by Scott Zamek
“Don’t worry,” said Captain Bressard as the group walked past a line of tents. “We’re not trapped. There’s a goat track that leads out to the north. The enemy has tried to bottle us up in here for days. They know we’re getting out, but they have yet to discover how.”
Aerol and the others were almost too stunned for words. Captain Bressard and Lieutenant Lockley motioned for them to sit on a few tree stumps set up by the fire pit, before Filby gathered himself enough to speak. “We thought you were dead!”
“We heard that one ourselves,” said the lieutenant.
“Greatly exaggerated,” added Captain Bressard, “as you can see.” He motioned for one of the soldiers to bring food and water, then held up his hand as Filby began to speak. “I’m sure you have many questions, and so do I, but the lieutenant and I must see to the defenses of the canyon first. Eat, and we will join you momentarily.” With that, he marched off, and left Aerol and the others to their food.
Filby stared at the cold fire pit and gaped at the dried fruit and smoked meat on his plate. Real food, he thought, as a hundred questions raced through his mind. The others, he knew, were wrestling with similar questions, but for the moment it was a relief to be safe and beyond the reach of the enemy, or so Filby hoped. Shadows were already dark inside the canyon, and before long one of the soldiers walked up and lit a fire then hung a black iron pot on the spit. Night came down fast, a rare moon creeping out from behind thick clouds. A cook came by to stir the pot, before Captain Bressard returned and sat down next to the fire. He was joined by Lieutenant Lockley, Sergeant Broadhurst, and two others, though aside from a few men lingering around the tents and catering to their gear, the rest of the soldiers remained posted at the entrance to the canyon.
“We have been able to defend this position most successfully thus far,” said the captain, “but now that the map is in our company, I fear we will attract more attention.” The cook lifted the cast iron pot and spooned up beans to the group around the fire. Bressard had rationed his provisions wisely, and kept a good supply of water on hand. “We had to abandon our horses as well, not seven days ago when the land began to rise into the foothills of the Far Mountains.”
“Those weapons?” asked Filby. “And the thunder?”
“Muskets, they’re called. And the big one is called a canon. A new weapon from across the sea—the council kept it secret until this mission. We are the only ones that have them, which leaves our homes virtually undefended. That is why it is so important to restore the Light and rid the land of this evil, for we carry all the muskets of Andioch.” Captain Bressard looked into the fire and splashed the last mouthful of water from his cup onto the ground. “We are the hope of the land.”
“We lost two of our men before we even crossed the Border Lands,” said Lockley. “And another four in the forest—all to nightwraith. And now the sun is so weak that the nightwraith are challenging the light. Although they are much weaker during the day we have found.”
“We put ten musket shot in ’em and they still keep comin’ through the lines,” said Sergeant Broadhurst. “They kill one or two of my men before fallin’ to a volley of close quarters fire.”
“Watcher Bearden?” asked Eyebold, already knowing that his friend would surely have greeted them if he was still alive.
Lockley shook his head and looked to the ground and Eyebold had his answer. “He fought like the rest of us but . . .” A volley of musket fire echoed through the canyon, then a few single shots followed.
Bressard turned to one of the soldiers who had joined them next to the fire. “Corporal DeLaney, check on the canyon defenses and return with a report.” The corporal stood, saluted, then shouldered his musket and trotted off. “They can’t get in,” assured Bressard, turning to Aerol. “They’ve tried. We have the canon placed right at the entrance, with an entire squad of men armed with loaded muskets backing it up, all aimed point blank at the mouth of the canyon. Anything that walks through there gets pulverized. They won’t try again.”
Aerol bent close to the fire and ran a whetstone across his sword. Eyebold sat in silence. He had met the officers at a council meeting many years before, and always thought them to be a bit too military for his liking.
“We are only fourteen now,” said Bressard. “The third night out of Andioch’s gates we engaged a combined army of wraith and ogres, and it cost me two of my men.”
“The strange lights in the sky to the north,” said Filby, “when we were camped at Trapper Gromby’s cabin!”
