Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  Uln saw it as well and pulled away from the line, maneuvering through his men to reemerge before the Saricon war leader and his guards. He saw one Varga fall to one of the deadly axes, its blade nearly decapitating him and creating a hole in the line. Uln quickly filled in the gap, his long sword lunging forward to skewer the axe man, hoping to extinguish the fiery red flames surrounding his eyes.

  Kahn Taruk saw the Varga chieftain lunge at him with his sword. Flicking his axe to the side he parried the attack, snapping his boot forward with incredible speed. Miraculously the Varga brought his own foot forward in time and struck him in the shin, thwarting the kick. Kahn’s eyes flared bright with anger and he jabbed his axe forward so quickly that the Uln had no chance to avoid it. Kahn’s axe, the top adorned with a sharp spike, was angled directly at the Varga's chest.

  Uln knew he couldn’t completely avoid the attack of the Saricon war leader. The Saricon’s incredible speed was simply too much. Turning his body as best he could, the sharp spike managed to penetrate his thick muscular side. Uln, grunting from the pain, followed through with a vicious punch with his left hand, grazing the Saricon’s chin as he leaned backward, obviously seeing the attack coming.

  Kahn Taruk smiled. This is going to be a good fight, he thought.

  ***

  Ardra was frantic seeing Orin’s cloak soaked with blood. His face was ashen and he was clearly losing a lot of blood. She too felt light headed, the deep cut on her shoulder slowly sapping her strength.

  “Look out!”

  She turned just as a Saricon warrior broke through the wall to Aldgar’s left, running at her, his javelin poised to strike. It was Aldgar who had shouted the warning, but he was engaged with another warrior and could not reach her in time.

  Staggering to her feet, she blocked his initial attack with her sword, but her hand was slick with blood and the sword slipped from her grip in the process. The Saricon pulled his spear back and thrust it toward her again. She turned to avoid it, but in her weakened state she was unable to move with her normal speed. The spear took her in the hip and she cried out in pain. But the pain, instead of subduing her, made her angry, really angry. And with renewed strength and quickness she reached out and gripped the spear shaft, holding the weapon that was lodged in her hip, while simultaneously drawing forth her hunting knife which she used to slash at her attacker. The Saricon’s eyes grew wide as he saw its razor sharp edge just before it slit his throat. The shaft of his javelin fell from his hands as he fell backwards, gripping his throat instead in his futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Ardra ripped the spear from her side and fell to her knees.

  A Dy’ainian warrior had finally seen Orin fall and had reached under his arms to drag him away from the fighting. Orin screamed Ardra’s name and the man, after having dragged him ten paces behind several Varga, who were pushing forward to join their comrades, released him to lie on the stone pavers. Orin had worked his way to his knees as Ardra slowly stood and limped her way to him. He was breathing laboriously and his eyes looked sunken. Ardra was in no better shape. “I cannot lose you,” he whispered as she dropped to her knees. He held her tightly against his chest, the cacophony of battle surrounding them.

  She pulled away from him, her eyes set. “I will not die like this. I love you, brother,” she said as she slowly stood, tears dripping from the corner of her eyes.

  “But we can survive these wounds,” Orin said, almost pleading.

  She was shaking her head. “Perhaps, but I do not think I will survive what is happening to me. It has gotten far worse. I will not let this thing,” she spat, tapping her head, “kill me. I love you.” Then she stepped away from him and strode purposely forward toward the midst of the fighting.

  “No!” he groaned, unable to yell. “Do not leave me.”

  She had turned her back to him and was now close behind Aldgar and Brant, both of whom were barely holding the Saricons at bay. As she distanced herself from Orin she felt the umbrella of Orin’s protection slowly dissipate, the energy of everyone around her begging to be drawn into her body.

  Instead of fighting it, she let it all in. She had never done that before. Always she had pushed it away, fighting against the pull, but not this time. She spread her arms wide and pulled it into her, drawing a massive amount of energy into her body. She began to glow brightly as Aldgar and Brant, suddenly weak, fell to their knees. The Saricon warriors before her also fell, their energy suddenly drained from them. Glowing even brighter, she stepped forward, slowly walking towards the gate.

