Rise of the Fallen

by Ivory Autumn

  “Well, it’s not. I’ve cooked some pretty bad things in my time. But never any cow pie.”

  Andrew laughed. “That’s a comfort.” He paused noting that he and Freddie were the only ones around. “So, where's everybody else?”

  “No worries. They'll be back as soon as they get a whiff of this fish cooking. Lancedon is teaching everybody how to fight. Guess after he saw us fight last night he decided that we aren't exactly what you call knights or warriors.”

  “I could have told him that myself,” Andrew murmured, staring at the ugly fish frying in the small pan. He wondered if Lancedon was disgusted with the way he’d handled his sword. Still, he thought he had done pretty well last night. He'd never really done any real fighting back in Hollyhock Hollow. But things were different now. When the sword was in his hands, his movements were swift and instinctive. He felt that the sword heightened the small skills he did have, making up the difference. It was both frightening and thrilling at the same time. Such power was beyond his comprehension.

  The sounds of branches cracking, and metal clashing onto metal, broke the silence. Ivory and Gogindy came tromping through the wood.

  “Get out of the way!” Gogindy screeched, waving his hands at Andrew. “The warriors are coming!”

  Just as Gogindy said that, Lancedon, and Talic, crashed into view. Talic swung his sword in front of him like it was a machete, barely even looking where he was swinging. His face was shiny with sweat. He struggled to stay upright.Lancedon slammed his sword against Talic’s, so hard that the boy cried out, and dropped his sword.

  “You've got to have a better grip than that.” Lancedon shouted. “Your enemies aren't going to wait for you to pick up your sword if you drop it.”

  “I’m really trying,” Talic retorted, picking his sword up. “It’s not fare. You’ve had lots more practice.”

  “That’s why I’m giving you lessons. Now give me your best shot. I promise I’ll be fare.”

  Talic smiled sheepishly. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh, okay,” Talic replied, swiftly striking his sword against Lancedon’s with a loud clang. Lancedon did as promised and caught the blow with very little effort on his part.

  “Ow!” Talic cried in pain, dropping his sword and stumbling into a bramble bush. “I surrender! Kill me now and be done with it. I can't fight a grown man when I'm faint with hunger.”

  Lancedon smiled slyly and helped Talic to his feet. “You fight more like a groaning man. More lessons after breakfast. Okay?”

  “Gosh,” Talic muttered. “That is, if I'm able to eat breakfast. At this rate, I won't even be able to pick up a spoon.”

  Talic sat down, and stabbed a piece of fish with his knife like it was still alive, not caring that it looked like the Loch Ness Monster, and shoved it in his mouth, chewing angrily.

  Lancedon slapped Talic on the back, nearly causing the boy to choke on his food. “Don’t look so sore. You will learn in time.”

  Talic coughed. “If I’m sore, it’s because you made me so.”

  “Lancedon laughed, and nodded. “You're smarter than you look, Talic. Much smarter.”

  Talic turned to Andrew, and frowned. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  Andrew just smiled, and shrugged.

  After breakfast, Lancedon had Ivory, Gogindy, Talic, and Andrew watch, while he coached Freddie in sword fighting.

  Gogindy, by himself, made a loud cheering section, ardently encouraging or booing when he thought necessary. “Good show, Freddie!” he would shout. “Get him! Oh, no, watch your back. Duck, you stupid head, you're doing it all wrong!”

  Lancedon stopped a couple of times, threatening to shave Gogindy's whiskers if he didn't shut up.

  After Lancedon finished with Freddie's lessons, he called Talic to him again, then Ivory, and then Gogindy. Afterwards he had them do it all over again.

  Meanwhile, Andrew sat by, watching, feeling rather left out. Lancedon had ignored him the whole time. He had not been called on once. It made him mad.

  “Why don't you call on Andrew?” Talic complained, after an extensive session of fighting. “I can't feel my arm anymore!”

  “Because, I asked you,” Lancedon retorted. “That's why.”

