward by an uneven breeze. The teeth that were visible whether the creatures jaws were open or shut were dark gray or black, and the inside of its mouth was covered with oozing sores.
The thick shell plates surrounding its body were mostly undamaged, but there were several breaks and cracks, not that that would make it any more vulnerable. Using blades to stab the creature's scorpion-shaped body, even through the fractures, would have been a useless endeavor. The eight legs remained totally intact as did one of the grasping claws. The second claw, however, was much more damaged and the lower portion of the pincher had broken off completely. The segmented tail was also clearly in decay, but the beast was still able to hold it aloft in a forward curve over its back.
Before the monstrosity could stumble completely into the clearing, Ryson considered the best method for attack. From the trail of broken trees behind it, he knew it remained prodigiously strong. He realized such a beast could easily topple the wall surrounding the town. Despite its unsteady movements on high-jointed legs, he believed it could show signs of quickness if provoked. He knew the jaws could open and snap shut in the blink of an eye if anyone got too close to its putrid mouth. The tail and the one working claw were also to be avoided.
If they were to succeed, they had to assault the creature from the sides and take out its legs. Ryson measured its unsteady movements. If they could sufficiently damage five or more legs, the creature would not be able to move its massive weight. It would remain dangerous, but they could then attack from a safe distance, perhaps with trebuchets and catapults.
Ryson didn't wish to place the giant in such jeopardy, but he believed Dzeb was their one true hope. The behemoth had the power to do the most damage, possibly snap an entire leg with one mighty strike. The delver called out to the titan before the rampaging monster could make its way to the wall.
"Dzeb! Go for the legs. Try to get behind it, but watch out for the tail. I'll distract the head. If we can immobilize it, we can destroy it."
The giant took off without delay and made a wide circular path around the thrastil's right side. He did not run. Instead, he moved deliberately in a steady pace while keeping a watchful eye on the creature's raised claw.
Ryson raced out in front of the monster, waving his war blades like a madman. He leapt side to side, ran toward and then away from the beast. He dodged the first swipe of the intact claw, even managed to strike it with one of his war blades as it passed. The exterior shell remained surprisingly hard, and he caused no damage. It was like hitting a stone boulder rolling down unsteady ground. Ryson took the worst of it, as the impact stung the delver's hand.
With both Ryson and Dzeb engaging the monster, Klusac shouted orders to his soldiers.
"Break into groups by companies! Platoon commanders form two lines within your ranks! First company take the left flank, second company take the right. Third company stay between the monster and the wall. Archers! Take to the wall and prepare to fire!"
Ryson continued to harass the thrastil, remaining close enough to hold its attention and moving fast enough to dodge the swinging claw and the chomping jaws. He moved in such a way that he never gave ground, but he never allowed the beast a realistic chance of catching him. When the thrastil lurched toward the wall, Ryson jumped at its thick neck just beyond the crease of its jaws. He stabbed at the corner of its mouth with enough force to turn the creature slightly back to the trees. After the thrastil stumbled slightly to its left side, the delver rushed back to the front of the monster, keeping it from making any progress.
With its focus entirely on the delver, the thrastil ignored the soldiers taking their positions. It kept snapping at the irritating yet persistent nuisance that remained near its scaly face, as if frustrated by a bug that would not leave it alone. It also never saw Dzeb leaping toward its vulnerable limbs.
The cliff behemoth added the power of his jump to the strength of his arms, and the full brunt of his strike landed directly upon the center joint of the right rear leg. The leg snapped, and the bottom half fell to the ground below Dzeb's feet as he landed upon the clearing just behind the monster.
The thrastil turned with a surprising twist, but as opposed to turning toward the behemoth, the monster swayed away and toward its left side. The motion brought the tail down like a whip. The poisoned tipped appendage swung low toward the ground, speeding across the clearing in a blur that matched the speed of a delver. The creature roared as it continued to twist away from the cliff behemoth, but it seemed to deliberately keep its head tilted to one side.
Dzeb never saw the tail. It struck him from behind and square in the back. The sound of impact was like a stonewall shattering instantly within an empty cave. Upon contact, the giant dropped into unconsciousness as he was flung across the clearing and deep into the hills to the south.
Ryson wished to rush after the behemoth—wanted to help his friend—but he couldn't afford to leave Burbon unprotected. Dzeb might have been their best hope to defeat the monster, but the beast was finally turning its attention toward the wall as well as the soldiers in front of it. Ryson was about to dash towards the thrastil's jaws once more, hoping to gain its attention, but a surprising call held him in place.
