by J. M. Topp
Jeyannin stood straighter in his chair.
‘Your efforts will be rewarded in due time, Bendrick. We will mourn Remy. If you’ll excuse me, Bendrick. Right now, I must focus on setting up an offensive all by myself.’ The knight took his pipe and wiped its lip piece. He filled it with more Wyrmroot and lit it. Jeyannin let out a sigh with a puff of smoke.
Bendrick exited the tent to the cold, crisp air. His clothes, that had been expertly sewn and trimmed with expensive silks, had been covered in mud and snow. His sleeves had been torn, and it was clear that it was not meant for hard riding in the tundra. He would need to find new clothes and some armour.
Bendrick turned to the sounds of snow-crunching footfalls of a soldier. The soldier wore a steel chestplate and gauntlets, yet had long, silver hair flowing from beneath her helm. Bendrick shot a second glance at the soldier.
‘Father,’ Sieglinde spoke upon approach. She stopped just before him and unstrapped her helm, holding it beneath her arm. Her black cloak billowed behind her, and she had Bendrick’s old bastard sword strapped to her back.
‘Sieglinde,’ said Bendrick, not knowing what to say to her. He bowed his head in shame.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said, dropping her helm and embracing him rapidly. Immediately, relief embraced him as hard as Sieglinde did. He held her close, filling his nose with her scent. Her armour poked into his chest, but he hugged her all the same. She looked up at him with a kind gaze. Bendrick’s eyes dropped once more. Snow had stopped falling for a moment, and it seemed that even the winds were still, listening silently.
‘I…I wanted to say…’
‘Don’t,’ Sieglinde whispered to him, placing her hands on his shoulder. ‘Father, I haven’t seen Korhas since the Lyedran. I fear he…was swept away in the flood.’
‘Korhas is not dead, my daughter. He fled to the north, according to the queen, possibly back to the Greenwood Forest.’
Sieglinde let a sigh of relief. ‘By the gods, that is good to hear.’
‘I half expected him to be here,’ said Bendrick, looking around the camp.
Suddenly, a loud scream burst from the edge of the camp. Bendrick turned to the sound. Armoured men were pointing up at the darkened, swirling skies in fear. From the east, thick black clouds began to collect at an incredible speed. Bendrick could barely believe what he was looking at. The clouds converged over the encampment like a thick soup. Wisps of fire began to strike throughout the clouds, and daemonic screams pierced the dark above.
Sieglinde stared up in awe. She picked up the steel helm and strapped it on. ‘What on earth is this?’ she said, completely bewildered.
Suddenly, tall columns of smoke descended from the heavens with loud cracks of thunder, startling Bendrick and Sieglinde. The pillars of smoke began to fall into fields next to the fortress, charring the snow as they slammed onto the ground. Winds picked up as fog began to spread from the column strikes. One after the other, the strikes pounded the ground with staggering force.
Shadows writhed within the craters. Dozens of creatures clad in black armour emerged from the smoke with black swords drawn. Thin horns coiled upwards from their enclosed helms. Dark-red light glowed from the eye slivers, their shadowy cloaks whipping back and forth behind them. They advanced with serrated swords drawn. No emblem could be seen on the shields they carried, yet they were decorated with blood and guts. Bendrick’s nose began to bleed as they moved forward. A splitting headache overtook him, as it did Sieglinde and the other soldiers witnessing this horrific event. Men began to run away in terror from the advancing enemy. Bendrick shook his head and regained his poise. He ran to the Jeyannin’s tent with Sieglinde close behind. Jeyannin looked up in surprise.
‘What is it, Bendrick?’ he asked, startled from Bendrick’s sudden entry.
‘We are under attack…’ Bendrick spoke, but his voice came out like a whisper.
‘The queen’s armies?’
