His soul must truly be conflicted if he wished to expose our journey to the outside world, Michael thought.
“And as to elves,” Tiberius continue. “We don’t pray to them. They aren’t gods of ours or anybody’s people. They are just fairy tales the children hear at bedtime.”
“There! That phrase again, ‘fairy tales,’ yet I do not know what that is,” Shayla cut in.
Tiberius thought on how to answer that, remembering that Shayla was not of the empire and most likely had never heard of them before. “Fairy tales are myths or legends that people take and turn into children’s stories, usually to teach a lesson or a moral.”
“So, you tell children lies to teach them morals? Seems silly to me,” she replied. “In Narzeth, we hear stories of great battles and heroes of yesteryear.”
“We have those too,” Michael said. “Along with loads more stories about all kinds of things! Fairies, sprites, gnomes. Valiant knights and disgusting slime covered ogres. Kidnapped princesses and the brave knights who come to save her! I shall have to recite some to you when we make camp.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t,” Shayla replied. “I am a dragoon. A fearless warrior who has slain many foes in battle. And I’m old enough to be your parents’ parent. I do not need to have children’s stories recited to me. What I need is warmth and comfort!”
Michael and Tiberius exchange mischievous smiles to one another, and spent the rest of that recounting their childhood stories to a bewildered Shayla. After a few hours, she began to pay attention to the stories themselves, the incessant chattering taking her mind off the bitter cold. The whole notion of make-believe morality tales was strange to her, if not somewhat amusing and sad. Though she was enthralled with their strange and silly stories, she could not help but feel melancholic over a childhood she had never had. Her childhood had been one of constant battle until enslavement. Yet now, in this new country, she could see the opportunity for others to grow up in the peace and happiness that she and her sisters were denied.
The snow-covered woods slowly gave way to more and more open yet featureless frozen plains. In a few short miles, they would no longer have the cover of dead trees and limbs to conceal their movements north. Instead, they would have to contend with a wide-open tundra, the first they had left the cover of woods since setting out from the Imperial City. Shortly before the end of the woods, Tiberius called a halt to their march for a brief lunch and rest. Over the horizon, small wisps of smoke were rising into the cold air, welcoming them to a night of rest and comfort.
“Is that the village?” Shayla asked, rubbing life back into her arms.
“Aye,” Tiberius responded, after a long gulp of much-needed water. “The Village of Rogers. Our garrison is just inside the town, and beyond that is the inn.”
“If I remember rightly enough, Master Rogers was himself a fantastic cook,” Michael added. “He often cooks for whatever guests turn up in his village.”
“Well, I hope this ‘Master Rogers’ has something other than mutton on the menu,” Shayla replied, digging into the boiled meat from the night before.
“He was a soldier in the Imperial Army,” Tiberius replied. “A berserker on the front lines. He ought to know how to feed an army with all he’s endured in his long life.”
Michael stared, bewildered. “Master Rogers was a berserker!?” he exclaimed.
Tiberius nodded. “Aye, many years ago, when I was a young ranger. The man has seen his fair share of war and bloodshed. And in the end, decided it was best to walk away with his sanity and take up his family's keep of these lands. The Father’s fury had left him, and all that remained was sadness and remorse. Human qualities, to be sure, but not the qualities of a berserker.”
“The same Father the dwarf’s worship?” Shayla asked.
“The same,” he replied. “Father Frijigzah carries many sides to him. Creator, smith, and warrior. The dwarves apparently embraced him as their creator and their god of smithing and building. The berserkers worshiped him as a mighty warrior, fueled by unquenchable rage to his enemies. When loose in battle, the Father’s fury consumes them, and they fly into the fray without any regard for themselves.”
“I remember these berserkers well. They were most impressive at the pass that day.”
“Aye, that they were. Long had we withheld them from the war because of their nature. But my father was determined to press our advantage that day, and we would have needed every weapon and warrior in our ranks to do so.”
Michael’s head was swimming. “I had only ever known him as a kind old village master. Certainly not a deadly and powerful berserker!”
Tiberius chuckled. “Forgive me, Michael. I forget that you are kin to the people of this kingdom. That kindly old man was his father, Tyndahl Rogers. The master now is his son, Tygahl. A hearty and kind man himself hoping to put behind the horrors of war.” Tiberius smiled at the young Mage. “At any rate, in a few hours, you can talk to him yourself.”
They finished the rest of their meal enwrapped in talk of the berserkers and the countless battles they had been in over the five hundred years of the empire. Once they were finished, they headed out from the woods and into the northwest's vast frozen plains. They longed for a night in the comfort of a homey village before ascending the mythical Ice Steps beyond.
Chapter 15
The Men From White
The Ranger stood on the edge of the tree line surveying the vast open plain before him. The sun was shining down on their path ahead, and small fresh snowflakes were beginning to fall. He pushed his Sight as far as it could reach in all directions yet could see nothing save for more openness and the occasional snowy hill. Though he hoped beyond hope that their journey across the open fields would go unnoticed, his better judgment bid him exercise caution. Too often had hubris been the downfall of many, but such was the dire need of their quest that he refused to give in to his own pride. He readjusted the sword at his side and pulled the brown hood of his cloak down over his head as he continued to examine the fields.