  The enemy all around her fell to the stone pavers, their weapons clinking to the ground as they struggled to rise. But they could not. It was as if an immense weight had settled on their bodies, immobilizing them. Soon she had grown so bright that her body had become transparent, as if she were a shining star floating forward, its brilliance illuminating the entire courtyard as if the sun itself were shining down upon them in a cloudless sky.

  Orin, weak from his loss of blood, crawled toward her, tears streaming from his eyes. Her body had become so bright that he had to look away, but still he crawled, through his own blood that drenched the stones beneath him. He was forced to look away, so bright she was, but still he crawled, as he continued to spill his blood upon the stones.

  Uln and Kahn Taruk, who were fighting further down the line, saw the light first and then felt its pull, their bodies becoming suddenly tired. Saricon and Varga alike were dropping to the ground, their hands now powerless to maintain their grips on their weapons. Uln, having fallen to his knees, looked up and saw the big Saricon leader looking at him, the fiery redness of his eyes diminishing, reflecting the loss of energy being drawn from his body. Uln struggled to stand, but could not manage it as the light got brighter, pulling even more of his energy from him.

  Archers on the wall were shielding their eyes but several shot blindly into the light. They couldn’t see the result, but their arrows burnt to ashes as soon as they struck the intense energy surrounding her.

  Ardra had never felt so alive. She could feel everything the light touched, as if the light were an extension of her body. Whatever it touched, she could feel its shape, its color, its essence. And whomever it touched, she could sense their physical appearance as well as their emotions; she could feel their very life force. She could no longer feel her body. There was no sensation in her feet or hands…she was simply there, a form of pure energy, of pure consciousness. Floating to the gap between the Saricon warriors and the gate, she stopped, reaching out for even more energy.

  Her body began to grow hot as she continued to pull in ever increasing amounts of energy. The heat became more intense, but she felt no pain. Finally, when she felt she could hold no more, she let out a shrill cry, her voice tremendously augmented by her power. Those in the courtyard who could still move, covered their ears as the deafening noise assaulted them.

  Then, within moments, though it seemed an eternity, the scream ended abruptly in an explosion of pure white light that carried with it a heat so intense that it burned any Saricon unlucky enough to be within twenty paces, leaving nothing but ashes. The scoring explosion then turned into a burst of searing wind, which scattered both the Saricons and the Varga across the courtyard. Those at the brunt of the hot gust suffered painful burns as their bodies and weapons rolled and tumbled across the ground.

  The gate didn’t stand a chance, the intense heat wave shattering it into flaming fragments that flew into the surprised Saricons on the other side. Even the portcullis was damaged beyond repair, the intensity and heat of the explosion bending the steel bands and leaving the gate lying at an awkward angle.

  Orin slowly rose to his knees, staring in numb surprise at the massive amount of damage. The gate had collapsed and was now open and he could see the fighting beyond it. His ears were still ringing and by the looks of it everyone around him was similarly disoriented. Ardra was gone; the only evidence of her presence was a blackened circle that took up half the courtyard. For
tunately, nearly all the damage had occurred to the Saricon line.

  Jarak got to his feet, his body tired and heavy. Cat was next to him and he helped her stand. From the looks of it, the Saricons guarding the gate had been killed, most of them burnt beyond recognition. They saw about fifty enemy warriors that had managed to survive the blast, many of whom were slowly rising to their feet. But the main force had been destroyed, having taken the brunt of the explosion.

  “What was that?” Jarak asked.

  She shook her head, still dazed. Brant, who had been able to draw more energy from the ground, walked over to Jarak. He looked far better than everyone else. “It was Ardra,” he said sadly. “The gate is open and our people are fighting on the other side.”

  “Look,” Cat said, pointing across the courtyard. The fifty remaining Saricons had slowly joined one another, forming a weak line behind Kahn Taruk and his five remaining personal guards. They had a few more men on the walls but not enough to be effective with their arrows.

