Chapter 12
The War Returns
He opened his eyes.
Red dirt crunched and crumbled beneath his worn black leather boots. The hot air was filled with burning sand that penetrated every corner of his body and stung his dried eyes. Every breath he took was torture. Every move he made felt like it would be his last. But his mind and his spirit only knew rage.
Rage against himself for failing his men. Rage against the folly of the last five centuries that brought them thousands of miles from home. Rage against the Narzeth, slaughtering his rangers. And that rage is what carried him through a dead sprint over the featureless red desert to kill as many of the heathen enemies as he could.
At his back, he had nearly two hundred of the empire's finest soldiers and knights. Each of the brave men and women were ready to fight and die wherever he may lead them. He had brought them from their encampment to reinforce his own men on the western flank of Vermillion Pass. Halfway on their march, he saw the advancing Narzeth. The war made had made his Sight almost supernatural in its clarity and power.
He saw them overtake his men, and his legs were in motion.
A predator moving in for his kill.
Make haste! he had said. Our brothers are in battle!
His pace was relentless. His speed unmatched. Every one of the two hundred trained and battle-tested warriors endeavored to keep his stride. Every one of the two hundred trained and battle-tested warriors could not keep up with him, such was the anger and desperation that drove him forward.
He had been five hundred yards off when he saw his men take contact from the enemy. Their ancient foe had used the cover of nearby red and orange canyons to conceal their attack.
He was two hundred yards away when he heard the screaming through the furious dust storm that swirled around them. Lighting split through the swirling dust, sending large hails of glass tumbling down to the red earth.
He was one hundred yards away when he could see the Narzeth overwhelming his men. Their crimson cloaks were covered in the blood of his rangers, who continued to fight on.
At fifty yards, he could smell death emitting from the mass of bodies in front of him. It churned his stomach and reinforced his resolve as he flew into the sea of death in front of him.
His sword was lead weight in his hand. That didn't stop him from swiping broad at the enemy's back, cutting down six Narzeth in one stroke. Their armor, as tough as it was, was nothing compared to Imperial steel.
His shield was a thousand pounds heavier than his sword. He bashed it against the advancing enemy with such force their armor caved in on their chest. His screams of anger pierced the sounds of battle.
Rangers! he had said. I am with you!
At their commander's cries, his battered men regrouped and fought back. They were surrounded and outmanned, but that didn't stop them from pushing back with all they had left. They would either live through the day or die and join The Warrior in the afterlife. Their momentum began to slow. More of his rangers died, hacked down by axes, and bludgeoned by maces.
Fight back against these bastards or be shamed to our Emperor!
They heard trumpets sound over the storm and battle. The soldiers who had followed him were now encircled around the melee, destroying all the remaining Narzeth. In a matter of moments, it was over. The living rangers, covered in blood and shaking from anger, stood panting and coughing violently in the dust storm. Fifty strong and loyal rangers who would never see the sunrise over their country again laid dead at their feet.
He hung his head in despair and closed his eyes.
***
"What in the hell is that!?" Michael shouted over the screeching.
He and Tiberius galloped hard through the dense forest heading atop the black warhorse, bound for some safe haven he hoped would come soon. His own beautiful brown and white horse had been engulfed by the shadows that seemed to be clawing out from every direction to swallow them up. Shayla sprinted alongside them, barely breaking a sweat, but nonetheless infuriated.
"It doesn't matter! Press that damned beast till its legs give out!"
They had thought it was an oncoming storm by the swiftness the dark clouds had overtaken them. By the time Shayla knew what was happening, it was too late. The darkness they had mistaken for storm clouds had descended from the sky to engulf them. She was on her feet in a flash and saw the darkness around them swirl and converge into one large swirling black void. From inside the void, she could see a thousand hungry eyes peering out at them, and a thousand hungry mouths salivating at their intended prey.
The horses started wailing against the void, when a thick black cloud shot from within it, grabbed Michael's horse, and pulled it screaming into black nothingness. Panic and fear overtook them at the sight of such monstrous power. Suddenly, a blade of black mist shot out from the void, trying to pierce whatever it could.
She had leapt to the trees overhead out of instinct, but far below on the forest floor came the screams of agony as Tiberius was struck square in his chest. To his credit, Michael had been on his feet at the sound of his companion's cries. He had no weapon of his own but had brandished his heavy ebony and ivory wand. At his roars of anger, the black void broke apart in a blast that shook the ground beneath them.
She returned to the ground and threw her companions onto the remaining horse. Michael could barely do anything but hold on for dear life as the beast bolted away from their camp. Shayla dared not stand and fight something this strong, especially with defenseless Michael alone in the woods. She heard a great screeching behind her and turned her head as she ran to see the black void following them, groping arms and hungry mouths and the thousand eyes yearning to consume them. Shayla and Michael shouted at the top of their lungs to their leader, but Tiberius could not hear them. All he could do was cry out in great agony and close his eyes.
***
He opened his eyes.
He was walking the dusty desert floor, tears dried on his face. At his feet were the remains of over one hundred of the empire's soldiers. Their bodies broken, blood pooled around their corpses, eyes blank and staring at the featureless desert sky.
