by Jacob Cooper
“Lieutenant!”
Fherva stopped. “Yes, General!”
The clamor of steel, wood, shouts, and screams made vocal communication almost impossible. Roan grabbed Fherva by the shoulder and brought his mouth to his ear.
“Get word to Colonel Bohdin that he is in charge,” he shouted, pointing a hundred yards west. “There is an advantage I intend to press. He must hold until I return. It will mean our victory if I succeed.”
“It will be done, General!” Fherva nodded with a smile, a gesture so out of place for the scene around them. Roan saw confidence in Fherva’s action, confidence not in himself but in his general. Roan prayed it was not misplaced.
He broke from the battle in speed, cutting down a few in his way but otherwise avoiding the conflict. General Roan headed decisively south, away from the battle.
Prime Lord Banner Therrium did not enjoy seeing the slaughter of men, Arlethian or Senthary. He and Alrikk watched the battle unfold from their position, now somewhat removed from the main area of the fight. The epicenter of the struggle had shifted many times but was now moving farther west, farther inland into Arlethia. Before long, the fight might breach cities and towns if the flames didn’t make it to them first. There would no doubt be evacuations occurring rapidly even now. Plans had been made and warnings sounded to all population centers that could be affected by the inevitable fray. He prayed that those left in charge would be able to discharge their duties effectively and save the lives of his people to the greatest extent possible. Not for the first time in these recent days did he wonder what Thannuel would have done. Have I been rash? Foolish? Careless? No time for those thoughts could be spared.
Alrikk’s look of ambivalence was too much to hide. “You are wondering how we can just sit here and not join in the battle,” Therrium said. It was not a question.
“Yes,” Alrikk replied. “But my first duty is to protect you. I wish you would allow me to see you away from this danger before it’s too late.” A war horn sounded in the distance.
“Have faith, Alrikk. Our forces are strong and the plan is sound. Already a third of their army is decimated and neutralized.”
“What about the other fronts?”
Therrium looked uncertain. “We must remain confident and focused here. Trust in the plan.”
“We haven’t received any reports or messages. You were supposed to get word by wing frequently once the fighting began,” Alrikk reminded the Prime Lord.
Again, Therrium looked uncertain. “The smoke, that has to be the reason a pigeon or crow cannot get through. Not even a falcon could brave this smoke.”
“Then why not a courier, sprinting across the treetops, my Lord?” Alrikk pressed. “Please, let me get you to a safer location. Something is wrong, I know it. Your survival is paramount.”
Banner Therrium trusted Alrikk, though he was young, and feared he was right. It was a small trickle of apprehension that ran through him and started to well into a larger pool of fear. He was afraid it would run over if he did not maintain control. The lad had been the only survivor along with Master Aiden in first battle of this war and had experienced a connection with the forest that he doubted anyone else living could boast or describe.
Banner had seen the aftermath of the skirmish. Thousands dead and strewn across the grounds of his once beautiful hold; a portion of the eastern wall obliterated; and beyond that destruction a stone road that extended for untold leagues, flanked by stone statues that were once living trees. Even the soil had been petrified, becoming the road itself. A Dark Influence had no doubt been the cause of such evil, and Wellyn obviously had control of it. If he deployed its use here, the results would be drastic and cause massive panic amongst the Arlethian forces.
Alrikk still shuddered from the experience of speaking with the forest when it first had happened. He was shattered inside, though slowly healing from the experience. The lad would surely fracture beyond hope if he experienced it again while connected to the trees.
“Yes,” Prime Lord Therrium said.
“Yes?” Alrikk repeated.
“Let us retreat away from the immediate confrontation. You are right, Alrikk.”
The young guard looked visibly relieved. A giant fireball crashed not two trees from them, sending embers and red-hot sparks in all directions, igniting branches and frondescence all around them.
“Quickly!” Alrikk commanded.