  Several smaller explosions directed their attention to the gate. They saw a fireball land on top of the wall and burst into flames, knocking three of the remaining enemy off the wall. More explosions sounded beyond the gate and what little remained of the structure blew inward followed by the screams of the Saricons who had been defending the gate on the other side. Their forces had begun to assault the gate and barbican with fireballs and tynells alike. It wouldn’t be long before they would be able to break through the remaining Saricon defenders and join their comrades in the courtyard.

  Jarak looked behind him and saw nearly six hundred Varga remaining. They all appeared exhausted but they were now standing with weapons in hand. Uln stepped towards them, bleeding from several wounds. “We have them outnumbered,” Jarak said. “That explosion nearly killed them all.”

  “What was explosion?” Uln asked in Newain.

  “It was a friend,” Jarak said somberly. Seeing Uln’s confused expression he added, “I’ll explain later. She sacrificed herself for us.”

  “What you want to do?” Uln asked.

  Aldgar was there as well, bandaging his more serious wounds. Like the others, he seemed exhausted. “The Tongra will not surrender,” he said. “To surrender is a great disgrace.”

  Just then one of the Saricons stepped forward, gripping a huge axe in his right hand. He looked tired, but not as bad as the others behind him. His five personal guards stood nearby, their weapons held to the side, grim faced, knowing what was to come.

  “Jarak Dormath!” he yelled. “You have done well! It seems I have underestimated you!”

  Jarak stepped from the crowd to stand alone before his men. “Heln has no more sway here! You are done!”

  The Tongra shook his head. “Heln supports the strong. He does not care about race or the kingdoms to which people give their allegiance. Whether you like it or not, he has supported you. Heln is always victorious!”

  “Think what you want!” Jarak said. “But you are done. Do you surrender?”

  The Tongra smiled. “No Saricon will ever surrender. Heln would never welcome him to his white city. We will die fighting!” In unison his fifty men lifted their weapons shouting Heln’s name.

  “That can be arranged!” Jarak replied.

  “Do you have a warrior capable of sending me to my final resting place?”

  “Why would I not just kill you with arrows?” Jarak asked. “You deserve no such honor.”

  “If you allow me gratatuit, and I am victorious, then I can promise you that no Saricons will invade Dy’ain for as long as I live. If I die, then your lands will still be safe from Saricon invasion for twenty years. It is well within a Tongra’s power to grant such a request if gratatuit is accepted. Ask the traitor behind you, he will confirm that what I say is true.”

  Aldgar stepped closer to Jarak. “Gratatuit is such a challenge. If granted, it will allow the Tongra the most elevated position in Heln’s great hall. The other Tongras will accept the conditions of the challenge.”

  “How will they know such a request was given?”

  “Well, if Kahn Taruk wins, you must allow him to live. If he dies, then you will pick one Saricon to bring the contract back. They will abide by the contract.”

  Brant stepped forward. “Let me fight him.”

  Uln stepped forward as well. “I cannot allow,” he said. “I owe you life.”

  Brant shook his head and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You have repaid that debt with your people’s blood. Besides, you have a family, and I will see you return to them. And you are hurt, my friend. I am not.”

  Aldgar leaned in close to them to make sure that the Saricons could not overhear them. “Brant, the Tongra is very formidable and strong in the Fury.”

  “Surely he is tired like us all,” Jarak reasoned.

  Aldgar was shaking his head. “If you accept the challenge, he will transfer energy from his personal guard. He will be strong again.”

  “I did not know they could do that,” Cat said.

  “Only a Tongra can,” Aldgar explained. “Brant, are you sure?”

  Cat held Brant’s arm tightly. “Brant, are you not weak like the rest of us?” She was worried and did not try to mask it.

  “I am not. The Kynan taught me how to draw energy from the earth. I am strong.” Then he looked to Jarak. “I can do this. Jarak, think of it…one fight and one death will save our lands from future invasions for years to come. It is worth the risk.”

  “But Brant, it is your life I am risking,” Jarak said. “It is I who should fight him.”