“We were shootin’ our canon off somethin’ horrible that night,” said the sergeant. “Them ogres is hard to bring down, even with muskets.”
“The weapons use a black powder from beyond the sea,” said Bressard. “Very rare and we don’t have much of it left, so we have to choose our battles carefully. That’s why we haven’t tried to break through the mountains yet—the defense is too strong. We’ve been reconnoitering but haven’t found a vulnerable spot to our liking.”
Corporal DeLaney returned and stood at attention. “Nothing big, sir. They just shot a halfwraith trying to ride through. Shot him dead. All is quiet now.”
“Thank you corporal. Do an ammunition check, then set the watch.”
“Sir.” A quick salute and DeLaney was gone.
The cook returned and removed the heavy pot from the fire. A few embers crackled and flared with the dripping of beans, but all else was quiet inside the unyielding canyon walls. Only the yellow moon added its light to the camp, dodging in and out of gloomy, rain-filled clouds in its slow track to the west. Lieutenant Lockley rose and scraped his plate into the fire. “Perhaps I should take command at the canyon entrance.”
“Wait,” said Bressard. “I want you to hear what I have to say, and you too sergeant.”
Ethreal shook her head in frustration. “Captain, you cannot continue to linger in this canyon. The days grow short and time is of the essence.”
“Agreed, and that is why I want to present you with a plan.” The captain removed a pipe from his breast pocket and began packing it with tobacco. He lit a match, puffing a thin plume of smoke over the crackling fire. “Our last attack weakened the enemy, so I propose we breach the pass tomorrow at first light, before they have a chance to regroup and call for reinforcements.”
“But sir,” interrupted the lieutenant, shaking his head. “They are still too many. We already had to fall back during our first encounter. Why should another attack go any differently?”
“We don’t all have to make it through the pass, lieutenant—just the map and a few escorts. We form a wedge, like the shape of an arrowhead, six men to a side with the canon at the point. All men armed with muskets and as much shot and powder as they can carry. Aerol’s group will remain in the middle of the wedge, protected. We split the enemy in two, creating a corridor, and Aerol and his group will run the gauntlet, down the middle of the wedge and through the pass. The rest of us will turn, block the pass, and protect the rear.” Bressard lit another match and held it to his pipe. He puffed and the embers glowed, working the flame of the match up and down. He turned to Aerol and fixed him with a hard and emotionless gaze. “You make east over the mountains, and my men will hold the pass for your escape.”
Aerol sat in silence. The others looked at each other, contemplating the plan.
“Lieutenant?” asked Bressard, breaking the silence.
Lockley hesitated for a moment, rolling the idea over in his mind. “They have only seen the canon once, and they will be surprised, and that may be enough to get a few men through the lines.”
“Sergeant?”
“They won’t be expectin’ that, no sir. Even them nightwraith will be confused.”
Aerol and the others conferred, and they agreed. The plan was sound.
“Very well,” said Bressard, rising from the fire. “Pass the plan to the men—we leave at first light.”
FILBY opened his eyes and a clinging chill was in the air. It was still dark.
He heard the vague clatter of gear off in the distance. The faintest glimmer of light began rising over the eastern side of the canyon, and he could see that Eyebold was already up stuffing four packs with supplies: cured meat, dried beans, waterskins. Filby stood up and shook off the night’s sleep, then walked over to Eyebold. “Can I help?”
“You can roll up those blankets.”
Captain Bressard had supplied them with thick, wool blankets, which Filby rolled up and strapped to the underside of each rucksack. Ethreal was preparing as well, loading extra arrows into her bag. Filby noticed a new dagger dangling from her waist. As they worked, the night began to give way to the half-light of dawn, and Filby heard Captain Bressard addressing a group of men assembled in two ranks. “Leave all unnecessary items . . . no supplies other than food rations, shot, and powder . . . tents stay behind . . .”
