by Chris Ward
‘But still some succeed,’ Tress said. ‘They are most agile and can suffer great injury before succumbing so we will need to kill them as they climb. We cannot afford to let any through.’
‘And if the Nephytrolls make the walls fall, the wolves will be on us in a flash.’ Tyron added.
‘So we need to slay the Nephytrolls.’ Reigin said quietly as he eyed the defences of KingsLoss with great admiration.
‘And we cannot expect such luck as came our way the last time,’ Tress said, and then suddenly once more the air was full of an evil howling as the moon rose over the northern ridge and bathed the open ground below in the eerie pale blue-white light of death.
Escorted by Tyron they walked along the top of the fortress wall and inspected the defences and the preparations which had clearly long stood ready for such an attack as was surely about to be unleashed upon them. Wooden tubs of arrows were placed at regular intervals and each had three youths to take the shafts to the archers who stood along the battlements. Some of the men held long spears or lances which were to be used against any creature which might climb up to attack them. To the west where the water swirled about the promontory of KingsLoss, there was little by way of defences for the water there was deep and the currents and whirlpools created by the falls were impassable. To the east on the downriver side where the water was calmer, the walls extended some distance out along the promontory and more of the young ones were placed there to watch for any attempt to come across the water.
‘Once they built a boat and tried to attack from there,’ Tyron said indicting the flat land to the east, where the water was protected a little from the falls upriver to the west, ‘but they were easily repulsed and indeed all drowned; none set foot upon the land.’ He patted a youth upon his head. ‘Keep good watched Begarin,’ he said, ‘your eyes will be a weapon this night. ‘At this the young boy swelled with pride.
‘I will Tyron, no one will set off from the shore unnoticed.’
‘Good lad,’ Tryon replied and they walked on.
Sylvion and her companions watched in admiration as Tyron went about and spoke with his small army of defenders. They were all simply dressed and both men and women stood ready together upon the battlements. Youths too, some no more than twelve summers waited calmly for whatever might come to pass. They were all amazed at what seemed to be a complete lack of fear. Tyron went from group to group and gave encouragement and a warm touch or a shake of a hand. Tress too did the same, but mainly went to the women and the young girls who were less in number but equal in their quiet acceptance that they would play their part.
When all was done Tyron gave a final encouragement. ‘The wall is sound,’ he called to all who could hear him. ‘Four summers we have worked hard upon it since last we stood like this to defend our lives and our families. We will prevail against the evil which comes against us if we fight without fear…if we stand side by side and keep on fighting even when things look grim.’ Tyron stood now upon the highest point where most could see him.
‘We have nowhere to run. This is our home. We fight for our lives. We cannot turn to others…’ he held his sword high. ‘Let them hear of our resolve, for we are the righteous in this battle and we shall not give quarter to evil…’
And at this a mighty roar from those upon the battlements went up into the night and floated out across the abandoned farmland to where the hidden army prepared by their campfires, higher up along the northern ridge.
‘They will strike soon,’ Tyron said jumping down to once more walk with Sylvion and the others. ‘I cannot ask you to fight with us, but if you are willing and can shoot or use a lance then we would welcome whatever assistance you can provide.’ He stood and smiled, waiting for some response which Sylvion gladly gave.
‘Have no fear Tyron, we will stand with you this night,’ she replied firmly. ‘All I ask is that you provide me with one who might hold something for me. This would be of great assistance. A young boy or girl would suffice. I will not put them in any danger.’ At this Tryon gladly agreed and called a small girl.
‘Sharyn,’ he said as she came up somewhat shyly, ‘you have always wanted more to do, now you have a most important job.’ The young girl stood as tall as she might. ‘This lady is Sylvion,’ Tyron continued, ‘she is a Queen from the south. You will assist her tonight. It is a great honour.’ Sharyn turned to Sylvion and with the innocent pleasure of a child spoke quite boldly.
‘You are a real Queen?’
