by Tiger Hebert
“Now!” barked Melgrim as he directed his men to get to their horses.
As they filed down the stairs, a bull climbed over the top of the wall. Twisting in place, he swung his battle axe in a wide arc, hewing down several men. The first Minotaur to scale the wall howled a triumphant roar as two more beastmen breached the wall. The beast then chased down one of the retreating soldiers and hurled him off the wall. Once his body crashed to the ground, two nearby bulls crushed him under the devastating force of their war hammers. Human cries and blood began to mingle with that of these wicked beasts.
As his remaining men mounted their steeds, Melgrim fired a chain of arrows in rapid succession upon the beasts atop the wall, killing one and wounding two. It was enough to allow his men to reach their mounts. With two more arrows, he finished off the two bulls. Tossing his bow aside, he quickly mounted his horse, and with a kick of his booted foot, he unlocked the door mechanism. Groaning, the iron door began to fall open with its great weight. Lance in one arm and shield on the other, they watched the door crash down on top of two bulls.
“Charge!” was the command as Melgrim urged his steed into battle.
They raced down the path and out the gate as they pursued the battle. Crashing into a black bull, Melgrim was thrown from his mount. Horses and riders darted past him as the bull regained its balance. Then with a snort and grunt, the beast leapt through the air wielding its great axe above its horned head. Melgrim scrambled to get to his feet as the beast descended upon him. The bull howled in pain and dropped his axe as it clutched its right side, where a soldier’s lance impaled the creature. The soldier jumped down and drew his blade. Raising his sword in the air upside down, he then drove the blade downward through the beast’s back with both hands. There was a final howl of agony, and the beast crumpled to the ground.
“Praise the Lord for you, Seth. I thought I met my end,” beamed Melgrim.
“Not today, Captain, not today,” said the baby-faced soldier with a smile. “Let us finish these cows and get home for dinner. What do you say?”
“It’s a perfect plan. Let us finish them,” responded Melgrim. But by the time Seth helped his captain up off the blood-soaked ground, they watched the riders finish off the last of the enemy threat.
“Captain, look over there! See those men on horses? What kind of men would be aligned with such abominations as these?” asked Seth as he kicked the corpse of the slain bull.
“Our kin,” replied Melgrim in a solemn voice.
4 The Growing Threat
Roaring flames raced through the burning city, but they could not choke out the cries of battle. Fiery arrows darted through the thick black smoke that rolled through the once-beautiful city. The forest city of Trellion was quickly turning to ash and ruin.
The invaders were robed entirely in black garments, covering even a portion of their faces. Attacking in silence, these masked warriors moved with deadly precision. With power and speed, they wielded their crescent blades. Even though these attackers were smaller in stature than the elves, they were mercilessly cutting down all they could find—young and old, even children. The elven men fought bravely to defend themselves, but they were no match for these mysterious assailants. One by one, they fell beneath the cruel blades.
As the slaughter spread through the city, many of the women ushered the young and old away from the city. If they could just get to the sea, perhaps they could find safety. Stricken with panic, they raced toward the eastern shore in hopes of reaching the few ships moored upon the open ocean. Behind them, howls of pain continued to erupt as their brethren were slain.
Isiirial thought to herself, Just get to the ships, just get to the ships. Squatting down, she scooped up a screaming child and quickly dashed toward the shore. “You will be safe with me, little one,” she told the child as she ran through the woods.
Then she noticed a rumbling in the woods, and she realized it was the sound of horses. But the horses were not pursuing them from the rear; they were charging at them head-on. Despair overwhelmed the elf maiden; she knew they were doomed. Their pursuers had cut off their escape. Tonight, they would all die.
The thundering hooves pounded through the darkened forest rapidly. Isiirial set the child on the ground behind her, and she drew the dagger from her belt. Preparing to defend herself, the long-legged elf maiden crouched low to the ground, bracing herself for impact. Closer, closer grew the hooves.
