by Sandra Kopp
“Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!” Theodus shouted.
The horn’s shrill blast split the night. Theodus’ army tumbled out of their barracks and into the streets, directly into a volley of arrows. Those in front crumpled. Those following fell over the ones in front, exposing the soldiers behind them to still another volley.
“Keep to the sides!” Theodus bellowed. “Take your positions and wait for my command!”
From somewhere in the darkness came a shout. The roar of a thousand voices answered, and then a veritable sea of enemy soldiers swept toward the city. In the pale light they looked like a rushing tide. Over them floated the banner of the hooded serpent, its red eyes glittering like live coals.
“Fire at will!” Theodus shouted. Arrows flew thick and fast. The enemy’s flaming darts found their marks in walls and rooftops. Great stones, some as large as horses, hurtled from Ryadok’s catapults into the city, breaching the outer wall, toppling towers, and crashing through walls and roofs.
A great shaggy head appeared above one soldier. Theodus shot an arrow, but it passed through as if through vapor. Helplessly he watched the soldier’s head and shoulders disappear, the body jerk upward, the legs whip back and forth and then fall, completely severed, to the ground.
Theodus leaped off the wall. “Mount up!” he shouted. “Every man not on the wall ride out with me! These chaps want a fight, we’ll give them one!”
Nine thousand soldiers mounted their horses. King Fortius, astride his black charger, galloped up with a thousand more. He quickly divided the army into two companies, a smaller one to remain in the city and a larger one to ride out.
“Sound the charge and open the gates!” Fortius bellowed, and the host charged out into the enemy hordes…
The smoke-blackened sun wept over the fallen city. Ryadok’s hooded serpent floated over the ramparts of King Fortius’ ruined palace. Some forty-thousand bodies lay among the ashes and rubble.
King Fortius, along with two-thirds of his army, lay dead. Theodus, one of the remaining third, vowed that he would never rest until he had mounted Ryadok’s head on the gate of the rebuilt city.
Edwin Greene groaned and rolled onto his side, trying to steer his dreams in a different direction. But as the pounding and shouting continued, he realized this was no dream. Someone at the door seemed ready to break it down.
Emily bolted up. “What’s going on?”
“Sounds like Bertrand.” Edwin stumbled to the door and jerked it open.
Bertrand the Fox tumbled inside. “Get out of here! It’s begun! Brackenlea’s no more and Lemhill’s in flames! They’re here, in numbers too great to withstand!”
Emily joined them at the door. The guests, already awake and dressed, stumbled downstairs. The air outside rang with screams and shouts.
Edwin seized Emily’s wrist and pulled her to the bedroom. “Grab some clothes!”
“There’s no time!” Bertrand shouted.
Edwin returned immediately, bearing his sword. Emily followed, carrying a bag into which she had stuffed a dress, a pair of breeches, and a shirt. They fled the inn without closing the door behind them.
THE PRISONER
Arris awoke in darkness and agony. Every beat of his heart sent a throbbing wave through his brain. His muscles ached, his joints burned, and searing pain encircled his wrists and ankles. He tried to move, but his body, held immovable by some unseen force, refused to respond. The very stones moaned and wept in anguished torment.
I have died and gone to hell!
His mind slowly cleared. The darkness waned. Arris found himself chained to a wall, upside down. Torches burned in rude sconces on either side of him and on the wall directly opposite.
An obscure form emerged through the smoky light. The tall, stiff collar of its flowing cape lent it the appearance of an enormous serpent. Arris recoiled as it moved closer and stopped, mere inches from his face.
“Ah! Awake at last.” Ryadok’s low, soothing voice sent electric chills through Arris’ body. “My, you were exhausted! I trust you slept well.” He laughed softly and patted his captive’s cheek. “Of course you did. Now, tell me your thoughts, I command you.”
You tell me my thoughts, almighty one, if you have the power.
Ryadok began to pace. “Why do you resist? I could break you in an instant, my Arganian friend, with only a thought. Your powers are yet weak. Had you stayed in Nimbia you might have developed those skills, perhaps to the point of withstanding me now, but. . .”
