Consequences Within Chaos

by Derek Barton

  Every word he had told her had been truth. In fact, he had always been telling her the truth all of his miserable life. Seeing Aberrisc shattered any doubt she may have had. It meant that he indeed was in control of his mind for once.

  How could he help them? Her mother would never accept his word. Only his speech that won the citizens over had prevented the queen from entombing him in a dungeon cell. He walked along a very treacherous edge.

  She had to learn more of this Auste and what he had planned for them, but she was not ready to face her brother again that day. Taihven was now stronger, confident, powerful… He scared her more than ever.

  One clear truth in her mind was apparent: Taihven was the rightful King of Tayneva.

  CONSEQUENCES WITHIN CHAOS

  ~~ACT THREE~~

  PART XI — FIGHT FOR HOME:

  Morning of Helmlaadar 29th~~

  #1

  Craskere gawked at the male Viestrahl next to him. Both of the Viestrahl warriors were covered from head to tail in skinned animal furs and their clawed hands wrapped in cloth strips. They both felt alien and uncomfortable, but they would never dare to defy the strict instructions from Gru’Renthral. They knew it was not important for them to understand. It could also mean their deaths if they failed.

  Next to them stood a horseless, wooden wagon with most of its cargo covered by a black tarp stolen from one of the human villages. A putrid rot tainted the air around it. Inside the wagon, the two males had piled more Viestrahl bodies.

  From upstream and in the cover of early morning darkness, Bramosc, another male, slipped through the tree line and came back to them.

  “It is clear. You two can push. I will pull and lead.” He signed to them.

  Bramosc then snarled and growled in disgust. He scooped up a rotting arm that had slipped out from under the tarp. It was purplish and grey with open boils that had festered and oozed pus. He shoved it hard back into the pile within the wagon.

  “Let us be done with this.” Vealler signed and shuddered.

  The group of three beasts worked to wheel the cart up a grassy hill and then down to the Nestemaryn River’s muddy banks. The river sprang up from mountains to the east and then streamed through the tip of the forest, past another pair of human villages and then directly through the heart of the human nest.

  They stopped once they maneuvered the wagon into water higher than the wheels per Gru’Renthral’s orders. Vealler followed behind the others as they trudged back to the river shoreline. He glanced back. The water had darkened with oily grease as it washed over and among the bodies.

  He bolted back to rejoin the others. Craskere and Bramosc were breaking branches from the nearby pine trees. Vealler found a sprawling pile of dried ferns and molded hay. The Viestrahl team began to bury the wagon with the pine branches, ferns and hay. Bramosc then ignited a torch and lit the wagon’s wood frame. The column of black smoke blocked out the twinkle of stars in the sky and the area filled with a ghastly reek.

  #2

  Sounding like rolling thunderclaps, a series of mammoth boulders crashed into the gate walls and bounced along the streets of Wyvernshield. Hours before, the Viestrahl had begun their siege and were cascading rocks into the city.

  The worse-for-wear prince rolled onto his left side and got to his feet and out of the infirmary bed. He had been through another round of Mending magic and no longer needed the wooden crutches to keep his balance.

  He crossed to a miniature maple armoire that held his boots, leathers and wool jacket. A wave of dizziness caused him to stumble into the armoire doors, but he remained upon his feet. After a minute to gather his energy and balance, he adorned his jacket and a pearl-handled cane which the Mender acolyte had left him.

  Just outside his door, three guards stood on watch. He did not take the time to ponder whether they were protecting or imprisoning him. “Where is my mother and sister? The War Room?”

  “Aye, My Sire,” the young, red-headed youth answered, pointing a finger to the right down the hall. He did not attempt to block Taihven’s path as he entered the hallway. The prince walked at a brisk pace — as fast as his battered legs and cane would take him. He hesitated at the top of the stairs that descended to the lower level where the War Room was. Both the queen and Lady Magistrate had not paid him a visit in his room for some time.

  There had been no official judgment or news of his status other than being on house arrest.

  He decided to risk reprimand and stepped with care down the steps to join his family.

  Two more guards were on opposite sides of the War Room door. They stood in ready position, ignoring his approach. He paused before opening it as he could hear a soldier making a battle report.

  “—been confirmed, Your Highnesses. They have also begun to hurl the dead bodies of the villages and farms over the walls. The victims do appear to have been dead for some time however. The citizens are in an uproar and near panic. Since the first siege attacks, we have strengthened the moat gates with steel girders and stockpiled arrows in the archer towers. However, their main targets appear to be the outer gates and the peasant districts. No Horde charges as of yet. Also, should any moat gates get breached, we have set up provisions to hold up in the Steppe Districts.”

  “Shou—,” Letandra’s words were drowned out by another volley of boulders and crashes that shook the castle.

  Taihven cracked open the door.

  The princess spotted him, “Taihven, go back to your bed! You need to rest.”

  He ignored her words and shuffled his way to a seat at the table next to a pair of Wyvernguard.

  “Are the boulders causing a lot of damage to the walls or the gates?” he asked one.

  “No...not really, uh, Your...Lord,” the soldier replied. He was obviously unsure of what to communicate with the former prisoner prince.