“Stay behind me, little one,” she warned the child as the horsemen came crashing toward them.
As she readied her dagger, the riders all darted past her and all the children. Confused, she whipped around in circles, looking every direction. As she turned around, she stood face-to-face with a black horse. Atop the steed sat a lithe figure wearing a dark green cloak.
While she was preparing to attack the rider, a stern voice broke out. “There are others who deserve that blade, elf maiden. Get yourself and these young ones to your ships. Your path is clear. Go!” Then the rider rapidly dashed past the evacuees toward the burning wreckage of Trellion.
“To the eastern shore, hurry! We must hurry,” Isiirial shouted to those nearby. Resuming their escape to the east, leaving the hooves and the cries of the night behind them, they ran.
◆◆◆
The bandits had fought their way into the heart of the city, leaving a wake of destruction in their path. As they approached the courtyard, they saw before them the Great Hall of Tua’Liluon. The massive tower marked the center of the city. There in the courtyard, before the tower, stood a detachment of twenty warriors. The ornately armored royal guard stood ready to give their lives in the defense of the tower and their king. Closing in around them in an arcing formation stood the savage murderers.
The elven guard hoisted their glaives and stood behind their tall angular shields. Vastly outnumbered, they prepared for their final battle. As if preparing a sacrificial offering, the robed warriors slowly raised their blades in unison, the ritualistic gesture a precursor to the slaughter. Bursting into an evil roar, the robed men charged toward the elven guard with blades held high.
As the raiders swarmed the guard, crossbow bolts sliced through the courtyard air. Howls of pain tried, but failed, to escape the raiders lips as bolts plunged deep into their unarmored bodies. Stumbling to the ground, dozens of the attackers clutched their wounds. Another hail of bolts was loosed as ten hooded riders burst into the courtyard. The mystery assailants sat atop their black steeds wearing long dark cloaks. Wielding crossbows, they fired unerringly upon the robed men, striking them down in rapid succession.
The guards’ eyes all shifted to one rider. A fearless assassin standing out from the rest, this hooded hero held a compact repeater bow in each hand. Twisting and leaning gracefully in the saddle, the rider launched a storm of death upon the robed men. In the twos and threes, they fell to the ground until the courtyard was cleared of the bandits.
“Make sure the rest of the city is cleared. Finish them,” came the confident voice of the lead rider.
“Yes, Mistress,” replied the nine riders.
The leader of the pack of riders leapt down from the horse as the other nine tore off through the village. She, removing the dark hood, revealed a fiery head of wild orange-and-red hair draped around a pale yet graceful face. The fire of the torchlight danced in her green eyes. She looked at the royal guard, who simply stared at her in awe. Then quickly she shifted her focus to one of the slain men at their feet. Moving toward the corpse, she bent down and peeled back his hood.
“Zenari,” she informed. “They are the Zenari. See these markings on their forehead and face?” A great deal of the skin on the man’s face had become a twisted black and was full of scarring, and in the middle of his forehead was a dragon in the shape of a backward S. The unmistakable mark of the Zenari was burned into his flesh.
“We have been tracking their movements for days. We got here as fast as we could,” she told them.
“We cannot thank you e
nough,” rose a voice as one of the guards stepped forward. Removing his helm, he revealed his face, and he took a knee and bowed to his rescuer.
In reverence, she replied with wide eyes, “No king shall bow to me, Your Highness.”
“What is a king but one appointed to serve and protect? Nothing more than that which you have just done yourself,” responded the elven king, Tua’Liluon. “For over three hundred years, the people of Trellion have lived in peace with the rest of the world. My family has lived here in safety and security. Tonight that has ended. Why?”
“The Zenari have been driven mad. They do not love or hold anything sacred anymore, other than the accursed serpent that lives in that blackened temple. Instead they destroy everything that has not bowed to the black dragon,” she replied. “Understand, they are not waging war on the elves. They are waging war on all of Aurion. Trellion just happened to be first on the list.”