He clicked his tongue. “You did not, and now you cannot. Yes, I could snap you like a little twig. But I perceive you have a strong will. . .and a strong body.” A deep, ominous laugh rang out. “Yes, my friend, you have a beautiful body.”
Arris seethed. He tried to swallow but choked instead.
“Never fear, noble one. I did not dishonor you.” Ryadok stopped pacing and rested his hand on the long wooden table standing between him and Arris. “Think for a moment what we could accomplish together. I hold limitless power. You, though only an apprentice, possess giftedness, persistence, and loyalty. Your word is your bond. Already men esteem you, a pillar of virtue! Lucius Mordarius, rash and ambitious, represents a detriment to The Cause, yet no threat whatever, for he shall effect his own demise.
“But I desire to establish your throne, in Nimbia, if you desire. That mountain realm suits you. We’ll overthrow Euratio and you shall rule. I alone could topple him, but—” Ryadok shrugged and smiled—“I do not covet all glory for myself. I am willing to share, with those I deem worthy.”
He put his hands together and, pressing them to his lips, paced again. Arris marveled at the lightness of his step, for Ryadok made no sound as he walked.
“Tell me what you really want, Arris,” Ryadok coaxed. “Come now, be truthful. Do you really want that pathetic Valhalean maid? Your broken heart deceived you into thinking so, but we both know you really desire Leila Yohalani. I can give you Leila. Regardless of her current station, whether married or not, I can give her to you—pure and unblemished—undefiled, as it were, and completely compliant to your will.”
Ryadok stopped and leaned across the table to gaze directly into Arris’ face. His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I know what you think: that I hold the people in bondage as mindless slaves. Not so. I unite them in a common purpose under one banner.
“Think back over the years, when each kingdom had its own king. They fought each other, not only between kingdoms, but within kingdoms. They had no unity, no peace! Every kingdom wanted something another kingdom had, and rather than share, they fought! There was greed! There was strife! There was war and there was death! That, my hypocritical and judgmental friend, constitutes the highest form of slavery!
“But now,” he whispered, “I unite all of Epthelion under one benevolent ruler. All will share the wealth equally. No Liedor will exist, no Ha-Ran-Fel, no Valhalea. Only a single kingdom simply called Epthelion, or. . .” A malignant smile spread across Ryadok’s face. “If you yield to me, I might honor you by naming it Marchantavia.”
“You honor yourself, Aurelius. You care for no one else!”
Ryadok’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “At last—he speaks! And he knows his cousin. You can’t imagine how that delights me!” He clapped his hands together and then leaned across the table again.
“So. . .what say you, cousin? Ah, you fall silent again. Yet you mull over what I said. You can’t help yourself. You felt the power of the throne. Don’t deny it. Come, what say you? Will you take your rightful place at my right hand? Or will you die in agony for a futile dream conjured by the deluded followers of the fools who ruled before us?”
Arris unflinchingly met his gaze, saying nothing.
Finally Ryadok straightened. “Very well. I will leave you to consider the matter. And I shall leave you as you are. Perchance the blood to your brain will stimulate your thoughts and bring you to your senses. However, to comfort you, I give you Leila!”
He spread hi
s hands. Between them appeared a brilliantly glowing pillar of mist that quickly transformed into the fairest and most perfectly-formed maiden imaginable. Flowing golden hair cascaded over full, firm breasts to her slender waist. Wide blue eyes burned with passion as she sidled toward Arris. Delicate hands reached for his face. Her full, voluptuous lips parted softly.
Arris squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his lips, cringing as a fragrant mist brushed his cheek and tickled his ear.
Ryadok smiled and turned away, and as he left the room, Arris heard the all-too-familiar sound of reptilian scales scraping the stone floor.
Arronmyl pulled his pipe from his mouth as the trio approached. “Does the Arganian not ride with you?” He waved his pipe toward Davon, who led Barada. “I note, however, his horse has come.”
“The Arganian went to confront Ryadok,” Charles answered. “He searches the castle even now. Davon will join him at the proper time. In the meantime—” He nodded toward Nedra—“we especially need you. Baugonril no longer walks the earth but rides the wind, invisible until he’s ready to strike.”