They bounded down to the forest floor, thinking the danger among enemy soldiers to be less than the danger of ever-increasing fire above. Their goal was not to engage the Sentharian army, but to outrun it. They sprinted about half a league north, dodging any who stood in their way and refusing to fight unless it was absolutely necessary. A eucalyptus tree exploded from the flames just ahead of them and sent wooden shards into Alrikk’s face. He reacted and covered Prime Lord Therrium with his own body as they fell to the forest floor from the concussion. The debris landed all around them, not discriminating between Arlethian and Senthary. Cries of horror were cut short as soldiers were crushed. With ringing still sounding in his ears, Alrikk stood up and raised Banner to his feet.
“Are you hurt?” Though he yelled, he could not hear his own voice. Therrium looked bewildered.
Alrikk shook him. “Lord Therrium, are you okay?”
Therrium nodded. He said something but the ringing in his ears was still loud. Deafening. The sound of another explosion cut through the sound of the bell tower in Alrikk’s ears as another Eucalyptus tree succumbed to the fires. Therrium reached up and gently touched Alrikk’s face where dozens of splinters were lodged. The tips of his fingers came away wet with blood.
“It’s nothing to be concerned with, my Lord, I’m fine!” His hearing was returning.
“The blue gum trees,” Banner said. “They are exploding.”
Despite the stress and tension of the moment, Alrikk couldn’t help himself. “I hadn’t noticed, my Lord.” Banner cracked a slight smile.
“Incoming!” Alrikk screamed as he felt the approach of Senthary to their position. He and Therrium spun around so they were back to back. More than a dozen soldiers approached them, screaming and hollering with swords and axes upraised. The wood-dwellers sprang into action, parrying attacks and countering. Alrikk cut through a man’s arm as it came down upon him. After dispatching the soldier, he quickly picked up the dead man’s sword and wielded it along with his own. The urgency of his oath fueled his lethality as he defended the Prime Lord with all his skills and abilities. After taking down nine men one by one, he found himself without an immediate opponent. He turned to Therrium and saw four dead soldiers at his feet and the Prime Lord breathing heavily. Alrikk didn’t try to mask his look of surprise.
“What?” Therrium asked. “I’m a little old but still a wood-dweller, aren’t I? It will take more than a few Senthary to bring me down.”
They resumed their flight northward, avoiding all conflicts where possible. The sounds of the battle were more distant now, but the smoke and flames were still easily visible in the night sky.
“This is likely far enough—” Alrikk didn’t finish his pronouncement. Banner went stiff, listening.
It sounded almost like a horse through the ground. The vibrations felt heavy and were easily discernible from the battle. They were, in fact, moving away from the battle…and toward them.
“Is it cavalry?” Banner asked. “We were followed?”
“A single horse?” Alrikk whispered. “Not likely, and it’s—” Alrikk again cut off before continuing. “It’s too fast for a horse and the gait is wrong.”
“It is, however, heading directly for us,” Therrium said. The trickle of apprehension turned to a thicker stream of fear. He realized finally what pursued them.
“It is a Helsyan,” he announced.
“What kind of beast is that?” Alrikk asked, drawing his sword.
“The kind that has only one master and is impossible to stop.” Therrium shuddered. “It is what Aiden sle
w at my hold, though it nearly killed him.”
“So, it’s not impossible, then,” Alrikk said with grim determination. “Run, my Lord. I will deal with the demon.”
“It will take us both, lad, if we are to survive.” Banner also drew his sword. No sooner had he done so than they caught sight of the Helsyan approaching at speeds only wood-dwellers were believed to possess. The sheer sight of this creature was enough to cripple a person with fear. His body appeared chiseled from stone with runes and glyphs of some create covering every visible piece of flesh.
“What covers his body? Is it a sort of armor?” Alrikk asked, squinting in the moonlight.
“No,” Therrium replied. “It is his flesh. A type of cicatrix in appearance. All Helsyans are born with the same markings except for a slight variation on the withers, but none know of their meaning.”
“What kind of mother could rear such a creature?” Alrikk muttered.
“None that live. So little is known about their race.”