‘Indeed I am,’ Sylvion replied with a warm smile, ‘and you will be most important to me tonight. Do you think you would agree to help me in this battle?’
Sharyn shook her head as if to refuse but it was only her way as a child and she meant quite the opposite; that she could not think of anything she would rather do.
‘I will do whatever you say Queen Sylvion,’ she replied eagerly, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.
‘Take care of her Sylvion,’ Tryon said gently then, one hand upon the young one’s shoulder, ‘for she is my only child.’ And Sylvion was much taken back by this and she saw that he loved her very much. And so it was arranged that Sharyn would carry the King’s Eye and have it ready for Sylvion to use whenever she required it.
‘What of the Shadow Blade?’ Reigin asked Sylvion shortly after when they had a moment to speak.
‘I do not wish to use it,’ Sylvion replied. ‘I fear that any report of it will travel quickly to Svalbard and perhaps in fear this evil Zydor will kill Rayven before the solstice…’ She paused and looked out over the darkened fields. ‘But if I must I will.’ She turned to Reigin with a shudder. ‘But I do not relish the thought of slaying men, Reigin.’
The great warrior placed a strong hand upon her shoulder. ‘I know there is a cost to you Sylvion,’ he said gently. ‘I have seen it before. We will fight without the Blade if it can be done, but in the end I will stand by you should you wield it. This you know.’ The two old friends looked at each other for a long time.
‘I know you will Reigin,’ Sylvion whispered. ‘And I also know what Giraldyn said this night is true…’ Reigin gave her a puzzled look, ‘… that all things have their time,’ she continued, and at that very moment a cry went up.
‘They come!’ And all eyes instantly turned north toward the enemy where they saw a mighty group of men walk forth upon the fields and approach KingsLoss by the light of countless torches. They marched in silence and took up position in long lines some half way across from the tree line. And there they made fast the torches upon long poles and waited. Well over a thousand men, well-armed and brutish in appearance, their armour eerily reflecting the light which flickered all about them.
‘They await a signal,’ Sylvion said to Reigin and Rema, who now also stood with her. She then took the King’s Eye and searched along the ridge high up where the enemy campfires still burnt unattended. Tyron noticed this action and wondered what instrument she held, but he said nothing and waited for the moment when he would order his defenders into action.
‘I see their commander,’ Sylvion whispered holding the King’s Eye fixed upon the one place. ‘He is richly robed and sits upon a horse. He holds a lance and several by his side hold torches, each one burns a different colour. He will surely give the orders.’ At this Rema spoke.
‘Let me see him Sylvion,’ he said firmly, and instantly she knew his motive. Within a moment Rema held the King’s Eye and with Sylvion giving directions he too saw the commander of the evil army. Rema fixed the scene within his head, and the position, near a league to the north and high up upon the ridge. He then handed the instrument back to Sylvion who immediately gave it to Sharyn standing by her side. Rema took an arrow and drew his bow.
‘You shoot to scare the shadows?’ Tyron called, puzzled at Rema’s action.
‘No Tyron, he shoots to kill their commander,’ Sylvion replied. At this Tyron shook his head.
‘A league to the trees, you will be lucky to reach their archers half way.’ He spok
e with good humour and not in any manner to belittle, for he had no understanding of what Rema might be capable of.
‘Come Tyron,’ Sylvion said. ‘Look upon this now,’ and she took the King’s Eye once more and soon Tyron stood in utter amazement that he could see so well over such a distance.
‘You are part magician too?’ he muttered shaking his head and lowering the King’s Eye and then looking once more through it. ‘This is truly amazing…’
‘Watch the man upon the horse,’ Rema said quietly and loosed his arrow.
Sylvion had a sudden sense of being in that place before, and a memory came to her of another battle long ago, and another Rema firing long and high into the night to place an arrow in the dirt at the feet of King Petros before that mighty war took the lives of many men and beasts. And her blood ran cold for the images of all she had slain then, seemed suddenly to stand before her.