Aerol approached, a pack slung securely around his back. “Shoulder your gear,” he called. “The soldiers are moving out.” Filby looked over to see two ranks, with the sergeant at the head and the officers standing to one side. At a command, the group turned and marched toward the rear of the canyon; Filby fell in behind, and the others followed. The canyon narrowed where the goat track became apparent, a thin path crooking left and right then leading up along the cliff face.
Captain Bressard raised his hand, bringing the men to a halt. Idle chatter slowly quieted into silence. Bressard turned and faced the ranks. “Men, this is why we are here. This is why we left Andioch and our homes all those weeks ago. We march to insure the see-er and the map reach the pass and beyond. That is our mission.” He paused and studied his men. They were stoic and rigid and ready. “Does anyone have any questions?”
The men stood in silence.
“Then no talking from here on in, and secure any loose gear.” He turned to Broadhurst. “Take the men forward sergeant.”
The soldiers proceeded in single file along the thin track, led by Sergeant Broadhurst. The officers took up the rear, followed by Aerol and Ethreal, then Filby and the Watcher.
The crisp morning curled like smoke, as if the ground itself was burning rancid and black. All was quiet save the faint clatter of military gear following a slow march upward along the cliff. At the top, the men could see the valley below still obscured with morning haze. They formed two ranks, and at a command, turned and marched down into the valley. There was no hesitation, no reconnoitering; the number and disposition of the enemy did not matter. The plan had been set and everyone knew their part. And they knew luck was with them, for luck had hidden their advance with a gathering fog.
But it had also hidden the enemy, and they did not know what foe awaited them as they marched across the valley. The mist slowly parted as the soldiers advanced, the vague outline of cavalry appearing ahead like apparitions through a thin veil. Bressard raised his sword and the company fanned out into a wedge, and at the point, Corporal DeLaney carried the cannon. Aside from Sergeant Broadhurst, he was the only man in the company strong enough to lift the iron tube by himself, but he struggled forward to keep the lead. Aerol’s group took their place in the center of the formation, swords drawn, while the two officers rushed up to the front and marched beside DeLaney.
Fifty cavalry could now easily be seen, and as many troggs guarding the pass. The soldiers found the enemy whirling right and riding down upon them, hooves pounding the valley floor to dust. Bressard gave the command: Corporal DeLaney and two soldiers by his side planted the canon, aimed, and lit—in a regimented set of motions that had been honed to eliminate any distraction, any mistakes spawned by fear or conscious thought. The thunder Filby had heard the day before filled the valley, and he looked on aghast as a deafening explosion split the horsemen into two groups, sending riders sprawling to the ground. Quickly, the captain ordered an advance through the divided forces, and the point of the wedge pried into the halfwraith army like a driving screw. The soldiers moved forward, surrounded on all sides by a melee of halfwraith and troggs. Muskets fired full force in a blast of smoke, were reloaded, and fired again.
Filby, in the center of the wedge, saw a soldier fall, but that side of the formation closed fast to seal the gap. The dead soldier was left behind, and the thrust continued forward. Another soldier fell, and then Corporal DeLaney, grasping the canon, stumbled and hit the ground. Broadhurst picked up the canon and continued at point, pressing onward toward the pass. “Fire at will!” called the captain, sword held to the sky, and Filby saw a soldier desperately loading his musket, but a wraith cut him down as he began to fire. Still the soldiers advanced, and the enemy broke against the sides of the wedge like an angry sea against a paper-thin wall.
Ethreal swung her bow forward, but Aerol placed his hand on her arm. “We must look to the larger mission,” he shouted, over the clash of steel and din of musket fire. “Look there!” and he pointed forward. The opening to the pass neared through gun smoke and the haze of battle. Captain Bressard raised his sword and gave the command; the point of the wedge opened, and the soldiers now formed two sides of a corridor with clear sight to the pass. Aerol led the way through and sped on into the fissure in the canyon wall. Looking behind, Filby could see the soldiers wheel around to face the enemy, blocking the pass. He could see Sergeant Broadhurst plant the canon, and struggle to load, then he lost sight of the soldiers around a narrow bend.