  Aldgar was shaking his head. “You cannot use magic in gratatuit. I mean no disrespect, but you would not win against a Tongra. They are too strong.” He looked at Brant. “I do not want to see Brant face him, but if anyone can defeat the Tongra, it is he.”

  Brant reached out and grabbed Jarak’s wrist in his iron grip. “Jarak, let’s end this war. It’s the only way to save our lands from future invasion.”

  Jarak saw his determination and let out a long sigh. “Fine. But if you do not win I will never forgive you.”

  Brant nodded and smiled. “I will not lose.”

  Jarak breathed deeply and turned to face the Saricons. “I accept your challenge!”

  Brant stood in the cold morning air wearing nothing but leggings and boots, his muscular body covered in scars, his Ull Therm brands standing out as reminders of his past. He held his curved Kul-brite blade to the side. Focusing on the stones beneath him, he felt the earth’s energy pulsing below. He pulled it in until his body began to tremble with power, ready to explode into combat.

  Before him was the Tongra, the most impressive figure he had yet seen, and from the perspective of an Ull Therm, that was something to be said. Taller even than his comrades behind him, he dwarfed Brant by a head and half. His narrow waist consisted of bands of muscle which continued up to his massive back and chest. He held his giant axe easily with one arm and his body, too, was crisscrossed with numerous scars.

  They had written a quick contract and agreed to the terms, signed in blood by Jarak and the Tongra. If the Tongra won, they would be free to leave, with the Saricons never to return while he was alive. If he lost, the Saricons that remained would fight to the death in hopes of regaining their honor in Heln’s eyes. Only one man, one of the personal guards to the Tongra, would be allowed to live to return the contract to the ruling council. The Saricons would not be able to return for another twenty years. By the time the contract had been written their own army had dispatched what remained of the Saricons defending the gate and had joined them in the courtyard. Nearly two thousand Marastians and Dy’ainians had secured the city, killing any remaining Saricons, while some officers and the Varga that were outside, including Tearial and Tolvanus, stayed behind to witness the fight.

  Brant had watched the Tongra remove his armor and shirt, and then join arms with his five personal guards, forming a tight circle. They were in that position for a while and
Brant decided to turn on his towd. He saw something very interesting. Aura energy was slowly filtering from the men into the Tongra’s body. He could see it as plain as day. Their bodies glowed in hues of red and orange, and as the Tongra pulled more from them, their auras dulled while his brightened. After each man’s aura was barely visible, the Tongra released them and stepped away, stretching his body tall and flexing his powerful muscles. Then he walked forward to stand before Brant.

  “You ready to die, Dy’ainian?” he asked, wisps of orange power flaring from his eyes.

  Brant, having forced himself to hold in the power he had accumulated, opened the dam, flooding his extremities with energy, its very existence begging to be released. “Many people have tried, and failed,” he said, barely able to contain the energy that yearned for release. His arms and legs shook with a mixture of unadulterated power and intense anger, fueled by the images in his mind of Kaan’s torn and bloodied body.

  “Have you fought a Tongra before?”

  “I have not,” Brant growled. “But you are a man, and you will bleed like any other.”

  Kahn Taruk smirked. “So much confidence for one so young.”

  “Your hunters killed my friend. I promised him that you would die. Rest assured, you will not see another sunrise.”

  Kahn Taruk looked up at the red and orange streaked sky as the sun’s rays fought against the thick dark clouds. Then he looked at Brant, his eyes smoldering orange and red, their fiery light enhanced by the shadows of dusk. “Ready?” he asked, lifting his axe before him.

  “I am.”

  No sooner had he spoke when his eyes burst with bright orange fire and he shot forward, his axe already swinging in a deadly blur.

  Brant, having seen the attack coming, had already worked out not only the counter, but the attack sequence. Moving with a speed that matched the Tongra’s, Brant flicked his sword forward, his powerful wrists leading each move as Kulvar Rand had taught him. Brant had no thought of winning or dying; he thought only of executing each move as precisely as possible, fueled by controlled anger and an incredible amount of energy. Today his wrists held the power of ten men.