by P. G. Thomas
An hour later, Babartin stepped through a portal with two prisoners. John grabbed one of them, “Look, he slaughters your forces. One hundred thousand lie dead. Why do you attack like that? You cannot defeat him. What drives you?” When neither answered, John screamed, “Aaro go get beer, the strong stuff.”
Bor looked at Aaro, “Father’s inspiration. Why does he seek it?”
Aaro was unsure of the reason, but he ran down the stairs, returning shortly with a cask of strong ale.
“Force feed them if you have to. Let the liquid gold loosen their tongues.”
As Eric slaughtered the black-clad, the fiery Hell stallion kept prancing, and mixed in with it all: the laughing, lightning, rain, thunder, and death.
After an hour, John pulled one of the prisoners forward to the edge of the cliff. “Why do you attack like that? You cannot defeat him, and you die for no reason!”
The strong beer had taken its effect as the talk was involuntary, “We must,” said the prisoner.
“Why?”
“We do as commandededed,” the prisoner slurred.
John looked to his Earth Guard, “Take them back and strip them. Look for piercings, tattoos, brands, anything in common. They may not be in the same place, but make a list of what you find. Bor, when the night arrives, send dwarf to the battlefield and bring back dead. Strip them and look for the same.” He looked out onto the battlefield; surely, they can’t all be that stupid. One of them should have a brain, form a plan, and do something different. This is like watching somebody trying to push open a door marked pull.
With the suns setting, Eric was tiring, and he turned the Hell stallion back to the bridge. “Father, we need rest. We will continue tomorrow,” and the storm raged on.
Destroyer of armies and blood lust: when John first heard the words, he thought them fantasy, but today, reality and fantasy collided.
*******
The next morning was the same with horns sounding the wake-up call. While the suns had not risen yet, false dawn was on the horizon, and the black-clad were marching forward. Looking down to the gate, John saw Eric on his fiery Hell stallion advancing towards the bridge. When a portal open, Panry stepped through shaking his head, and before it winked out, he stepped back into it, allowing John to see Logan and Lauren lying motionless.
Looking back to Eric, he saw the Hell stallion advance across the bridge. Below it, the water flowed red, and above it, angry storm clouds danced in the sky. He watched the fiery Hell stallion prance miles across the corpse-filled battlefield, stopping two hundred yards from the army. Dismounting the horse, he withdrew Tranquil Fury and waited.
As Eric stood there, he heard War Pigs by Black Sabbath in the ear buds start and then heard the batteries die. “Damn it. That’s one of my favorites.” Then the song started back up, “I forgot, electrical energy, thanks, buddy.” With his ears throbbing, his foot tapping, he turned his gaze to the Royal House army. Reaching up, he patted the Hell stallion, “This one is for Lauren.” The black-clad army started to advance from the fronts and sides, encircling him. As he waited, neither he nor the Hell stallion moved, waiting for the Royal House to show their intention. If they were smart, they would have retreated, but they were not, and all at once, they rushed him. With both hands, he pulled the sword from the ground, raising it overhead, and the energy from one hundred thousand storms not born, exploded from the sword. It was not lightning. It was untamed raw energy: what lightning was before it flashed across the skies. It spread across the battlefield, vaporizing black-clad soldiers, leaving nothing but their regret that they had not surrendered. He turned to the Hell stallion, “Father liked Earth Mother. The fire she had. What she taught us. What happened to her, he did not like.” When he took to the fiery saddle, the Hell Stallion reared, breathed flames, and when it raced towards the black-clad, lightning exploded from the skies.
When another portal opened, Careel and Pintar stepped through with two different prisoners, and Aaro had already brought the strong beer with him. John looked at them. “Aaro, get them drunk and loosen their tongues. Bor, did you bring back corpses last night?”
“Yes, brother. common marks none shared. Brands, ink, piercings we found, but none were common.”
John looked to Careel Dawnfalcon, “Your search?”