  Andrew watched Lancedon and Talic fight, feeling anger smolder inside him. He analyzed every move Lancedon made, indignantly wondering why Lancedon didn't want him to fight. He had memorized the dips and curves and the clean way in which Lancedon swung his sword. He wanted a turn. But Freddie was chosen instead. It wasn’t fare.

  “There, you've got it, Freddie!” Lancedon said, as he swung his sword and Freddie caught the blow beautifully. “Now, Talic, get up here, and try it. Everyone else has got this move down, except for you.”

  “But, what about Andrew?” Talic asked again, wiping grime and dirt off his forehead. “He doesn’t know how to do it either. Andrew hasn't lifted his sword since we started. Why not teach someone who needs it more than I do. I mean…” He paused and glanced at Andrew and shook his head. “He's never handled any kind of real weapon, before now. Gosh, and now he has this huge sword that he's suppose to defeat the world’s most powerful enemy with. And you won’t even give him a chance. Don't you think he needs a little bit of help?”

  Lancedon looked like he wasn’t going to answer. Andrew sighed, scooted his legs up to his chest, resting his head on his knees and frowned, knowing full well that Lancedon's answer would be the same as it had been all day. Lancedon would give him that look again, and say, “not yet.”

  Lancedon squinted, brushed a lock of hair out of his face, and nodded. “Talic, perhaps you are right. But I believe Andrew has learned much more by watching today, than he ever could by fighting. Let us see if this is true. Andrew, here's your chance. Show us what you've learned.”

  Andrew glared into Lancedon's proud eyes, feeling resentful. He'd been waiting patiently all day for a chance to fight, and now Lancedon wanted him to show off. Show off what? “Are you mocking me?”

  Lancedon shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

  Andrew stared at Lancedon, trying to read his face. Lancedon’s hazel eyes looked serious and knowing. His brown hair hung in locks around his face. He held his sword in front of him and its golden hilt glimmered, as a few rays of sunlight caught it. Andrew had never really noticed how beautiful Lancedon's sword was before now. Its hilt was carved into a shape of eagle’s wings. The handle was shaped like an eagle’s head---the symbol embodying Danspire. Lancedon seemed every inch a king to Andrew. However, Andrew reasoned, a very ironic king for letting him sit so long, without letting him fight.

  Lancedon raised his sword. “Now, Andrew, show Talic how it's done.”

  Andrew stood awkwardly, facing Lancedon, his sword still in its sheath as Lancedon held his own sword ready to strike.

  “Defend yourself!” Lancedon commanded.

  Andrew made no move to do so. “You want me to demonstrate a skill you haven't taught me.”

  “Haven't I?” Lancedon asked, circling round Andrew. “Now defend yourself!”

  Lancedon raised his sword, and this time he looked as if he really meant to strike. Fear and anger broiled inside of Andrew. Just as Lancedon brought his sword down, Andrew whipped out his magnificent sword, and caught Lancedon's blow perfectly, knocking Lancedon back, in a flash of light, sending a volley of sparks into the air.

  Andrew looked stunned, as if he hadn't expected to really do what he had just done.

  “Wow!” Lancedon panted, “that sword really has a kick. Now, show me everything I’ve taught you today!”

  “Are you sure?” Andrew interjected. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Show me!” Lancedon circled around Andrew like a wolf stalking its prey. Without warning, Lancedon came at him, like a madman, yelling and swinging his sword without mercy.

  Everything Andrew had watched Lancedon do that day swiftly replayed in his mind. He instinctively caught every blow with careful pr
ecision, bringing Lancedon to his knees. Lancedon looked tired, and his eyes showed the slightest hint of fear.

  Andrew paused, and brought the blade to Lancedon’s neck. He breathed in heavily, feeling a surge of elation, strength, and power tingle through his veins and pulse in his chest. He was a better swordsman than Lancedon! He, lowly Andrew had Lancedon, a prince, on his knees. “Do you yield?”

  Lancedon shook his head.

  “Andrew?” Freddie called, sounding worried. Andrew was holding the sword a little too close to Lancedon’s throat.