Arronmyl hung his head. “’Tis as Nedra said.” He looked then at Davon . “She also said that you and she together will discover Baugonril’s fatal weakness.”
Davon blinked in confusion. “Me?”
“Though inferior to your brother’s, you also possess Arganian gifts.”
“I always thought so.” Hans cast a jealous look at Davon and jerked his thumb toward Nedra, who stood beside her father. “You two better get to it.” He turned away.
Nedra swept to his side and laid her hand on his elbow. “I need you, Hans, for your sword will slay the beast when we determine its weakness and how it manifests itself.”
Hans swelled with renewed vitality. “I will kill it!”
“How much time will you need?” Charles asked.
“I have the herbs we gathered before we left Garris,” Davon answered. “We’ll determine their use, along with how to detect Baugonril, as we travel.”
“The Little Folk have prepared, as have we,” Arronmyl said. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”
RED DAWN AND NIGHT FURY
Merewyn awoke well before daybreak. Automatically she reached for Ruelon but found his place empty and the bedclothes cold. Throwing back the covers, she swung out of bed and hastily washed and dressed. Swiftly she tied her hair back and raced down the Great Hall to the front door. Ruelon’s deep voice rose above the noise of the milling crowd in the courtyard as he issued orders to his captains and supply masters. The horses, already saddled and bridled, waited at the tierail at one side.
“My lady.” Aethelion and Elund bowed as Merewyn burst outside, and she acknowledged them with a short nod.
“Hamiel’s company will travel south to Abbajon and continue from there,” Ruelon said. “Elund, take your company west, across the Wind River, and then south. Aethelion, you follow the eastern border. I’ll bring my company between you and Hamiel. Should trouble arise, we’ll aid whoever needs us most. Appoint a thousand to stay behind and defend this sector. We’ll form a wall against our enemies.”
“Yes, my lord.” The captains clapped their arms to their chests and departed.
Merewyn ran to her husband’s side. “Why did you not wake me?”
Before Ruelon could answer, a watchman shouted, “Riders approach from the northwest!”
Immediately the warriors mounted and readied their weapons. Ruelon and Merewyn rushed to their horses and mounted, then rode to the front of the host and stopped, staring in the direction the watchman had indicated. At the top of a nearby hill, barely discernable in the predawn gloom, a column of horsemen advanced in orderly ranks, bearing before them the white flag of peace.
“Stand down!” Ruelon ordered.
“Stand down,” the cry echoed throughout the ranks. The warriors checked their prancing steeds as waves of riders crested the hill and descended.
A distant horn sounded. “The horn of Eldweiss!” the watchman shouted. “Nimbia rides to our aid!”
The horn of Tagenryd answered. Wave after wave of Nimbian soldiers descended the slope, momentarily disappearing below neighboring hilltops before resurfacing atop a closer rise. Torchlight glinted on polished armor and plumed helmets. Every horseman bore a sword and either a lance or archery gear.
Finally they descended the nearest hill and approached Myamina. Their horn sounded again as they ascended Myamina’s northern flank. Moments later some twelve hundred horsemen, most of them Lesser Nimbians from the border villages, took their places in the ranks of the Horse Lords.
King Ruelon greeted them warmly. “Welcome, my friends. My heartfelt gratitude to you and to your worthy and noble king, Euratio.”
“We are at your service,” they responded, “and ready to ride even now.”
The eastern horizon lightened, but instead of the usual pinks and violets, the lowering sky glowed ominously red. Soon the first golden beams broke free and shot upward, staining the heavens with brilliant crimson.
“Already Death leaves its mark,” Hamiel murmured. “Enough blood spilled last night to stain the very heavens.”
“And we ride to meet it,” Ruelon shouted. “Sound the departure.”
Tagenryd’s great horn blew. Merewyn wondered if she would ever hear those beautiful tones again, and whether the tower from which they issued would still be standing, should she return. She gazed at Ruelon, tall and proud astride his snow-white charger, and loved him more than ever. Never had he looked so magnificent. He rode to meet his destiny, and he did so with neither fear nor regret. A lump formed in her throat. Father, let me be brave and unselfish—but please spare his life! Bereave me not again.
