“I think Tiberius has other plans for you, young one,” she replied, unbothered by the Mage’s shortness with her. “Go on, Ranger, tell them your plan while we wait for my brother to stir.”
The three companions looked at each other, confused at her words for a moment before Michael asked, “What is your plan, sir?”
Tiberius stood and pulled his friends close so as not to yell. “I’m sick of being on the back foot against this assault. We are going to take the fight to them. Shayla, you will lead my rangers out to the far right and start in on White’s men. I’ll rally what soldiers we have and do the same on the left. We will meet in the middle. Now go!”
“What will your signal be?” she asked, drawing her helm over her face, readying herself for battle at last.
“Michael will give it to us,” Tiberius responded, clasping the boy hard on the shoulders.
Shayla nodded in understanding before departing at once to gather the rangers. Finally, she thought, it’s been too long since my blade tasted the blood of the enemy, and no more have deserved to have theirs spilt than these twisted heathens.
“So,” Michael began apprehensively, “I’m going to give the signal?”
“Yes,” Tiberius answered, “Get to the field with the Shaman. Your battle lies with the Revenant, and I reckon you will need all the aid you can get against it.”
“But,” he began but was cut off in an instant.
“You drove the last one off before,” Tiberius said, “and you weren’t nearly as strong as you are now. With the Shaman’s power at your side, you will both prove a worthy foe for that demon.”
“If that is your command, I will see it done,” Michael answered, “but what of the village? The dead continue to pour through those trenches.”
Tiberius glanced down at the dwarf, who continued whispering her language to the sleeping berserker. “Rogers will hold the line here. He and his brothers will not let them enter this place.”
Michael nodded and began to sprint through the gate out onto the field to join Bruce.
“And hey!” Tiberius called after the boy, “See if you can thin those ranks of dead men out a little bit!”
Michael, smiling to himself, cut a broad stroke with his wand as he ran past the trenches. From the tip of his wand, a great wave of fire lashed out, burning dozens of the advancing dead, yet not burning a single one of the living villagers. At first, they recoiled, unsure if this was a renewed attack from their living foe or some devilry from the screaming demon overhead. After a quick look at the sprinting Mage, they felt their spirits renewed to press on.
After the Mage was a way off, Tiberius returned his attention to Catherine and the sleeping Rogers. “We’re running out of time, ma’am. We need him now, or all we have fought for will be for naught.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her head against Rogers and said in the common tongue, “The boy is communing with his Father. Despite my pleas to him, the Father is not done with him.”
“Curse you, Rogers,” the Ranger whispered. He began to pace the length of the courtyard, waiting for the sleeping Berserker to awaken from his commune.
***
“Rangers!” Shayla cried as she landed softly on her perch, “Steady your hearts and ready your weapons! Your commander bids us move against the enemy at once!”
“Where is Tiberius?” Constance replied, gathering her arms and gear.
“He’s back in the square,” Shayla replied. “Quick! We must make all haste to be in position for the oncoming attack!”
“You heard the knight, lads!” Constance called out to her men. “Move your asses! Double time!”
In an instant, they were on the ground and sprinting hard along the side of the raging battle. Outside of the melee, they could finally see the chaos of the fight laid upon them. The rotting smell of the undead enemy was near overwhelming from the charred burned bodies of the King’s men who had tried in vain to flee the fiery arrows Michael had wrought down on them. The hardened men of the rangers gagged as they ran. All except Shayla, who alone kept her focus on the task at hand.
Sensing their fear, Shayla shouted from the rear of their formation, “Keep your heads focused, rangers! The enemy before us, and that beast above us, will not see the sunrise!”
“You speak of things you do not know, Dragon Knight,” one Ranger called out. “Such evil has never been seen in our empire before!”
“Hold your tongue, child!” Shayla hissed. “You are the one who speaks of things they do not know, for your master and I faced and survived such a beast!”
“How did you defeat it?” another ranger called out, gasping for breath.
“We didn’t,” she replied. “Our friend the Magi did, and he has grown in strength, skill, and in ways he has yet to know. Now focus on the fight to come! We must arrive with our wits intact, and our hearts strong.”
No more words were exchanged amongst them as they ran on, determined to arrive ready for battle before their commander was prepared to give the signal to attack. Shayla, the powerful dragoon, pressed the rangers harder than they had ever been. And for the first time since the battle at the pass, she became alive with thoughts of the oncoming battle.
***
Fire flew from Michael’s wand as he ran for the Shaman in the open field ahead of him. The screaming from the Revenant overhead came in waves now, each one a dagger to his senses. Each scream a painful reminder that he had, inadvertent as it was, unleashed this demon into their midst. Yet now, instead of fear and panic that he had felt that night when they encountered the last one, he felt a strength of spirit that was both foreign and comforting to him at the same time.
A few minutes later, he met the Shaman in the open field. As he approached though, the dwarf did not stir from his examinations of the vanquished wraith’s torn white robes and broken stave. “Bruce, we need to get rid of that thing!” Michael called out.
“Is my brother still communing with Father?” the dwarf asked calmly, bringing the broken staff to his eyes.
“Who?” Michael asked confused, now staring hard at the blackness above them.