“The same. None shared similar.”
He turned back to watch the battle, waiting for the beer to bring forth the talk.
As Pintar watched, he was unable to believe the scene that he saw playing out in front of him. The intensity of the storm and the carnage of Eric, it would give him nightmares for weeks, but he was thankful for what Ironhouse had created. The image and sounds were disturbing: the thunder, rain, lightning, and above it all, the hollow, haunting laughter of Eric, as he rode the fiery Hell stallion to the Royal House army.
John tried to think of what the prisoner had meant when he said he ‘was commanded.’ His inability to concentrate was making his fuse grow shorter. He was pissed, upset, angry, and livid. He turned back to the group, “You missed something!” Grabbing one of the prisoners, he dragged him forward to the cliff edge, “If I let you go right now, would you attack us, run for your freedom, or go do battle with him.”
It was slurred, “Hiimm.”
“Why?”
“I musttt.”
John screamed at him, “WHY?”
The prisoner began to sing, “I must, must, must, must. I must, must, must, must, must.”
Being exponentially angry, he pushed the prisoner over the cliff edge. “That one is drunk! Bring the other!” None had ever seen this side of John. He was the smart, reserved one, but today was different; he needed answers, and he gave little concern to how many had to die to get them. With thunder roaring overhead, lightning exploded across the sky. John grabbed the next prisoner, pointing to Eric, “Freedom or battle, what would you choose if I let you go?”
“Battttllle.”
“Why? You stupid little man, why go to meet your death?”
His speech was incoherent, “I mussst follows the commandsss.”
The words may have been slurred, but the meaning, it was clear. Turning, John wiped the rain from his eyes. “What did you miss?” Dwarves would later say Earth Mother possessed him. His voice was fire; fire used to yield hard metal into compliant liquid. His eyes were rage-filled, he screamed, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU MISS?”
“They missed nothing. Shared markings, none had,” advised Bor.
“No, there was something, and you all missed it!”
Pintar spoke, hoping his friendship would soften the blow, “Other than scars, none shared the same markings.”
John, his voice heard over the thunder, called to Babartin. “Go back to town, and strip the prisoners! Record every scar location, and bring me back the list! Bor, go examine the dead, and bring me back a list of their scars! Get more dead if you need them! Hell, go find live ones and make them dead, I don’t care! YOU MISSED SOMETHING, FIND IT!” Turning back to the battle, he watched if for hours, seeing Eric slaughter thousands upon thousands. He tried to piece the puzzle together, but the battlefield was not a place to think. It was a place of action, and Eric had that department covered.
The united suns were beginning to set, “I want more dead! Examine their bodies for scars, and give me a list. Pintar, go with Bor. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will see something new,” and then he pushed the second prisoner off the wall, “Bor, I need more prisoners! More answers!” John headed to the stairs, but his anger made the storm seem pleasant.
*******
The next morning, once again, alarm horns woke all, but Eric was the only one to cross the strange bridge over the river, which was now red, on his Hell stallion. Since the skies were still angry, Father was present. Thunder and lightning had deprived all of sleep, unless his stepson had granted permanent rest.
Bor advised John of his findings in the morning, which were inconclusive. Around noon, Babartin returned, advising all shared one sca
r across the palm of the right hand. He went down to examine the newly acquired prisoners, who also shared the same scar. Because it was faint, it looked like they had received it at birth or shortly after.
He looked to Babartin, “Fetch me those damn Earth Mothers, NOW.” Racing back up the stairs, John thought he knew the answer, and hoped the Earth Mothers would be able to expand on it.
If you viewed the scene from the west, its description was simple; the battle raged for hours. If you wore black, your description was different; the unmerciful slaughter continued.