  “Do they think they can smash the moat gates down? Have they struck down any of the Archer Towers?”

  “The boulders have been chipping and cracking some of the gate wood, but more damage has come from the ones striking into the peasant homes inside the walls. The gates will hold though for quite some time.”

  Captain Ruessard had been studying the maps when Taihven entered. He looked up and met the youth’s gaze. He did not hold back or fail to acknowledge his presence. “They will hold, Prince Taihven. We are just confused and were not prepared for such tactics. Viestrahl have marched on us before, but not like this. Siege engines were never part of their normal warring strategies. They almost seem… patient.”

  Taihven appreciated the captain’s respect for his position and for including him in the dialogue.

  He dared a quick glance across the table to see his mother and sister. Letandra smirked and winked at him, but Queen Demetryce looked down at her hands.

  At least she is not calling for the guards, he thought to himself.

  Ruessard stated, “The beasts are staying out of our archers range as well. Perhaps hoping we will charge out to them.”

  “The Wyvernmages are ready and on hand, Lady Magistrate,” High Mage Preshall interjected. “We can thin out their ranks easily enough. That is, once they stop barraging the walls.”

  Deafening thuds somewhere near the Inner Castle announced the arrival of another barrage. Dust and debris fell on them and littered the maps.

  “Where have they found all these boulders?” Taihven wondered aloud.

  No one had an answer for him.

  #3

  Merina leaned up against the tavern bar, a stack of neglected dirty dishes next to her. She stared out of the dusty front windows. The streets were abandoned and empty just like Neydden’s Nest. No one braved the streets with the raining boulders. She had tried to convince Jease to let her go home early. The old codger had only replied, “Just gives you plenty of time to clean the place up.”

  A shadow passed just above the window sill. It moved quickly. She was not even sure if it was actually there or was just her eyes playing tricks. The
n she detected another, but slower-moving shadow, pass by the window and a few feet behind the first. She could hear the porch boards creak as they approached and then waited at the doorway.

  Whoever was outside did not enter. They remained quiet outside.

  A sudden realization struck her that she was all by herself in the bar; only a couple merchants were upstairs in the rental rooms. Merina rose up getting nervous.

  “We are open. Come in.” She called out.

  A rap on the door was the only response.

  “By the ends,” she muttered to herself. She leaned down and retrieved a polished wooden club that they kept for breaking up the occasional drunken brawls.

  “If you are playing games, you picked a dangerous hour,” She threatened.

  From the other side of the door, a tiny voice called, “Mama. Mama! Let us in!”

  Merina dropped the club and bolted to the entrance, knocking down a stray chair in her path.

  “Debana! What are you doing?” She ripped open the closed door. Her eight year old girl and five year old son looked up at her with wide eyes.

  The girl was pale and burst into sobs upon seeing her mother. The boy, Realad, trembled. His skin was a muddy grey and patches of rashes on his forehead and arms. A sore on his cheek had begun to ooze.

  Debana tugged on her mother’s apron asking, “What is wrong with him, mama? What’s wrong?”

  Merina wobbled to her knees and then fainted on the porch.

  #4

  A rotund Wyvernguard and a man dressed in shabby leathers and a green cloak crept together on all fours on to one of the tower’s highest patios. The commoner, known by most as only “Presky” was a Castle Warder. He dragged behind him a wood crate concealed in muddy blankets. As a warder he was responsible for training and feeding the flock of scouting birds.

  Wind howled around them, but it was only a partly cloudy sky and it was not likely to rain. They prayed it would stay calm outside for the rest of the day.

  “Presky, how many of them Crellen you brought?” the guard asked. Corporal Kelve Dallary was an obese veteran, scarred along his brow and a missing right ear lobe as a trophy for his eight years of service.

  “Seven.” He replied, his words slurred by the lump of oron-root he was chewing.

  “Will that be enough?”

  “Hope so. I hate to lose a one, but Lieutenant Breshlin said that we need to see what them beasties are doing.” He spat a wad of juice, the orange goo sticking some to his lower lip.

  Dallary nodded and worked with the warder to uncover the crate.

  As he tugged the last peg out of the top, the mini-flock exploded in a whirlwind of feathers and beaks into the sky. Dallary tripped and fell back onto his sizable haunch.

  The large, lanky birds flew four circular laps around the tower, slowly forming a line of rank. Each had a polished black gemstone tied to their breast. After the fourth revolution, the lead black Crellen made a high-pitch caw and led the birds away toward the north.

  The Warder pulled at the butt crack of his trousers and dusted his knees off. Dallary looked at Presky with contempt and wondered if the fool had relayed the right instructions.

  Earlier that morn, a pillar of black smoke had been spotted coming from within the Nestemaryn Forest.

  The birds were to do a fly-by-scouting of the Viestrahl encampments and then fly to the source of the fire.

  “You imprinted to them that they stay high above the camps right?”

  “Yes, you just want to see the numbers of the beasts. And then find out what is on fire.”

  Dallary was not satisfied, “Each of the vision-gems invoked?”

  Presky nodded, but turned away to gather up the cage top.