“Who are you, warrior princess?” inquired King Tua’Liluon.
“I am Mistress Kiriana of the Brotherhood of the Unveiled Eye.”
“Kiriana, you have served me and what is left of my people greatly. What are we to do from here, though? Surely this is not the last of the Zenari, if war is what they seek.”
“You are correct, Wise King. They will not stop until everyone is enslaved or destroyed. These lands are no longer safe. If you are to save the lives of your kind, then you must leave this place.”
“Where would we go, young Kiriana? The forests and shores
of the Shaillone Peninsula have been our only home since crossing the sea. We know nothing else.”
“That’s why we are here. We were sent to take you to Tempour.”
“Tempour? We would hide in the jungles?” he asked with confusion.
“An ancient city lies hidden in those jungles. Your people will be safe there while we prepare to face the Zenari threat. Time is short, though. We must move quickly. When these ships do not return tonight, they will be sending another wave upon the shores of your city.”
“We will make a stand, and you will help us?” asked the king.
“My men are the best, but they can’t defeat an entire army, and that is exactly what is on its way,” replied Kiriana.
The king said nothing for a long moment. He studied the state of his city. The bodies of his people littered the ground and homes continued to burn beyond sight. Tears welled up in his eyes. He released a deep sigh and said, “We will leave tonight. Let us gather our people to the eastern shore.”
5 Storm Vale
Melgrim left the surviving riders at the stables as he continued up the cobblestone corridor between Storm Vale proper and the king’s court. The moon hung just out of reach. The night was half gone. Shadow’s muscles rippled as she carried her beloved master up the winding incline toward the king’s court. Townsfolk silently stared at the captain’s bloodstained armor with curiosity and concern. Only tales of battle had been heard in these mountains for some time.
Melgrim did not return their stares. He rode in silence, with his black hair tied back and his eyes focused on the path ahead of him. His mind could not escape the images of the men he’d lost tonight. All counted, fourteen men gave their lives in defense of their people. At least fourteen families would be missing a father, brother, or son come the morrow. They had trained for battle all their lives. But the gravity of the losses could not be measured or prepared for. These people had lived a peaceful life since they made the Sky Reach Mountains their home. Storm Vale was often busied with preparation for war, but the time of preparation was over now.
He thought of his own family, his aging father and mother. That was it. He was their only living child. His three sisters died before they reached womanhood. Disease found them; death stole them. He tried to hide the scars under his rough beard and solitary life, but everyone could still see them. He lived alone, save for the company of his men and his parents. He always thought it best. He was a practical man, living by reason and logic. He was a good man, but hardened by life. Tonight only further validated his choices.
“Captain, the king awaits you,” called the guard.
“Indeed,” he replied, passing under the faded stone archway into the king’s outer courtyard.
He led Shadow to the guard’s stable in the courtyard before he climbed down. Wrapping the reins around the wooden post, he said to the silky black steed, “I will be back soon, my friend.” The mare bowed her head slightly in silent acknowledgement as he walked away. With long strides, he moved with purpose through the large grassy courtyard toward the royal fortress. Storm Vale had been an amazing refuge for his people, and he wasn’t about to let that end now.
The Sky Reach Mountains stretched to the four winds, and Storm Vale was its crown jewel. A series of fertile plateaus connected by gradual slopes were cradled in the heart of the Sky Reach. For a little more than fifty years, these men and women had made this their home. Vowing to never be driven from their homes again, fortifications had grown around the city. Piling stone upon stone, the vale was connected through a series of narrow mountain roads. Each narrow passage was eventually greeted by one of the several gates. The walls and fortifications marked the mountain road all the way from the main gate at the southern end of the vale, back through Storm Vale Proper and the upper villages, and all the way to the king’s outer courtyard. The stone gate that marked the king’s outer courtyard was the last and final wall in the chain. It was in this northernmost corner of the vale that the king’s fortress stood. The castle, built against the face of Thundering Mountain, towered as another peak in the Sky Reach. On the southern exposure, a long stone terrace called the High Place stretched far out over the mountains below, giving a peerless view of the flatlands beyond.