The warriors formed a line thirty horses deep, a formidable wall moving relentlessly across the steppe behind King Ruelon and Merewyn. Merewyn watched Windrunner’s every move, for the horse possessed remarkable instincts for detecting danger. Merewyn hoped she would detect Baugonril before he struck.
“Smoke to the east.” One of the warriors pointed to a billowing gray-black cloud.
King Ruelon stared. “Langhorn!”
Icy horror seized Merewyn. The entire city must be burning for them to see the smoke at this distance.
And what of Garris? Merewyn closed her eyes. “Emily. . .Edwin.”
The king reined in. “Sigard!”
A young warrior broke from the ranks and galloped to him.
“Take word to Aethelion to conceal himself along the border near the Nomadic to meet any attackers sailing down the river. The rest of us will continue south to meet the puppet.”
“Yes, my lord.” Sigard rode away.
Ruelon urged his charger forward. “Twelve hundred Nimbians,” he muttered, “and not an Arganian among them! But I’ll not complain. They’re good warriors.”
Merewyn swallowed as she looked once more toward Langhorn. Her face hardened and she resolutely faced forward, stroking the hilt of her sword.
They camped near the village of Haresh, some twelve miles east of Ptarmania and ten miles north of the Nomadic River. King Ruelon summoned Merewyn, his captains and five men of Rishaud who had ridden north to meet them.
“Half of us should stay north of the river,” he said, “for I expect Ryadok’s entry there. The puppet will invade from the south. While the northern half engages the eastern raiders, the rest of us deal with the puppet.”
The king turned to the Nimbian captains. “Has Baugonril visited Nimbia these past weeks?”
They shook their heads. “Baugonril has never visited Nimbia.”
“You’ve no experience of it then.”
“No.”
Ruelon heaved a short sigh and turned to the men of Rishaud. “Where are Amiel and Ludhov?”
“Ludhov camps on the Antelope Plains north of Valhalea, anticipating that, rather than march all his troops the distance from Atwall, the puppet will sail them up the Ashgard to enter near our southeast corner. Amiel has moved west to meet any forces c
rossing in the middle,” one answered.
“Good.”
“A messenger from Ludhov told us this morning the last rebel stronghold in Valhalea burned last night, and enemy troops attacked two towns along the Ashgard in Liedor as well,” added a second Rishaudian.
Ruelon frowned. “Then we’ll expect them tonight! Set watches all around, and prepare everyone to ride at a moment’s notice.” He rose and raised his hand. The warriors fell silent.
Ruelon’s voice rang out across the steppe. “Valiant warriors of Ha-Ran-Fel and brave and noble allies who have joined us, our hour has come! We stand at the threshold: For some, the threshold of eternity; for others, the threshold of a new era. The malignancy spawned in the east now snakes its tendrils across our land to bind us. . .to choke and extinguish us. . .and to devour our young. It comes, not with the conventional weapons of warfare, but with magic and devilry. It comes without honorable rules of engagement, for this is not a fair fight. We know nothing of witchcraft or conjuring demons. We cannot hope to defeat such evil with what we know.
“But—” King Ruelon tapped his chest—“some among us will find the way with what lives in their hearts. They will effect the enemy’s destruction. From them will victory spring! For those who fall, the light of heaven will shatter the darkness of death! Those who live will see the dawning of a new day, a glad day, a day of peace and freedom! They will multiply and grow mightier than any who ever lived before!
“We fight!”
A mighty shout erupted from the crowd. To a man they rose to their feet. “We fight! Hail, Ruelon, King!”
Over and over the shout rang out. Tears sprang to Merewyn’s eyes as she knelt before Ruelon and kissed his hand. He smiled down at her and, lifting her up, held her close.
The following night
Softly the wind blew over the land. Aethelion shook back his tawny mane, ignoring the zephyr’s soothing whisper as he cast troubled eyes up the Nomadic River toward the east. Those shimmering waters carried unspeakable evil. He turned his gaze to the rising moon, glowing eerily in the dusty air.