One hundred men died, and for nothing, he heard Trevin say over his shoulder.
They did their duty, Sergeant, he replied, hollow and numb. In truth, he didn’t believe his own words.
Forget duty, sir. This was a fool's errand, and now these men are dead.
Trevin was right, he knew. This had been a fool's errand, made by the fools directing this war in his father's stead. He surveyed the massive stone building they had called a library. Its worn and weathered ornate markings would have made it beautiful in its day. In his mind's eye, he could envision thousands of Magi living in such a grand place. Now, like all things in Narzeth, it lay in ruins. He prayed to the invisible gods above that this war would be over soon.
But the gods of the empire were far away back home. The gods of their realm had no business in Narzeth.
How long must we linger in this place, sir?
Until High Sorcerer Cycret arrives to inspect it.
Trevin looked all around him, inspect the dead and broken things that littered their surroundings. The desert winds had worn the once majestic place down to almost nothing. The once vibrant and beautiful colors and tapestries that had adorned the massive stone walls were faded and cracking.
Such is the way in this place and death and evil. Such is the way of all things in time.
Gods damn this war. Gods damn this land. And gods damn the Narzeth, Trevin had said.
A swift dust storm rose up out of the east. The land itself seemed to be trying to repel the empire from its shores. Tiberius hung his head against the oncoming sand and closed his eyes.
He hung his head against the oncoming dust storm and closed his eyes.
***
The screeching around them had ceased, yet the impenetrable darkness hung heavy around them as they pressed on through the dense, black woods. Their un
known path twisted and turned around large frozen boulders and gnarled dead trees that seemed to be clawing out for them. A mighty terror filled their hearts as they flew to some new haven far away from the evil levied against them.
All of a sudden, the dark clouds around them rushed together and converged into a thick black wall, and the demonic screeching returned louder than before. Michael, try as he might, couldn't rein in the horse fast enough. The mighty beast let out a horrible cry of pain as it crashed hard into the thick black veil ejecting the Mage and Ranger from the saddle. While the warhorse had collapsed on the spot, Michael and Tiberius seemed to shoot through it. Shayla leapt into the sky, twisting and turning in the air like a trained dancer, landing where the others had fallen.
Michael let out a cry of terror as the void retook shape in front of them. Shayla pulled her lance to her chest and crouched low as a thousand eyes took form inside the swirling cloudy mass. She didn't know what good it would do against the foul beast of blackness, but she was a dragon knight. She had faced down untold numbers of enemies alongside her sisters in arms. She was proud and mighty. And she would die fighting with her spear in hand.
Michael scrambled to cover his unconscious companion. "You will not have him, monster!" he shouted at the void.
A shrill high laugh pierced their ears, forcing the Mage to cover his head in pain. Though in pain herself, the dragoon kept her eyes fixated upon the demonic beast in front of her. The void began moving slowly towards them, a shark stalking its weakened prey. The evil creature expanded its cloudy form in all directions, obscuring their vision of the forest around them. Out of the center of its black body emerged small lesser dark clouds. Michael had recovered his wits and fumbled around in his cloak for the wand. Though he knew no magic would come from it, he was determined to not die against such a beast without it in his hands.
The smaller clouds slowly twisted and folded in on themselves until the figures of several large black wolves took shape. No eyes filled their sockets, just impermeable nothingness. Their twisted ethereal mouths twitched open to reveal smaller swirling black masses in place of where their tongues and teeth should have been. The wolves crouched low, eye to eye with Michael.
The first wolf lunged at him but was met midair by Shayla's violent spear thrust to its head. Just as quickly as it lunged, the black wolf returned to smoke and dissipated. Another wolf lunged at the downed man, and another wolf was quickly cut down by the Dragoon’s swift attack.
Two more wolves moved towards Michael. Shayla flew at them and swiped their bodies back into clouds before turning to face the last wolf. Black sockets stared back at her. The opened mouth of the beast closed and slowly curled into an evil, human smile. Neither side moved as they stared at each other for many heavy moments.
The shrieking ceased as the void seemed to retreat in on itself. Shayla stood from her crouched pose, unsure of what had just happened, but glad that it was over. In an instant the void expanded back out to its fullest, emitting a powerful force that knocked Shayla off her impossibly powerful legs and onto the frozen ground.
Out of the shrieking void a dozen or more of the ethereal black wolves slowly emerged. Shayla staggered to her feet and began to pull her dragon-shaped helm over her face. Michael continued fumbling for his wand. Tiberius was shaking and crying out loud, adding to the cacophony of noise around them.
***
He opened his eyes.
He stood on a high orange-colored mountain, surveying the red dust bowl beneath him. A vast encampment of all the assembled Imperial forces was laid out before him in the plain leading up to the pass. The grey and black banners of the empire were blowing hard and strong in the hot filthy wind.
Upon a jagged ridge to his left, he saw his men pouring over maps of the valley below and sharpening their swords. He saw the sentinels to his right, staring silent and unmoving at some unknown thing in the distance. They did not know if they were to enter the fray tomorrow but would be ready to fight and die for their emperor all the same.