“Tonight we will find out how they die.” Alrikk took a step forward and placed himself in front of his Lord, his two swords at the ready. His voice had a slight tremor, though it was masked well. Therrium reached one hand up to Alrikk’s shoulder.
“I am fortunate to have you here by my side, lad.” He felt Alrikk shake beneath his hand as the Helsyan came closer. The man was massive in size and covered in carnage. “Greatness is not had because of great ability, but rather because brave men stand in the face of fear and cause it to shrink from their presence. Be firm, son. Let us not be blinded by the fear but forge through it.”
General Roan broke free from the battle and was now almost a quarter-league south of the scene. Though the smoke and fire had not spread to this portion of the forest, the heat was still slightly discernible. The forest can protect wood-dwellers from many things, but fire is the one enemy that threatens the forest beyond all.
Perhaps not above all, Roan thought as he remembered gray and dead trees.
He turned east and tore through the forest at speed until he reached the edge of the tree line. There, he spied the tail end of the enemy’s camp. It ran from south to north in a crescent that cradled the forest for half a league. Roan had never seen such a gathering. White and gray tents stretched almost beyond his sight in the light of first moon. The bright whitish blue orb hung low against the northwestern horizon. Second moon would rise before long over the southwest. Smoldering fire pits with pots hanging over on sticks and logs ornamented the campsite with several hundred soldiers, mostly marshals of some kind, Roan guessed. Their attention was fixated to the west, where screams, smoke, and fire permeated the air.
As he slowly emerged from the tree line, he noticed three field marshals arguing and gesturing at the ground. No, not at the ground, to someone on the ground. He approached silently and crouched through grass that was the chest high until he could hear their words. Blame, anger and threats were being slung back and forth. One of them claimed command based on his family’s station, another based on experience. The third was wondering if they shouldn’t hurry and tell the other leaders. This is most curious, Roan thought. He crept closer and risked a hasty glance toward what lay at the men’s feet and was surprised to see High Lord Marshal Tulley, or what was left of him. He lay in a heap of his own carnage, his throat savagely freed from his body along with his entire lower jaw. The left side of torso appeared cratered, depressed, as if a comet the size of a man’s fist had fallen from the skies and lodged itself therein.
Had these three plotted against the Lord Marshal to usurp command? But why? To what end? Aside from their arguing, there was the tenor of surprise and fear in their timbre. No, this was not the work of men, Senthary or Arlethian. This was beastly savagery.
Roan should have been pleased to see their enemy’s supreme commander slain, but he felt no such emotion. He would have no doubt killed the man if he had the opportunity, but the manner in which this soldier had met his end was troubling to an extent that Roan nearly forgot his self-assigned mission. He would not have a better opportunity to dispatch three field marshals and create potentially more division amongst the ranks of the enemy force. He rose from his concealment and advanced with terrible velocity.
The two wood-dwellers stood before Rembbran. A young man, ashen from fear; Banner Therrium to the side and behind the younger man. Both had their weapons drawn. Rembbran over-flowed with exuberance and anticipation. The blood from the High Lord Marshal was still wet on his hands, though cooled a bit from the warm temperature it had been when it flowed freely from his body. It was a blessing to begin this chase with an immediate kill. He had ended the weak man with his bare hands, crushing and tearing him.
What bliss he felt when Charged! Demonically euphoric. He reveled in it. The hope was also there, that strange emotion so foreign to his composition. Would slaying a relative of escaped prey bring him closure to his failed Dahlrak? He doubted it, but perhaps more lasting relief than was otherwise possible from an unrelated Charge. That was the belief of his kind, though untested. He would test it thoroughly tonight. Yes, he would put Agony in its place and serve it less from now on. The fear that emanated from both these wood-dwellers was such strong aroma. Salty. Savory. Like the smell of salt water in the air mingled with rust. He drooled thick saliva as he faced his prey.