“You worry too much,” Michael said, packing away his food tray and the dwarven book.
“I worry just enough to keep us alive, young one,” Tiberius replied. “Find anything of value in that book?”
“Unfortunately, no. Most of it is written in dwarvish, and without an understanding of their runes and language structure, I have no way of translating it.”
Again, Tiberius remembered the runes in the dwarf’s home and how their meaning seemed to spring to his mind. He decided when they made it to the village, he would dare take a quick glimpse at the book. He grew excited at the prospect of reading what the Mage could not and began to wonder how he had this gift at all. He had never seen dwarvish until that morning in the village, nor even knew such runes and symbols existed. Any trace of the dwarf’s presence in the empire had long ago been erased. Only their magnificent works that stood to this day marked that they had ever existed at all. That is until he and his companions met and talked with a whole hidden village of them.
Such a fortunate thing to have come to us amidst all this intrigue we find ourselves in, he thought to himself.
But after a few brief moments of contemplation, he pushed these thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Any hope of reading that book, let alone making to the Ice Steps and beyond the mountains, rested on them traversing the open plains without incident.
After a few more minutes of careful observation, Tiberius reasoned it was safe enough to begin their trek and motioned for them to follow him out into the open plain. In the distance, wisps of smoke could be seen rising into the morning sky. Though Rogers’ village was still a good way off, the sight of some civilization brought much-needed relief to the group’s weary spirits. Warm food and honey mead would dispel the cold that clung to them and renew their will for the journey up the mountain. More than a few creature comforts, Tiberius would not risk a night in the open ground, no matter how tired and cold they may be.
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Tiberius continued to swivel his head in all directions, watching the environment around them for any sign of an attack. Twice now, they had been ambushed on their journey, and he dared not risk a third attack in the open as they were. Shayla had taken up the rear guard, her eyes straight and focused, ready to fly into whatever foe would come. However, Michael continued to look down at his feet in the stirrups, lost in thought over their arrival to the village.
Slow rolling frost-touched hills began to appear in the white wilderness around them, a welcomed break from the monotony of the flatness that abounded. Small echoes of birds somewhere in the distant rolled through the quiet open land, raising the young Mage’s spirits. A small smile cracked his frozen face as he said, “Perhaps our time with the dwarves threw whatever pursuers we had off of our scent, eh?”
“Perhaps,” Shayla responded, her eyes never straying from some unseen target. “Though our arrival to their home, as timely as it was, was less than an ideal way to arrive.”
“You speak true,” Michael said with a shudder, thoughts of the black monster crashing down on him. The terror and majesty that he felt was almost unfathomable yet still fresh as the snow around them.
“Best not to speak of any of these things until we are safe in the village,” Tiberius said from the front of their formation. His words ended the chatter all at once, and the three companions continued their trek in silence.
They let the hours and miles fall off without uttering a word to one another. Though they did not run for fear of sapping whatever energy he and the horse had, Tiberius called no afternoon halt to their march, reasoning they would eat once they arrived in the village. The featureless terrain seemed to never change as they marched on. Only the faint plumes of smoke from the small hamlet were any indication of how far along they were.
The sun was now halfway to the horizon, and the cold that had haunted them since they arrived was now harsher than before. Yet only the Mage made any movement to warm himself as his companion’s restraint and focus forced them to continue their vigilance. But as Michael tried to wield life back into his frozen face, a booming scream split the still icy plains.
“Loose!” a mighty voice cried out, followed by high-pitched whistling that cracked the sky open.
Their heads spun in unison to their right where the voice had called from. Just over a nearby hill, a black cloud flew high and into the sky before dropping down sharply onto the village just ahead of them. Screams erupted from the villages. A great commotion was stirred up that even miles off was unmistakable. The three stopped their march at once, and Shayla darted to the front of their party to join Tiberius.
“Loose!” the voice roared again.
Another mass of black flew into the sky before raining down again in the village. More screams and shouts burst from Rogers, and the faint but undeniable smell of fire caught their noses. Deep thunder echoed through the open fields, but no clouds had formed overhead.
The three looked again to the hill and saw twenty leather-clad men on horseback charging hard over the fields. Swords and spears drawn, cries for blood and death screaming from their mouths, each horseman driving their beasts hard towards the village.
“What the in the hells is happening!?” Michael shrieked.
Tiberius was already in motion. His brown cloak was unfastened in one move and dropped to the ground, his sword drawn, shining bright. Shayla had her dragon-shaped helmet over her olive-skinned face, spun her spear, and crouched low beside the Ranger.
“Whoever this is has decided to attack the village!!” Tiberius shouted back above the stampeding.
“What will we do, sir?”
He turned to face the scared young Mage and said, “They have no men of arms in the village! We will take the fight to them! Keep that beast behind us as best you can. If you see an opening to the trees, make a break for it!” And with that, they sprinted hard towards the oncoming battle.