Aerol rushed on as the path tilted upward toward the Frozen Spires. He could hear the sharp cries of soldiers fading behind him, and the remote din of musket fire echo through the mountains until it became like a distant storm over a far horizon. They struggled onward, the cold canyon walls rising above them like icy corridors beckoning toward the pass. The sky became a thin ribbon overhead, bleak and seamless, an opaque sun hidden behind dull clouds. No sound remained of the soldiers behind, yet still Aerol pushed on through the morning and into the day. He did not know the outcome of the battle, and he did not know if the enemy even now pursued them into the mountains.
They followed the path upward toward the shallow heavens, until the cliffs around them melted into blunt hills. A thin white coat blanketed the ground, first an inch, then two, and finally they found themselves trudging through white powder rising up to their knees. At last the Frozen Spires towered ahead, two massive peaks flanking the path, their upper reaches capped by frost and ice which melted down like glaze along brown, barren sides. Black clouds were brewing beyond the mountains, working up the eastern slope and building where the sky reached down to meet the height of the looming pass. There, a stinging wind swept in from the north, rushing through the gap in the mountains like a torrent of whitewater gushing through steep canyon walls. Sleet followed—Aerol cinched his cloak and bent against the oncoming blizzard. Knee-deep snow became waist deep, the four taking turns breaking trail in front while Filby pulled his hood tight. Once again he envied Eyebold’s heavy bearskins.
The day grew long and dim, yet Aerol did not stop and they did not eat. The hills fell away and Aerol found himself leading a group perched at the apex of a round world that arched away on all sides. White was the only constant. The air was thick, white snow, and it matted on furs and froze cloaks into boards and blocked the way. And it blinded. Up . . . up they climbed, arched against the wind like wizened and bent trees, a relentless, mournful howl whipping through the unseen peaks. Eyebold took the lead, his wide frame plowing ahead through powdery snow; his rhythmic plodding forming a waist-deep trench for others to follow.
When the wind began to slacken, and the howling call through the hills became a distant cry, Eyebold knew they were close. White cliffs rose up on either side, encased in flowing glaciers. The sky above remained engulfed in a blizzard, but the thin pass through which they now traveled was protected from the wind. The icy cliffs became higher, and a thin patch of clear sky showed briefly overhead—not blue, but the deep purple of space. And soaring into the void, flanking the tight pass on either side, the two Frozen Spires rushed upward like majestic sentries guarding an unk
nown land. Eyebold led the group through the pass, and for a brief moment, they all stood at the edge of the world known to man.
BEYOND LANDS
T he path tilted downward, but the storm did not relent. Clouds were stacked up on the east side of the mountains, pushing west in a vain attempt to rise over the unconquerable peaks. The air hung thick with gray mist and dirty sleet, and the wind rose up again as Aerol led on, through knee-deep snow, into mysterious and unknown lands. The thin path descended through frozen canyon walls dripping with ice flows; white peaks rose on either side, their summits obscured by the moaning blizzard. Filby struggled to keep pace as he focused on Ethreal’s striding frame ahead, her cloak drenched in dingy powder, her pace light and effortless. Eyebold too was trudging ahead like a bull, widening the path through the snow that Aerol had begun.
The long grasp of night clawed along the eastern lands and into the cliffs. The path formed the base of a shadowy trench that cut through descending mountains, but at times the route would rise up again, only to arch through a secondary pass leading lower down into the foothills. Snow blurred the air; Filby fixed on Ethreal’s figure easing onward, until the dim light of dusk obscured the land and nothing could be seen but dull figures bobbing behind a curtain of colorless snow. A full moon rose behind murky clouds, and the way became lit as if by a far-away candle. They stopped briefly in a small crevasse in the cliff, out of necessity, where they ate a cold meal of smoked meat and dried fruit, then the four continued on into the night. They knew not what lay ahead, but they knew what surely pursued them, and any thought given to the dangers of the Beyond Lands was far outweighed by the all-out flight from what lay behind.