“Tygahl,” the dwarf replied. “Is he still ‘asleep’ as you think he is?”
“What…yes. He’s still asleep in the court,” Michael stammered on. “Tiberius and Lady Catherine are with him.”
The dwarf nodded and stood, holding the staves in his hands. “What do you make of this?” he asked, thrusting the broken pieces to the Mage’s face.
“It’s a broken staff,” Michael replied impatiently, eager to begin the attack on the Revenant.
“No!” the dwarf cried, grabbing Michael’s attention away from the Revenant. “Look! And tell me what you see,” he said, thrusting the wood pieces into the Mage’s young face again.
Michael stopped and examined the staff. He reached out and brought the broken pieces to his eyes, looking for any sign that might be out of place. He brought it to his ears, listening for some unknown sound until finally, he stared the dwarf hard in the face.
“This isn’t a wizard’s staff?” he half asked and stated.
“No, it is not.”
“This is just a walking stick painted white,” Michael continued turning the wood over in his hands. “No magic has been used in this wood, and it shows no sign of wear that Cycret was known to have had on his staff. What does this mean?”
“It means,” Bruce started with a smile. “That this was no reincarnated wizard, nor is this the staff he wielded in life. The demon above was shackled to this form. It meant to draw you out to fight, boy.”
Michael thought hard for a moment before realization crashed on him. “It meant for me to release him properly, didn’t it?”
The dwarf nodded his head. “This demon was chained to the shape of the long-dead Sorcerer. Whoever did this knew that his presence in the battle would stir up feelings amongst you and the King’s Son. And only by your power could you release it.”
“So, it was a trap,” Mich
ael said.
“I would say so, yes. A trap we all sprung.”
“Well, what now, sir?”
“Now, my boy,” the Shaman replied, turning his attention to the Revenant, “We kill this bloody beast and seek answers when it’s over.”
***
Tiberius continued to pace the courtyard, his impatience beginning to boil over. After nearly five minutes, he sprinted to the sleeping mountain and kicked the man hard in his steel-like ribs. “Gods be damned, Rogers! Get your ass up!”
“Your words are in vain,” Catherine spoke calmly. “He is with his Father, and nothing will draw him out of that.”
Tiberius stopped his futile assault against the sleeping man and instead returned his attention to the trenches beyond the gates. With his Sight, he could see the defenders and the dwarven warriors standing their ground yet beginning to tire against the unrelenting enemy. The night was wearing on, and the more the wretched beast above screamed and raged down on them, the lower and lower their spirits would fall. He knew inside of him that they needed to get on the offense. But he also knew that this new strategy he now had formed rested on the sleeping man at his feet to hold off the assault so they could move out.
He turned back to the sleeping man and thought long and hard on what he could do when, like a bolt of lightning, he remembered that day so long ago now that he had calmed the rage within him. He drew his sword, pushed the dwarf woman aside, and held the blade to the Berserker’s colossal neck, and called out loud and strong;
“I am Tiberius Axton! Supreme Commander of the Imperial Rangers! Son of Emperor Luke Axton! In his name, and in the name of all Axtons, I command you to return to me now! You will hold your oaths to my family and your home, or I shall remove your head from your neck for your betrayal!”
The large man’s sky-blue eyes flew open at the words called out to him by the future emperor. He glanced at the sword at his throat and said in a deep booming voice, “What is your command, master?”
“I mean to press the fight against White’s men,” Tiberius said, removing his sword from the man’s neck and sheathing it back in place. “But your home and your people need you to make your stand here.”
“Then here I will stand, My Lord,” Rogers said, lumbering to his feet. “I will stand and defend this land as my emperor commands.”
“I am not emperor yet,” Tiberius said, “But I bid you make your stand here, nonetheless. Your people need their Master, and I require your aid most of all.”
Tiberius collected his heavy wooden shield from the ground, offered a curt nod to the man, turned and fled to the blood-soaked trenches beyond the gates. After he left, Tygahl turned to face the dwarven woman and whispered in a language he had never uttered before in his life, “The Father is with us tonight, sister.”
His face recoiled at the rumbling words that escaped his mouth, for though he had never learned them before in his life, he now understood them to their fullest. Catherine, the wizened and stone-faced dwarf, nodded sweetly with a knowing smile. “The Father is with us tonight, and every night to come, my brother,” she replied in the same guttural language Rogers had just spoken.
He smiled a soft smile of understanding, collected the large, heavy axes that had been knocked back with him, and began to approach the village gates. He looked to the sky and whispered, “Father, thank you for your strength. I call on your name and your blessings one last time to stand against the enemies of the realm.” Like a bolt of lightning, his mind went blank, his blue eyes grew darker and darker before turning a fiery crimson. He let out a loud roar, joining in the chorus of mayhem that surrounded them, and leapt hard into the fray.
As Tiberius reached the trenches, he was hit with the renewed screams of the dying men and the demonic screaming from on high. Yet his resolve was strengthened, his plan was set, and he would not allow anything to delay it from happening. “Men of the village!” he called out loud and clear for all to hear, “Withdraw! Withdraw! To me, at once!”