Screams of death sounded out in front of them. Though the village was only a quarter-mile in front of them, and still obscured by the hills and dips, Michael’s mind went wild with the possibility of another encounter with death. Tiberius and Shayla’s minds focused, trained to snap back to their core selves. As they reached the top of the hill, all they saw was a massacre.
Villagers were running wild to their homes as droves of men atop horses cut through them without abandon. The creams echoed throughout the plain amongst the sounds of absolute slaughter. Slaughter at the hands of men clad head to toe in the color of the very kingdom they battled in. The color of white.
The cavalry was cutting down the people of Rogers without care or mercy. More cries of anguish and death rose up in greater volume, and rage filled them all at the sight of such atrocity. Tiberius broke into a dead sprint, eager to cut through the battle and make some sense of the madness. Shayla carried herself alongside him but, in an instant, jumped high into the air and propelled herself forward. Michael was astonished at the power that drove her. The last time he had seen this was at night when she pursued one of their attackers. In the open field, under a bright sun, it was a magnificent and terrifying sight to behold.
The Dragoon landed hard on two horsemen in the town square, crushing them and their steeds into the cobblestone ground. Her spear swung through the air knocking more men from their horses hard onto the field. Five others rode hard towards her, determined to strike her down.
Again, she leapt into the sky and pushed herself down hard on the earth, cracking the ground under her feet. The shockwave from her small jump knocked her would-be attackers from the mounts, followed by quick surgical strikes to each of their chests.
Another cry went up over the village as twenty Imperial rangers poured out of a nearby wooden shack, cutting and hacking their way through the throng of advancing horsemen. They weaved and twisted in place, avoiding the onslaught with ease and finding their marks against their enemies.
At the sight of the rangers defending their post, Tiberius held his sword aloft and exclaimed, “Rangers! I am with you!”
The rangers looked to the hill. Their hearts renewed at the welcomed, but unexpected sight of their commander charging towards the town. “Tiberius is here! Our commander is with us!” a young voice cried out.
But her voice was silenced by an arrow delivered to her throat. Rage filled Tiberius, and he pressed on harder than he had in a year.
In a minute, Tiberius was in the town square, ducking and weaving around the horsemen like a dancer. His sword swung out, slicing through leather and flesh, cleaving the enemies' spears in half. Another volley of arrows fell into the village, stopping his charge forward for only a moment. Over his shoulder, he heard Michael’s horse bellow in pain. Arrows littered its hide, driving the beast hard to the ground and sending Michael hurtling out of his saddle.
Tiberius gave him a quick inspection and saw that the boy was okay after his crash to ground. He turned his attention back to a group of soldiers rushing to meet him. But after a quick swipe of his sword, they all laid dead at his boots.
Michael stared at the ground under him for a moment, confused as to how he got here. Screaming from around him broke his daze, and he sprung to his feet to run after Tiberius. A moment later, he had pushed through the horde of enemy soldiers and broke for a nearby building opposite the village center. A cursory glance of the wooden building revealed that it was the rangers’ own garrison as he ducked under a nearby water trough and stared wide-eyed at the battle unfurling in front of him. The young Mage had heard stories of the ferocity and skillfulness of the rangers. But up close, he could not form the words to describe what he witnessed.
Shayla continued to leap in and out of the battle, taking two or three more at a time with her powerful swings and crushing legs. The sudden shock of seeing the mighty dragoon in battle had yet to wear off and Shayla capitalized on their folly. This was her element, and she complete mastery of it.
In a matter of minutes, it was over. Twenty horsemen, and the
beasts that had carried them, now laid dead in the village square. Cries for water to douse the burning buildings echoed throughout the town and a host of villagers ran to their nearby wells with buckets. Michael retreated from his hideout to take in all that had happened, wondering if there was something he could do to help these poor people. Tiberius and Shayla however, raced to the field in front of the village, eager to meet any new threat that would come. The young Mage, feeling obligated to remain with his companions, followed them as fast as his young legs would carry him.
The remaining rangers trailed after Tiberius and met him in the field beyond. “Commander! Most fortunate, you and your companion here arrived when you did,” one of the rangers said, shaking her leader’s arm.
“Well met, Constance. We were meant to stay the night in the village. Had we known there would be foes set against this place, we might have asked for help.”
“Either way, we are glad you are here. Did you perchance see what they were wearing? Those who attacked the village, I mean.”
Tiberius eyed the young ranger before answering. “Aye. But we will not speak of these things now.”
“What do you mean?” the Mage cried. “They were wearing white! They are men from---"
New screams arose from the horizon, cutting Michael off mid-sentence. Tiberius gazed out to the top of the large hill in front of them and witnessed nearly fifty men on foot, racing towards the town. He steadied himself, preparing for the oncoming wave. Shayla crouched low, her spear steady and ready to fly. Michael threw his hands to his head, confused and angry all at once.
“They’re going to overrun us!” Michael screamed.
“Courage, boy!” Tiberius replied, the fury in his voice cutting deep into Michael’s soul. “Find shelter now!”
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 17