"Ryson!" Klusac shouted, and then followed with a stern order. "Fall back!"
Stunned by the command, Ryson backed away to a safe distance, but then paused. He couldn't just give up. He knew the thrastil would storm right through the line of soldiers and then the town wall. It would de
stroy Burbon in a slow but methodical rampage, turning shops and homes into rubble with its claw, tail, and massive body.
"No! There has to be a way to stop it."
Klusac agreed, but in a forceful voice, he revealed his own belief.
"There will be, and we will find it! The giant has had his turn, now let us have ours! Stay back!"
Klusac expected the delver to follow his command without further objection, and he turned his attention to his soldiers.
"Platoon leaders! Coordinate the attack. Keep the monster reeling and go for the legs!"
Every soldier understood exactly what the captain wanted, as if Klusac's intentions had been imprinted in their minds. Sergeants and corporals helped direct each platoon, and the soldiers moved gallantly toward their immense foe.
With uncanny timing, the three separate companies moved in concert. When one unit occupied the attention of the thrastil, the other two groups rushed in to attack. When all three backed away to regroup, archers at the wall sent a barrage of arrows down upon the beast to keep it from lunging forward.
Individual swords and maces did little to no damage, but in total, the hard metal began to take its toll on the plates protecting the creature's body and legs. New cracks began to form and several joints began to sag and wobble. The weapons were swung with astonishing precision and the clang of impact rang out like mammoth cymbals smashed together incessantly.
Even more amazing, the guards managed to dodge every parry offered by the thrastil. Just before the monster struck, they could almost sense it, as if someone whispered a warning into their ears. They leapt to open ground, dodged below a swinging tail or claw. They didn't know how or why, but they knew exactly when to move. Those who failed to recognize imminent danger with their eyes or ears felt a cold wind press them to safety. They fought as if possessed, and Captain Klusac urged them on.
"That's it! Two legs are about to collapse, another is severely wounded. It won't be long now!"
The extent of the assault enraged the thrastil and it finally considered the surrounding soldiers more than just obscure pests. Roaring and chomping at the same time, groans rumbled out of the monster in waves of wrath. Wounded and damaged, its legs skittered about more unevenly than when it first appeared from the forest, but in one concerted effort, it managed to set itself before it rushed toward the town wall.
The company of soldiers in front of the beast held their ground. They knew that most of them would be trampled to death. Those that were not crushed by the body and legs would no doubt be caught in the massive jaws. There was little they could do other than run. But not one even considered the option. As the massive creature bore down upon them, the truth became clear. They would not be able to halt the thrastil, but they would not break.
Just before the first soldier fell, a flash of bright light stunned the monster and brought it to an immediate halt. A sparkling apparition holding a gleaming broadsword appeared between the soldiers and the thrastil. The ghostly figure floated so close to the beast that not a single soldier could see its luminous face.
The thrastil made no attempt to attack, even began to back away as if frightened by the glistening spirit. It became silent as its jaws closed shut. It lost its fury in the face of the apparition and actually tried to turn back to the forest.
The ghostly image would not allow the beast to retreat. It would not leave the thrastil as a possible threat, would not give it the chance to attack Burbon in the future.
Floating forward to maintain its position, the spirit lifted its long shimmering weapon up high. It appeared to fly forward as it brought down the sword. The edge of the blade crashed through the top of the creature's head, right between its eyes.
Another flash of light exploded... as did the creature. Broken portions of its body were flung backward with such force, they landed far into the forest, nearly out of sight.
With the monster gone, Ryson got his first clear look at the face of the apparition. He had seen other spirits; elves that had died and returned to the land with the help of magic. The elf sorceress, Shayed, returned to Sanctum Mountain to help the races of Uton defeat Ingar's sphere. A very close friend, Lief Woodson, had once returned to the spot in the desert where he had perished. Yes, Ryson had seen the dead return to Uton. It should not have surprised him to see another spirit with a familiar face, but he never expected to see the recognizable features before him.
Ryson found the strength to race over to the specter. He looked into the eyes of the spirit. It was so obvious, but he had to be sure.
"Sy?"
The ghost bowed its head slightly but said nothing.
"Won't you talk to me?" Ryson asked.
The ghost just smiled. It then turned suddenly, and like a brisk wind, moved to Captain Klusac. The spirit held out its arm and placed an ethereal hand on the captain's shoulder. Sy nodded again, this time much deeper, and then disappeared.