“Captain Melgrim, the king waits in the hall,” announced the guard at the castle stairs.
“Thank you,” replied Melgrim with a simple nod. Taking steps two at a time, he went up the first then the second set of stairs to a terrace above the courtyard. Upon reaching the terrace, he halted before speaking. “King Tiereon, I return with news.”
“Melgrim, stop with the protocol. What has happened at the outer gate?”
“Your Highn—”
“Melgrim, enough of the protocol. I am man like you. Now out with the report,” remarked the king.
“The riders and I reached the wall in time, but I was not prepared for what was to come. The ancient evil has found us like demons from hell. We killed hundreds of them before any breached the wall, but we lost good men tonight, fourteen by my count, and there are some wounded that may not see daybreak.”
“What are these demons you speak of, Melgrim? What could possibly breach our walls?” asked King Tiereon.
“The Baalim,” he said in a distant voice. “The bane of our fathers’ fathers has come. They are hunters, and we are their prey. We finished off all of the beasts that came at us, but others survived—”
“Others? What others? Who survived, Melgrim?” inquired the king.
“The same ones that betrayed us then would betray us again. The priesthood remains, or at least their descendants, and they are still feeding off the scraps left behind by their masters. We did not get to them before they fled,” explained the captain.
“I was so young then. What are the Baalim like? Are the legends true?” asked the king.
“My king, they are worse than our nightmares could make them. Some of them are the size of two men and weigh much more. Their horns are twice the size of any ram’s horn I’ve seen. The axes they wield are nearly the size of a man,” described Melgrim in a somber tone.
“Heavens!” exclaimed the king.
“Were it not for the great walls of the outer gate, all of my men would have fallen tonight,” admitted Melgrim.
“For over fifty years, we have lived in peace and prosperity. Never even until now has there been blood in the Hall of Kings! We must increase the sentries and prepare for war. Tales of the Minotaurs suggest that these
beasts will not stop at this minor defeat. This was merely a test of strength. Leave me now. You must rest, for tomorrow our work begins,” declared King Tiereon.
6 Keys to the Kingdom
Faint rays of light began to crawl across the dark horizon. Chasing them, the sun began to spill across the Black Sea. The cool morning wind laid siege to the ships’ sails. Four pale wooden vessels carried King Tua’Liluon and his surviving kinsmen across the deep waters. Their cargo was precious but so few in number, with only three hundred making the escape.
Seratu steered the ship south, leading the way for the voyage. He was a quiet man. The customary long dark cloak draped over his shoulders hung on his tall and lean frame. A worn black brooch held the cloak together. The brooch bore a graven eye, the insignia of the brotherhood. They all wore it. Seratu found that his eyes kept lingering upon Isiirial. The elf maiden was unlike anyone he had ever seen, making it hard for him to focus on his task of steering the ship.
They would travel by sea around the southern tip of Darnisi, past the Mar’Kren Mountains. It would not be a quick journey. Regardless of the craftsmanship of the elven arks, it was a great distance to travel and would take time.
“How long is the journey to Tempour?” asked Tua’Liluon.
“We must stop at Port Harlan for supplies first. From there it could be anywhere from ten to twelve days if we make haste,” replied Kiriana.
“Tell us of this place, this Tempour,” said the king.
“Reaching northward up the coast, the Mar’Krens stretch beyond sight. It is at their northern end that they disappear into the verdant jungles of Tempour. Lush tropical growth rises as the mountains fall until the ridge line fades and disappears. Towering trees and dense undergrowth fill the land, and the canopy shelters us from the world. It is in the heart of the jungle that our city was built two hundred and thirty years ago.”