Late in the day, the suns were still hiding behind angry clouds when Eric had once again cleared the area in front of him. The Hell stallion, ablaze with rage, snorting lightning bolts, pranced towards the Royal House army, but while they never advanced towards him, they also failed to retreat. Part of Eric was worried that maybe the Royal House had learned their lesson. That part he held in his right hand, and electricity danced across the six-foot long piece of wet steel, carved with the deep forgotten dwarven runes.
From the distant ranks, the black-clad army separated, and an odd individual emerged, wearing a red sash across the torso of his plate-mail armor. He also wore a smaller red sash over his lower metal helmet, and it seemed like he was riding a metallic horse. It was a mile away when its prance turned into a trot, which turned into a gallop, and it raced towards Eric at a blistering speed, but he held his ground.
John, Ryan, Bor, Aaro, and the war council were squinting as they looked through the rain, trying to understand what was happening, as they listened to Careel describe the scene; only his elf eyesight could provide the details that they were unable to see clearly.
The odd figure in the red sash, riding the mechanical horse, rocketed towards Eric, but still he held his ground. In fact, he lowered his sword across his lap. Careel was beside himself and was no longer providing commentary, being so involved with his own dialogue that he forgot others were listening. “Why does he not act. He just sits there.” Then, at the top of his lungs, Careel screamed out, “ERIC, MOVE,” but the thunder drowned out his plea. The distance, no match for his eyesight, easily defeated his voice.
“What the hell is happening?” demanded John.
“The figure in red sash stands in his stirrups. ERIC, DEFEND YOURSELF!” Turning his head away, Careel closed his eyes, “It cannot be.”
John grabbed the deer ears, “What the Hell is happening?”
As Eric had been sitting on the Hell stallion, he had looked down at the sword. “You’re sure about this. Well, if you say so.” Watching the strange horse race towards him, he saw the plate-mail clad figure stand in the stirrups. The red sash looking like blood on the armor, and he saw the sword swing at his neck.
Careel wiped the rain from his eyes, “Red sash, he swings his sword.” Tears now replaced the rain he had wiped away, “He killed Eric, beheads him. It cannot be.”
John forced him to look out onto the battlefield, “Tell me what you see. NOW!”
Having no desire to look, serve was part of the simple Earth Guard oath, and John was his charge. Holding his hand over his eyes, he blocked the rain, “Eric, he still sits on the fiery stallion. Red sash, he is lying on the ground.”
“What?” demanded John.
“He is without injury, but I do not know how. He dismounted his fiery stallion…,” The thunder exploding overhead drowned out his words.
Eric’s eyes were closed when he heard the sword crash into the dwarf armor. Feeling it vibrate, he reached up, finding his head still attached to his body. Looking down, in the mud he saw the man with the red sash struggling to raise himself to his feet. He looked to the sword, “I guess you were right.” After he had lowered himself to the ground, the Hell stallion turned. Pawing in the mud, it charged the metal horse. The impact was like a wayward comet slamming into a larger planet, but in this case, the comet won. Raising itself on its rear legs, the Hell stallion came crashing down into the metal construction, breathing lightning bolts into it. When the metal horse was motionless, the Hell stallion pranced back over.
He looked down at the man in the red sash, who was struggling to gain a foothold. Walking over, tapping him on the shoulder, he extended his hand to help him to his feet. The man covered in mud accepted it, but he then turned, pointing his seven-foot long sword at Eric.
“Fool, you should have struck when you had the chance.”
Eric pushed Tranquil Fury into the ground, “That would have been without honor.”
The man in the red sash rushed him.
John grabbed the deer ears of Careel, “What the Hell is happening?”
“Fiery steed, it killed the other mount. Red sash, he attacks Eric. He does not defend himself.” Careel lost himself in the vision that filled his eyes, “ERIC, FIGHT BACK!”
The rage in the storm lessened. “I take it you’re the one in charge?” Eric felt the sword hit the armor across his abdomen. “I was wondering if there was a way…” When a second sword strike hit his chest, he held up his hand, “Can you please stop for a minute!”