Rema travelled with the arrow tip, high and fast. He knew he could make the distance but he had to find the commander in the dark and he had but a single chance. The arrow reached its zenith and began to fall. It flew fast and cut the air with a whistling that only Rema heard. He saw far below the coloured torches and the horse and its beautifully robed rider looking out unaware toward KingsLoss. He bent the arrow left and down and sensed the speed of it begin to slacken, for it was almost at its limit. All other things now became a blur and in the last instant all Rema saw was the rider and a hand holding high a torch burning bright and blood red.
Tyron saw nothing until suddenly the rider shuddered. An arrow appeared from the night in the man’s throat and seemed to continue on until the shaft was half way through. Despite his shock Tyron held the magical instrument fixed upon the gruesome scene, and had a sudden thought that the red blood now pouring from the man’s throat and the light from the torch he held, were a perfect match.
‘He falls!’ Tyron cried, ‘you slew him Rema, from a league. Their commander is dead and not an arrow ...’
...but the falling red torch was the signal for the battle to commence and suddenly the evil army upon the ground below KingsLoss took their bows and sent near a thousand shafts up into the night. Tyron instantly tossed the King’s Eye to Sylvion and sprang back to his positron on the battlements.
‘All under cover. The arrows come!’ he cried over and over. And come they did in a mighty hail, raining down death upon them from the darkness. But the defenders were ready for the onslaught and stood under cover as the arrows hit above with loud thuds and muffled cracks. None were injured save two who were caught by shafts lower down coming in under the roof. A man had an arrow pass through his right arm, shattering the bone and fell in agony, to be immediately picked up and carried off for whatever aid he required. Another arrow hit the stone crenulations shattering instantly and sending a spray of splinters which pierced the legs of another man who quite calmly picked out the bloody bits and threw them over the wall with a spit of contempt. It was a brave response which was cheered heartily by those around him.
Twice more the arrows came but no further injures resulted.
‘Now, gather the arrows now!’ Tyron called when he judged the enemy would no longer waste them so easily. And in a trice the roof was swarmed by young boys who expertly gathered as many arrows as they could, quickly filling canvas bags strapped upon their backs. Then they leapt down to safety as a few more arrows whistled down harmlessly from above, and so in short time the defenders upon the battlements of KingsLoss had a thousand arrows more to return in anger.
‘The wolves come Tryon!’ a soldier cried suddenly and pointed to a massive dark shadow which seemed to flow down from the dark forest to the north, and as they all watched in awe the howl of the evil creatures reached them and seemed to make the very stone upon which they stood, shake in response.
‘Wait till they reach the walls,’ Tryon cried but Rema and Gravyn ignored his command and fired together whilst the creatures were still far off and passing through the lines of enemy soldiers now standing by their torches and waiting further orders from a commander who they did not know was dead. Rema dropped ten great wolves and Gravyn six before the howling shadowy mass seemed to split up and become single creatures...and what creatures they were. Sylvion watched them come through the King’s Eye, and close up they were fearsome indeed. Red eyed and driven to kill, they howled as they ran, their mouths open with huge teeth clear to any who might be unfortunate enough to stand in their way. And quick...Sylvion had never seen so many creatures together travelling so fast. In no time they ran past the soldiers and were almost at the walls of KingsLoss. Soon all the archers were firing and wolves were falling. Rema and Gravyn kept up a steady stream of arrows and every shaft found its mark, so that in quick time the ground beneath where they stood was piled high with the quivering bodies of slain wolves.
But even as they fell, it seemed there were more to take their place.
As the wolves reached the base of the wall, many of the defenders put their bows aside and took up the lances and spears and stood ready to prevent any wolf from coming over the top. Rema looked down and was shocked to see the wolves leap up the vertical stone, their great claws scratching and flailing but seemingly able to find purchase, and so before any could do much the evil creatures were on them, held back only by the sharpened iron grill which projected out horizontally, presenting a terrible obstacle to the frenzied wolves. They put their paws and heads through the gaps between the iron work and howled and grasped at whoever seemed close, but the defenders used their lances and spears to great effect and many wolves were killed and these fell down upon those who climbed behind, taking them too, to death on the rocky ground below. The sound was terrible to experience and the air reverberated with such an evil howling and screaming of wounded beasts that no one could speak easily and be heard.