  Andrew glanced back at Freddie, and the elated feeling faded abruptly, as if a cool breeze had blown it away. His sword glowed luminously, and then went dull, going unexpectedly heavy in his hands. The powerful feeling was now replaced with one of terror. The sword was heavier than a cartload of bricks. He cried out as Lancedon lashed out like a cobra and knocked the heavy sword from his hands, sending him onto his back. “Do you yield?” Lancedon asked, placing the tip of his sword to Andrew's throat.

  “It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” Andrew murmured, glaring at Lancedon.

  Lancedon smiled and lowered his sword, “I've taught you well today, except how to hold your own sword. You and Talic need to get your act together. It's all about grip.”

  Andrew frowned, bewilderment crossing his face. He felt ashamed and confused at the same time. “No, you don’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you think,” Lancedon replied, walking away.

  “How could you?” Andrew muttered, bending over and picking up the fallen sword. The sword was amazingly light now. He put it back into its sheath, warily.

  “Andrew,” Talic slapped him on the back. “You were fantastic! A little scary, but fantastic, all the same. You almost had him there. See…I know exactly how you feel. You were holding the hilt too tight and it made it all sweaty. That’s why it slipped from your hands.”

  “Sure,” Andrew muttered. “That’s got to be it.”

  After that, they all joked among themselves as they ate supper, sitting around a warm campfire, singing ballads, and telling stories of long ago.

  Lancedon laughed too, and told stories of his childhood, and of his home in Danspire, talking long into the night.

  The moon rose above them and they all drifted to sleep, while the blazing fire burned into somber, moody coals.

  In the middle of the night, Andrew woke with a start. The nightmare he just had seemed so real. He glanced around him warily, expecting the beings from his dream to jump out at him. But all looked safe. “It was just a dream.” He pressed his thumbs to his temples until his breathing became even. The moon was low over the mountains, casting long shadows through the forest. A hushed breeze blew through the trees and tousled his hair. Goosebumps appeared on arms, as an icy pocket of air pricked his skin, chilling him. A black cloud floated over the moon, obliterating its light entirely.