“Are you mad!?” one of the captains of the defense called out, “We cannot retreat against our foe! They will storm the village and raze it to the ground!”
“I did not order a retreat, fool!” Tiberius barked, “I ordered a withdraw! We have a new plan, and we must make all haste if it is to be done!”
At his brief reasoning behind his orders, several of the defenders abandoned their fight and made a hasty exit to where Tiberius stood at the mouths of the trenches. Those not near the openings quickly mounted the trench's edge and clambered out, rolling hard in the snow and slipping here and there. Yet for all those who heeded their commander's call, a few more of the men remained, willfully ignoring his orders. Instead, they chose to continue their struggle against the undead. Tiberius’s commands fell on their deaf ears. They had no mind for the obedient nature of taking orders, preferring to give in to their anger at the enemy that now threatened them and their homes. However, these lone insubordinate holdouts weren’t long in the trenches.
In their ancient steel and iron armor, the dwarven warriors had wrapped the men in their strong arms and were tossing them out of the trenches against their will as if they were children. Each of the men thrown from the battle landed hard on the snow-white ground with a hard thud and immediately began protesting and cursing the dwarves. One particular dwarf turned to a group of freshly thrown men and said in the voice of a breaking mountain, “Thrakeluhm! Bash-no intrerlor!”
“What the hell does that mean!?” one of the men roared in protest.
“It means fall your ass in line, you idiot! Gods damn your northern stubbornness!” the village captain bellowed at the men, cursing and spitting the ground in anger.
“But sir! What about the village? We cannot abandon our home!” another voice called out.
As if on cue, the roar of the Berserker pierced the night. A heavy thud shook the ground behind them as Tygahl began his furious assault on the undead streaming through the trenches. “The Master will hold the line, boys. Now fall the hell in line!” the Captain called out again.
Once the remaining men were in place, Tiberius turned and began a hard sprint out of the battle. Several men protested in what they perceived to be their retreat from the fight until their formation took a sharp turn to the right. A sudden realization dawned on the men at what Tiberius’s plan was now, and several of them exclaimed happily at their new goal.
Tiberius remained unbothered by their chatter and protests. He knew they were not rangers, they were just men and boys defending their homes against an evil that meant to take it all away from them. He knew their discipline was paper-thin, and he knew to be angry at them at this point would not spur them on anymore. All he could do was to lead by example.
He pressed them on harder than any of them had ever been compelled to move in their lives. Barely a man, young or old, could hope to match his pace, and yet not a single one complained. The betrayal by the power-hungry King that wished to destroy and take their homes as a show of strength was enough of a push for them.
***
“So,” Michael began, “how do we kill this damn thing?”
“I was going to ask you that, young Mage,” Bruce replied with a quiet chuckle.
“Well, last time we saw this thing, I didn’t exactly kill it,” Michael admitted, “more like, drove it away.”
“I do not think we will be able to drive this beast away tonight,” Bruce said, rolling up the long brown sleeves of his robes. “If we truly are to win the night, we must figure out how to vanquish this damn thing once and for all.”
Without another word, the Shaman began to spin his mighty arms as if stirring a large pot. His stone-hard eyes never left the swirling beast above them as he started to spin faster and faster before thrusting his arms skyward. A faint whisp as if smoke flew from his hands, aimed towards the center of the Revenant.
“Your magic is wasted, dwarf!” an ethereal voice mocked, “your powers are weak, and I am mighty! Nothing can hu---”
The voice was cut off as the smoke landed against the demon’s massive body. Blood-curdling screams of pain called out loud and deafening. Determined to press their attack, Michael gave a quick flip of his wand. A burst of lightning blew from the tip, landing in the center of the Revenant. The light illuminated the darkness around, penetrating the monster and spreading like a spider’s web into it.
Renewed screams of agony called out again. Not just cries of agony, but of fear and confusion. The power of the two against the tentacled beast appeared to have caught it off guard and only drove them onwards.
***
“That’s the signal!” Shayla declared loud to the Rangers at her sides. “Fly! Fly and fight with your hearts!”
A great battle cry rose from the rangers as they charged the King’s men on the far left of their formation amongst the trees. A few of the nearby men were shocked and fell back at their cry, but soon began to laugh as one of the soldiers called out, “What is this feeble attack against us? Have they run out of tricks and have now grown desperate?”
The soldiers raised the weapons to the oncoming assault, hateful smiles etched into their pale faces. A loud whirring sound broke the laughter as a great spear flew from the group of rangers to land square in the face of the man who spoke. The spear split the man’s face in two and exploded his skull and brain on to the ground behind him. His comrades reacted in horror at the violent and sudden attack on their friend and turned to examine his remains. When they returned their attention to the oncoming assault, they were met with a pair of thickly armored dragon scaled boots that kicked them hard in the chest.
Their backs were split open from Shayla’s powerful kick, ejecting their organs and bones from their bodies onto the snow-covered ground. She landed with the grace of a trained dancer, removed her spear from the ground, and rose to see another group of soldiers rushing to avenge their fallen comrades. Their battle cry rose high in anger only to be drowned out by the black-clothed rangers who ran past the Dragoon to meet their foes.
***
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 28