All of the soldiers were stunned. Few moved at all and none said a word. They knew Captain Sy Fenden had returned to defend Burbon.
Ryson ran over to Klusac. He wanted so much to believe that what he had seen was true; that it was no illusion, no trick of magic. He felt tremendous joy, but also confusion. He had seen spirits before, but they had spoken to him. Sy remained silent, and though just seeing his friend brought a wave of sheer exultation across his own soul, Ryson longed to know more.
"What happened?" the delver asked of Klusac.
"Sy came back."
"It was really him?"
"I'm sure of it. I could hear his voice in my head. He told me as long as Burbon's guard remained strong, he would never let the town fall. He would always be here to protect it."
"You heard him?"
Again, the news was both joyous and baffling. There was more proof of Sy's return, but the delver could not help but wonder why he had not heard the voice of his friend, why he had to doubt the certainty of the incident. Despite everything he had seen, including the absolute destruction of the undead thrastil, he wanted it to be more real, more solid.
"It's actually more than that," the captain revealed. "I could feel him... even before he appeared. It wasn't just me that told you to fall back. I was thinking it, but he made me say it."
Ryson looked about the clearing, but there was no further sign of the apparition, other than the acceptance he could see in the face of every soldier. They beamed with both joy and confidence. He sensed that each one had felt the presence of Sy Fenden, urging them on to protect their home. It was Sy who kept them safe when they were in danger. And by a soldier's intuition, they knew it without the slightest whisper of doubt.
That unmistakable exuberance was magnified in the voice of Captain Klusac as he reached out a hand and placed it on Ryson's shoulder.
"I want to thank you," Klusac stated, his voice almost cracking with emotion.
"Thank me?" Ryson questioned.
"Yes. If it wasn't for you, I would have thrown Neltus out of here a long time ago. If I did, I don't think Sy would have come back, or if he did, I don't think he would have let me remain in charge."
Events had transpired so quickly, tragedy turned to triumph so suddenly, the delver found himself at a loss for both answers and questions. It was not doubt that filled his mind, but swirling confusion. His eyes had seen certain absolutes, but his mind could not place them in orderly context.
Burbon had been saved, the thrastil destroyed. A spirit of great power had come to the aid of the guard... and the town. And yet, there was something of enormous value waiting for him to discover; something bigger than the victory of the moment, something greater than the defeat of the thrastil. He knew it was there, but he could not take hold of it. Almost in frustration, he blurted out a simple admission.
"I don't understand."
"I didn't want to have to deal with the wizard or with Reiculf," the captain admitted, focusing on the importance of his own revelation. "I was just worried about myself."
"No, you were wo
rried about the town... about the people," Ryson offered, but his thoughts remained scattered, his mind still reeling from what he had seen.
"No, I was more concerned about what they thought of me, and I wanted to take the easy way out. You kept me from doing that."
Klusac looked back toward the town. The clearing was littered with undead corpses, but the wall was intact and the town had been saved. It wasn't pride in his own accomplishments that brought bliss to his heart, it was an understanding of what the future held for him. Eagerly, he revealed what he knew to be an unquestionable truth.
"I was worried about the town ever feeling safe again with me as their captain; afraid I might fail, afraid they might never accept me as their leader. I don't have to worry about that anymore. All I have to do is stay strong, and Captain Fenden will make sure I never fail. Burbon will always be protected."
Chapter 16
"It is most certainly the work of a draevol," Ansas declared as the sorcerer quickly examined several elf guards stricken by the plague.
The sorcerer jabbed and poked at the diseased elves as if they were nothing more than stone statues. There was no compassion in his touch, even as their stiffened condition and open sores revealed obvious suffering. He was not interested in their pain. He looked only for the magic hidden within their sickness.
Shantree did not appreciate the manner in which the sorcerer handled the suffering members of her camp, and though Enin assured her that Ansas was there to help, she did not hesitate in admonishing the sorcerer.
"Treat them with greater care!" the elder insisted.
"They can't feel anything I do," Ansas replied without really caring whether his actions caused pain to the fallen elves or not. He was more interested in identifying the magic that caused the plague. "The disease is numbing them to external effects just as it stiffens their joints. The purpose of the spell was to leave them completely helpless. The pain they feel is from their own bodies tightening, not from anything I do. The sores were probably thrown in by the draevol simply for amusement."