Rema continued to put arrow after arrow into the wolves but it soon became apparent that none could get past the ironwork and so he turned to Tyron and putting his mouth to the man’s ear spoke loudly.
‘Let us slay the soldiers for they seem to be stalled and do not know what next to do without their commander. They are vulnerable now...’ and so Tyron gave the order and whilst the youths and young girls kept on with the lances and the spears as best they could against the frenzied wolves, all men who could use a bow now sent arrows down upon the enemy soldiers who fell in bewilderment for a time before they retreated a distance out of reach of all but Rema and Gravyn, who continued on until the enemy used their war shields to halt most of the damage, save for Rema’s shafts which he took to bending in such a manner that some were felled almost from the side where no shield was held to give protection. And then the men returned to the wolves, for such was their cunning that two had managed to get past the iron work and although greatly injured by the sharpened iron tips they had leapt down upon the battlements and stood ready to tear any before them to pieces. They did not last long and were quickly felled but their success gave encouragement to the others of their kind and so the battle against the wolves raged on for some time until they suddenly withdrew as if by some command which came to them, and in a flash they were gone, retreating back back into the forest to the north.
The defenders upon the walls took breath, and Tryon ordered reports of injury or any other information which seemed important, and so it was quickly discovered that not a single person had been harmed beyond the two who had suffered from the arrows. This was conveyed to Giraldyn who sat in his wheeled chair on the high stone platform of KingsLoss, above them all. From there he was able to watch the battle, and although he cursed inwardly that his body was no longer able to take part, he knew with men and women like Tyron and his wife Tress that all was being done. He had watched impressed at the five visitors and nodded in wonder at what they seemed capable of.
‘Perhaps,’ he whispered into the cold night air, ‘perhaps they will get to Svalbard and slay Zydor. This Sylvion wields the Shadow Blade. She does the will of El-Arathor, so nothing is i
mpossible.’ And the old man smiled and thought upon his long life. I have lived long enough, he thought. It is time to move on.
On the battlements below, water and cool cordial was soon being given out, and food too for those who had the need, but most were not in the mood to eat. They sat about and rested and wondered what next would come to pass, for the soldiers on the fields below gave no sign that they were about to leave the battle. A few of the youths tried the bows and competed in seeing whose arrow came closest to the enemy, and Sylvion and her companions marvelled at the mood, for it was no small matter to face such fearsome creatures as the wolves, and show such little fear. Reigin cleaned his great sword Anderwyn, for he had killed many wolves with it. Orcxyl sat alone and none knew his thoughts but he too had taken up a lance and given such a good account of himself that many around him took his hand and gave him a simple word of thanks or nodded silently in a manner which spoke as much as any else.
The great slaughter which Rema and Gravyn had wrought had also not gone unnoticed and already their feats were being whispered respectfully all along the battlements.
‘Did you ever see such skill with the bow?’
‘Look there at the plies of dead wolves below where they stood...’
‘How can any shoot with such accuracy, surely they are gifted beyond normal men...’
‘The one like a statue, he shows no emotion...’
‘The other, he killed from half a league and more. And what a bow, each arrow a kill...’
‘Who are they?’
And so it went on, but neither man allowed themselves to dwell upon such praise for they knew it was not over. There was far more to come before the night was over.
And when the moon was at its highest and the fields below KingsLoss were well lit by its light, such that the torches of the enemy were no longer replenished, when a strange and eerie silence hung upon the land and nothing seemed to move, and the enemy waited as though carved from stone, still standing in their lines beyond the arrow’s reach; then, a single black cloud drifted across the star filled sky and hid the moon for but a moment.