After he stopped, he twisted his left hand in an odd motion, and Eric closed his eyes when he saw a stream of fire jettison from the gauntlet, feeling the heat begin to engulf him. Looking down at his singed armor, he watched it turn white, and then he walked over to the man in the red sash faster than his opponent could retreat. Grabbing him by the throat, he lifted him off of the ground. “I want to talk, so you have two choices; talk or die.” Seeing the man push his sword into the ground, he saw him tap his sword hand with the other, causing a cloud of green gas to shoot out. He shook his head, “Seriously, I’m growing tired of this.”
Careel grabbed John by his ears, “What is happening. He does not defend himself. He does not attack.” Realizing what he had just done, he stopped, “I am sorry, Earth Mother,” and then he turned back to the fight.
Then from the back of John’s mind, he heard the words that Lauren had spoken, SHE will protect him.
Setting the man in the red sash down, when Eric turned around, he felt the sword strikes on his back. He looked at Tranquil Fury, “You’re right, he’s evil and will never understand.” Turning, his voice was hollow, his eyes filled with rage that equaled Ryan’s. “King of Maggots. Prince of Pain. Worthy of life, you are not, but death, too good for you.”
“He fights back. HE FIGHTS BACK!” Careel was jumping up and down.
Smacking the back of his hands, the spikes ejected from his knuckles. Rolling his shoulders, more spikes appeared. The armor changed from white to gray to black. “Evil you are. Sicken me you do.” Walking forward, he dropped a roundhouse punch on the man in the red sash, and the spiked gauntlets easily penetrated his helmet. “Your reward is pain.” Eric punched the chest of his opponent, crushing armor and ribs. A quick left jab tore the helmet from the man with the red sash, followed by a right. Four deep cuts from the spike gauntlets exposed the cheekbones, on the one who now wore a new shade of red. Another left knocked him to the ground, and as he gasped for breath, Eric turned, extracting the sword from the ground, and he smacked the metal gauntlet of his opponent with so much force, that both the gauntlet and wrist broke.
The man that wore red, his face exposed, bleeding from the gouges, had hate in his eyes. With his face grimacing in pain, he looked down at his broken wrist. “You will have to do…” Then the expression on his face changed. Grabbing his head, he tried to gouge his own eyes out, but his hands refused to obey his brain, and he screamed. Standing, he ran back towards the Royal House army.
Eric realized the change immediately, but he was uncertain what had happened. The flames and rage were now gone from the horse, which he mounted, and rode back to the gate.
In the distance, unobscured by the storm, the united suns sought the horizon. With day admitting defeat, night began to claim its victory. The storm calmed, moving to the east, and after Eric had dismounted, the horse collapsed, and he fell to his knees.
John, Ryan, and the Ironhouse
brothers rushed down the stairs, finding Eric sitting with a quiet look on his face. “He’s gone. They’re both gone. Tranquil Fury, they are no more.”
Aaro walked up to Eric, slapped his face to get his attention, “Brother, you do not make sense.”
“Fury thought he was evil. Thought he was a badass. At the fort, he met evil, and he didn’t like it, wanted to vanquish it. He began to understand honor, valor, pride, purpose, duty, and so much more. The lessons he learned when he was forged. The lessons we taught him. Today he met the king of evil: one unworthy of death, but deserving of more. He left, taking all of his memories. He’s gone. They’re both gone.”
“I do not understand,” advised Aaro.
“Fury left. He had collected over seven hundred thousand memories of death: Earth Mother’s battle on the river, Logan’s avalanche in the north pass, the volcanic eruption, and all of my battles with him. He left, taking all of those memories, and he possessed the man in the red sash. He’ll force him to experience each death repeatedly. I think that’s why the sword had to be so large. He had so much to remember. It’s all gone, empty now.”
John held out his hand.
Reaching under his armor, he pulled out the cell phone out, handed it to John, “The batteries are also dead.”