  He looked up in fright. It was happening, just like his dream. The Barnacles were coming for him!

  ~~~~

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Barnacles

  Andrew peered through the dark forest, afraid of what he might see. He could hear a low, eerie wheezing, as if whatever was out there had clogged sinuses.

  Andrew grasped his sword, feeling vulnerable and small. The repeated visions of his dream flashed before his mind, causing him to tremble with fear. A twig snapped. Andrew jumped.

  “Shh!” Lancedon hissed. He put a strong hand on Andrew’s shoulder, and stepped ahead. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Dark feathery shapes hovered through the forest toward them, weaving in and out through the trees, like thick, wispy spider webs floating in the wind. The beings were cloaked in garments so shadowy that they glowed against the normal blackness of night, radiating darkness that made Andrew’s eyes hurt. The beings moved among the trees, searching, like blacker shadows of shadows. Their heavy wheezing sounded like the bubbly breath of a sick animal that was in the last stages of dying.

  Lancedon glanced back at Andrew, motioning for him to get up. “Quickly. Wake the others.”

  Andrew looked at Lancedon, nodding fearfully. He wanted to run. But he felt paralyzed in place. Rhapsody was right. His pride and selfishness had brought these dark creatures to him. There was no way out.

  “Come,” Lancedon urged him, quietly awakening the others, and helping them onto their horses. Frightened, one of the horses, reared up in alarm, neighing loudly. An unsettling quiet followed, and then a cold wind hit them in the faces, almost knocking them from their horses. Like a dark beam of light hitting a magnifying glass, each of them felt it, a stifling thick haze, reminiscent of a black frost that chilled them to the bone. For a moment, no one dared move. Their horses stood stock still, twitching their ears anxiously.

  “Go!” Lancedon suddenly yelled, spurring his horse in the ribs. “Go, go, go!” Lancedon's voice cut through the frozen air, like a cannon shot in the dead of night, making their horses bolt forward through the dark wood, as if their tails were aflame.

  A gust of cold wind whooshed over them again, wrapping icy fingers around their necks, nearly yanking them from their saddles.

  “KAAAH,” the Barnacles moaned. “Lacxooooodddaa.” Their voices echoed on the wind, like ripples of water, each syllable getting louder and more alarming.

  Another cold breath flowed over them forcefully, like an icy net. “Give us the boy,” they cried. “The boy with the horrible sword! Give him to us, and we’ll let you go free!”

  The darkness the Barnacles breathed over them grew colder, like frost slowly freezing water, encapsulating them each in a separate black net made of ice. They were thrown to the ground and a cold, frightening darkness, settled over them.

  The nets were blacker than the blackest night, and darker than a cave. The darkness clutched at their throats, threatening to suffocate them.

  Andrew felt dizzy, and disoriented. The darkness was so strong, so powerful. He struggled to unsheathe his sword. He pulled at its hilt with all his might. Then, using all his strength, he lifted it and pierced the sheet of binding darkness, slicing it like a dark velvet cloth. Light came pouring through the opening, evaporating the frosty net as if it was a slug that had been touched with salt, melting it away.

  Andrew stepped from the dark cover, breathing in the warm air. His friends were still imprisoned in separate dark nets. He ran to their aid, slitting the nets, and watching as the black sheets dissolved into the ground.

  “There heeee is!” a Barnacle's repulsive voice howled through the forest, ringing in Andrew's ears like awful notes of discordant violins. He covered his ears, but their frightful voices rose higher and higher, making him mad with confusion.

  “The boy! The boy!” they called. “Catch him! Kill him!”

  “Run, Andrew!” Lancedon cried, drawing his sword and standing in front of Andrew protectively. “Get out of here! NOW!”

  “But what about you?”

  “We’ll be fine. Just go! GO!”

  A cold breeze brushed through the trees, as the sounds of the Barnacle’s heavy breathing grew nearer. “The boy, kill him. Kill him,” they chanted.

  Terror gripped Andrew's heart. Before he knew what he was doing, his feet carried him through the forest, away from Lancedon. He ran blindly ahead, just like in his dream, thinking no coherent thought except to run. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of Freddie and Talic, and then a bone-cracking thud as Lancedon's body was thrown against a tree.

  “He is dead!” a Barnacle hissed. “Pathetic.”

  “Help!” Ivory screamed. “Help!”

  Andrew stopped instantly, and listened to the howls and snickers of the Barnacles as they taunted Ivory. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, and he cried out in frustration. Why was this happening? Yet he knew the answer.

  “Come, Andrew,” the Barnacles hissed, “or we’ll crack the skulls of your friends, and feed their carcasses to The Hunger.”

  Andrew slowly turn
ed round, and drew his sword, trembling so badly that he could hardly keep his hands steady.“Andrew. We are waiting!” their voices taunted. They hissed, and screeched, causing Ivory to let out another scream.

  Andrew breathed heavily. Every cell in his body cried out for him to run away. It was as if the dark beings behind him were so much his opposite, that every fiber of his being resisted, hated, feared, and loathed the very thought of turning back.

  Gritting his teeth, he set his jaw, and ran back, bursting through the trees, in full view of the Barnacles. “Leave my friends alone!”

  The sight that met Andrew sickened him. Lancedon lay unconscious by a tree. Gogindy was howling pitifully over Talic and Freddie who were lying prostrate on the ground. A Barnacle held Ivory in its knobby claws, gazing at her with a mesmerizing glair. Dozens of the Barnacles stood in the shadows, watching, breathing in and out in hungry gusts. As soon as they spied Andrew, they let out hideous hissing shrieks. “There he is! Catch him! Kill him!”

  Acid rose in Andrew's throat at the terrible sounds. His skin pricked with goose bumps as a cold wind hit him in the face. His gaze locked on that of a terribly thin Barnacle, who was holding Ivory, one who had the hungriest looking eyes he'd ever seen in his life.

  “Ah, so you’ve come, at last,” the thin, Barnacle hissed, cackling as if it was a hyena.

  Andrew took a step nearer to the Barnacle, although everything in him screamed out to go in the opposite direction.

  The Barnacle showed its fangs, and pulled Ivory closer. “You want this girl, elfling? Then come and get her.”