We attack at dawn, his father's voice had said from behind him.
He turned.
His father looked to have aged more than the five years that had passed since the last time they saw each other on Zelinka's shores. Five years since he had sailed across the ocean with his rangers to meet their country’s eternal foes in battle. He had despaired countless times over the years in the face of such hardship. But being with his father here and now and in this place brought him great comfort. That same comfort extended to all the men and women of the Imperial Army. Their spirits were renewed. Their will to win reinvigorated.
We'll be ready, he assured his father.
I know, his father had said. I expect tomorrow will be the last battle of this god's forsaken war.
He embraced his father atop that rocky death filled hilltop. Abandoned were all formality and respect of their stations. He was a scared little boy again in need of his father's love. Neither of them broke their embrace. They placed their hands on one another's shoulders.
I am glad you are with me, he told his father, here at what might be the end of all things.
I am too, Ti, his father replied. Tomorrow will either be the last day for them or for us.
His father hung his head for a moment. When he looked up, he had tears in his eyes, something Tiberius had not seen since his mother passed. His father breathed hard.
You are my greatest accomplishment, son. And not for your soldiering or for your duty, but for the man you have become. If we make it home, I pray to the gods that you will become a better leader than I could ever be.
They broke their grasp and bowed to each other. Tiberius smiled, the first in a long time. He turned again to study the valley, wondering what would come tomorrow. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
***
The wolves were slowly advancing on them now, eager to savor the fear emanating from their prey. The screaming around them was deafening and continued to push Shayla down to one knee. Michael imagined the hot breath he would have felt if the wolves had been real beasts of nature and not some demon's apparitions, but all he felt was cold. He continued searching for the wand even though he didn't know why he was drawn to it at this moment. It would be pointless to even try and use magic. His mind was screaming at him to take cover from the oncoming assault, but his body persisted in its search.
The screaming from the void slowly morphed into the high squealing laughter. This is it, Michael thought.
The wolves hunched down in unison, and their wide nothing mouths opening impossibly wide.
Here it comes! Michael yelled at himself.
Suddenly, he felt it. The wood as hard as the most rigid iron, the cold metal handled grip. He grasped the wand and thrust it from his cloak, bellowing a last defiant scream against death's black void. But as the wand burst from his robes, a surge of brilliant light strobed out in waves, illuminating the darkness that surrounded them.
Brighter than the sun but not blinding to the eyes, the light flung the wolves away from the companions and back into the void. The brilliant ephemeral light continued to strobe, pulsing wave after wave of energy from its tip. Shayla stared at the beautiful light in wonder. In her long life she had never beheld such a wonderous and comforting sight. She could feel her spirit being renewed by its presence and began to slowly sit up again.
Michael struggled to his feet with his wand held aloft and shuffled towards the void. The light spurted out like a violent fire yet burned nothing but the inky black hole assaulting them. Shayla finally found the strength to stand, and rushed to Tiberius's side to shield him from whatever was to come next. The void began to scream again, but this was no scream of victory or taunting. This was the scream of agony and defeat. A cry of pain not felt in ages past, at the power the young Mage now held against it. It was a scream of death.
As the blaring screeching reached its ear-shattering crescendo, the void collapsed in on itself to a small black ball and
shot into the sky away from them. Michael dropped the wand from his hand and fell to his knees. As he did, the dazzling light dissipated, and the morning sunshine rained down on them. Behind him, he heard Tiberius moan and writhe around on the ground.
Retrieving the wand, he rushed to join Shayla at the Ranger’s side. Their companion and leader began to violently seize and convulse on the ground. He was screaming inanely to an unseen force around him as if locked in the throes of death. Michael and Shayla looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. The void, in all its demonic evil, was gone. But their leader and friend was in agony beyond all comprehension. Michael dropped to his knees, defeated. He closed his eyes and began to sob.
***
He opened his eyes.
He saw death. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he looked, death and destruction met his waking eyes.
Bodies, broken, and bleeding littered the ground at his feet. To his left, he saw his own men cutting through the enemy without abandon. He saw the soldiers and knights of the empire being crushed under heavy axes and hammers to his right. The empire and Narzeth were locked in a bitter, furious final battle in the valley of Vermillion Pass. The warriors of the realm were determined to press on to their unseen destination.
No. Not a destination, he thought. A goal. A goal to kill every last one of their enemies where they stood.
Good.
He looked and studied his shield and sword, and after a few solemn moments of contemplation, decided to drop his shield in the red sand. He would not need it where he was going. It would slow him down anyways. He would either die with his sword in his hand or stand victorious amongst his countrymen.
His eyes focused.
He took one last heavy breath into his worn out body as he charged into the fray.
Flaming arrows crashed down on them from every direction from both the Imperial archers and the Narzeth’s bowmen. He swung his sword in all directions without regard for friend or foe. He trusted his men to stay out of his way. He danced around the oncoming assault and lashed out violently at all within arm's length. His body pushed through the throng of warriors in the field.
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 13