“Feeble fear is more succulent, refined,” Rembbran said, looking at Therrium. Then he turned to the younger man, a guard of some kind. “Not as raw as young fear. They both will do, however. I thank you.” His voice was deeper than most growls, unnatural but devilishly fantastic. “Steady, Alrikk,” he heard Therrium whisper.
“We do not fear you!” the younger man, Alrikk it was, snapped. He held two swords between them.
The chase-giver made a show of taking in a deep breath through his nose, flaring the gill-like slits that ran up the bridge of his nose and exhaling with shudders of ecstasy. A knowing smile manifested itself on Rembbran’s face.
“Ah, the naiveté of youth.” Alrikk was not a boy, but compared to a Helsyan that could live with vigor beyond a century, most human races were short-lived by comparison. This guard seemed no more than a youngling holding a toy in his hands.
“Your kind has fallen before to one of my warriors. And recently at that,” Therrium reminded him.
Before Rembbran could respond, Alrikk strode forward and attacked. The chase-giver parried but Therrium was right behind his young guard, not withholding from the fight. The forest was thinner in the northern parts where they now battled. Trees were still ubiquitous, but less so, giving more room for the contest to develop. As the sound of steel against steel trumpeted forth, Rembbran found his rhythm in the fray and began to drive them backward. Fast as they were, he was able to dodge and counter every blow levied against him, forcing both of his targets to defend rather than attack. It was a scene of majesty, he thought. What it would be to witness a Helsyan in full thrust against two Arlethians at once, driving them both mentally and physically into defeat. His self-glory emanated from him as he gained more and more momentum, forcing his prey to become more desperate. He could smell it, the fear and anxiety that were building before erupting into acceptance of defeat, acceptance of his dominance over them.
The guard skirted around Rembbran, narrowly escaping his latest volley of blurred steel. Lord Therrium attempted to feint forward and draw his attention, but Rembbran did not bite. He knew Alrikk was behind him now and would attempt to run him through. He raised his arms with his sword above his head and lunged backward as he knelt down to one knee. The point of his sword behind him pierced something, the sound of it like a sack of wet leaves. And then, he knew. The scent of warm blood in the air intermingled with the fear. With a mighty overhead thrust, he launched Alrikk’s impaled body thirty paces through the air until it collided with a gnarled old oak. The body lay motionless, shattered. Immediately, more strength and ferocity filled the chase-giver as one more prey fell in fulfillment of his Dahlrak. Now came ti
me for the end of it, for its climax, as he would dispatch the ultimate point of the Charge.
As Banner Therrium looked at Alrikk, Rembbran smelled the regret and sorrow from the Prime Lord.
“It is interesting,” Rembbran said, “that you do not feel rage after seeing one you obviously cared for now in death’s embrace.”
Banner collected himself. “I feel regret for his loss of life, but know that he stood strong despite his fear.”
“And the sorrow—”
“The sorrow is not for him, but for you. And pity. How terrible it must be to live your life on a leash, not able to make an existence for yourself, always waiting for the next command to bring some semblance of life.” Banner actually managed a sad smile that came across as more than a little condescending.
The Helsyan flared his nostrils and did indeed detect pity. He became incensed. “How is it that you pity me or my kind? We are to be envied! Feared! Loathed! But not pitied!”
“I find pity for all slaves,” Therrium replied. “I may fall today, but I will die free. You will return to a master and await his next bidding. And our people, we have always triumphed and we ever shall. Your treacherous Duke has made a grave error in supposing me to be an important figure to our people or that they will fall because I do not lead them. Arlethia has always been greater than a single man, slave.”
Therrium had the demeanor of a father when he spoke. It was obvious to the chase-giver this man was secure in his place within the world and with who he was. Such innate peace was foreign to Helsyans as they saw themselves as alien to life in general, though they longed for peace and understanding, to know their place in the world.
Rembbran screamed in defiance and anger. “You know, Prime Lord, I have never consumed one of my prey. It hasn’t been practiced since the Ancients ruled us, I am told. But for you, I am willing to make an exception.”