  “I am not fooling with you, Warder. The captain needs that information and if you hav—”

  “—I knows it! My girls will come back and you will all see. Now stop hounding me and grab the other end, wills you?”

  #5

  Four vision-gems were laid out in front of Captain Ruessard upon his work desk. He held the last untested fifth stone in his hand. As the eleventh hour bells rang, five of the seven Crellen had survived and returned to their roost in the castle lofts as instructed. Taihven and Sergeant Devin sat across from him on the wooden bench. His office was musty and the air was stale.

  “Ready, boys?” he mused to the two younger men.

  They had met immediately after they had gotten word of the birds return. It was critical to find out why there were black columns of smoke in the east which could be viewed from the castle towers.

  Taihven placed the stone on the flat metal tablet for review, then waved his hands over the vision-gem which triggered the runes and brought the vision to life. A blurry image bubble floated in front of their faces.

  This Crellen had been sixth in the rank line and had followed behind the others that had been released until the encampments came into view. The murder of crows banked, broke into different angles of flight and swooped higher among the clouds as they passed over the massive hordes of the Viestrahl. The Crellens were all trained to avoid archers and flew higher on instinct.

  From this account and the other Crellens, Ruessard guessed the Horde numbers were near twenty thousand. Far more than has ever come together. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

  The birds eventually fell back into line further along the course of the raging waters until the river was swallowed by the robust Pleadman Forest. After another mile or two they entered the ugly clouds of smoke. Each Crellen then broke rank once more and swirled around the area and swooped in and out trying to see past the smoke.

  The three men had already seen this exact image from the other four prior vision-gems. Nothing was obvious upon their survey so far, but they scoured the images carefully.

  “Wait,” Devin exclaimed. “Reverse the last minute there.”

  “What? There’s nothing. It is a waste of effort!” Captain Ruessard griped.

  “Maybe,” mused his sargeant.

  The image bubble restored and began to play again the last minute of the vision.

  “Slow to third-speed,” Taihven instructed. The image bubble blurred and then played on at the newer pace.

  In the right corner of the image, a smoky grey shape could be seen below the bird. The water of the Nestemaryn divided around and over a bulky object.

  “Stop image,” Taihven ordered.

  “There! The Viestrahl did put something in the water! What is it though?” Devin asked aloud.

  All three leaned in over the desk to inspect the image bubble closer.

  Ruessard said, “Whatever it is, this Auste bastard must have told them to use fire and smoke to cover it. He knew we would send scouts or spy birds.”

  “Enhance image.” Taihven directed the vision-gem again.

  As the image magnified, they could see something hanging out of one end of the object. It was still blurred due to being under the water.

  Devin gasped and cried out, “That is a hand!”

  A thin streak of an oily ichor flowed from deep cuts in the limb.

  “So, it is the river that is poisoned.” Ruessard whispered between clenched teeth.

  #6

  The royal siblings lingered in the doorway of the makeshift infirmary; both of them wore bulky, thick scarves over their nose and mouth. They watched as three menders lifted an old man’s body up and onto a cot by the door.

  Letandra shook her head, “That is Freahl Kesnan.”

  At the mention of his name, the elder rolled his head back and looked at them. His glassy eyes were resigned, but not filled with malice. Bleeding sores peppered his brow and face while rough scaled rashes polka-dotted his neck and exposed chest. He knew he would not survive to see the new morning light. Freahl Kesnan was not the first of their order to die from this new plague and he would not be the last to sacrifice himself trying to help other victims.

  Taihven surveyed the wide, converted ballroom. Dozens of young and old were infecte
d — men, women and children that did not get the warning soon enough. Whole families had been wiped out as the relatives refused to leave the bedsides of the kin and then eventually fell ill as well.

  Taihven was disgusted and felt helpless. “All this pain and grief. All of this stemming from one man’s madness.” It occurred to him that he could be referring to his own father just as easy as he could relate this to Auste.

  “That monster actually used disease against us!” he cursed aloud, smacking his hand on the door frame.

  Letandra gasped, spun on her heels away from him and ran out of the room. His words had struck her like a slap.

  He chased after her, but she had not gotten far down the corridor. His sister faced away from him; her back shook as she held back sobs.

  “Are you alright?”

  “NO!” she wailed. She started again toward the corridor’s exit, but this time he grabbed her arm. “Lennie, what is wrong?”

  “We-we did—” she could not finish her words and wrapped him into a tight hug. Her tears wet her scarf and his shirt.

  “What? What? Tell me.” he pleaded in her ear.

  She gripped him tighter, “This time, we are the monsters.”

  He yanked her apart from him and held her shoulders in his hands. “What are you saying?”

  “We brought all this death upon us. She did not know. I know she did not understand what she was doing.”

  “Who?” he demanded.

  “Deliah — Sergeant Deliah Blackstaff, she brought that Viestrahl prisoner, Mareor, with us when we scouted their Hive. She had infected it with some type of plague. She… she must have been so blinded with her rage.” She stopped, broke into fresh sobs and shook from head to toe.

  “I do not… Are you telling me that Deliah used this disease first?”

  “I had no idea she had done this. She had brought the beast in secret. I never told anyone. She died for us and I only wanted to protect her name.”