‘No, it’s something else.’ Bendrick hesitated, as he couldn’t form the words in his mouth. It was the Dark Armies—the ones William had warned him about. It had to be. Bendrick motioned the knight to go outside. They exited the tent with haste and saw the smoke columns descending by the dozens. The dark men continued to advance, their line becoming more numerous. Other figures, not men, materialized from the darkness. Creatures only told of in myth snarled and snapped at the Weserith encampment. They had long, bony limbs with jagged claws jutting from them and crest-like heads dotted with sharp horns. Their pitch-coloured skin gleamed as they raced forward, screaming.
‘What the hell?’ Jeyannin trembled at the sight of daemonic forces charging them. He began to shake his head. Blood began to stream from his eyes and nose. He grabbed his head, and with a scream, fell to the ground. ‘No, it cannot be. This has to be a dream.’
‘Sir Jeyannin! We must assemble the armies.’ Bendrick knelt over the fallen soldier and tried to shake him.
‘This is a dream. I knew it was a dream. We couldn’t be so unlucky.’ Jeyannin laughed, clawing at his clothes and armour.
Bendrick realized that the young knight would be no help. Something had to be done, or they would all die at the hands of this attacking enemy. Suddenly, a feeling Bendrick hadn’t felt in a long time took hold of him. Bendrick grabbed the horn around the knight’s neck and blew it twice.
‘We have a fight on our hands!’ Bendrick shouted, drawing his sword. ‘To me, all those who call themselves men!’
Bendrick walked in the direction of the incoming attack. Sieglinde walked beside Bendrick, sword and shield in hand. She nodded at Bendrick as they advanced. Men scrambled from their tents and put out their fires. They grabbed their swords and shields and fell in line with Bendrick. Another knight advanced with them through the tents, drawing two swords from his sides. He wore no chestplate, which enhanced his muscular, coffee-coloured body. The knight wore only greaves, boots, and an enclosed white helm. He twirled his swords as they reached the edge of the encampment.
‘What in the Abandoned Gods’ name is this?’ asked the knight, turning to Bendrick.
‘The Dark Armies,’ Bendrick whispered. ‘The rumours were true.”
‘We can’t take them all on,’ retorted the knight. ‘We need reinforcements. Where is Sir Jeyannin?’
‘He cannot fight. We must rely on our own strength in this battle.’
Bendrick and the soldiers accompanying him reached the end of the Weserith encampment. A snowy field lay between them and the charging armies. Bendrick raised his sword. He turned to look beside him. He spotted Rebecca amidst the men. She smiled at him with a nod and drew both her blades. The men around Rebecca didn’t seem to notice her, and before Bendrick realized, she had disappeared. Soldiers were lining up beside him. Some of them were wiping blood that had dripped from their faces or spitting to get the metallic taste from their mouths, but they were willing to fight. They were willing to survive. Bendrick clenched his teeth and began to summon all his strength as he had done before in battles, years ago.
‘Men of Weserith! Bare your steel!’ Bendrick shouted as loudly as he could. The shrill sounds of swords being drawn from their sheaths made Bendrick grin. They began banging their swords on their shields and any other object they could find. The knight clanged his two swords together, shouting as loudly as he could. The dark columns stopped falling. The Dark Army stopped before them, leaving only a few yards between them. They stood still and quiet, staring at them.
For a moment, no one moved. The dark men and evil creatures stood in line, staring directly at Bendrick and the Weserithian men standing beside him. Smoke bled from beneath their enclosed helms, seeping into the frozen air. The monsters snarled and snapped their jaws at them. They led black tracks that dotted the white tundra behind them. The snows seemed to stop falling in that moment; the very wind had stopped to witness this battle. Bendrick looked at Sieglinde as she put her half-helm on, steeling her resolve. They turned to look at the enemy. Bendrick glanced one last
time behind him. Soldiers and knights had assembled behind him. Flag bearers and men on horses stood behind Bendrick, awaiting his orders. They were afraid but were looking to the only person who seemed to know what was happening. Bendrick raised his sword above his head and took a deep breath.
‘Forward!’ Bendrick shouted, letting his sword fall fast as he began to run at the enemy. The knight beside him bellowed and matched Bendrick’s pace. The men of the Weserithian Army advanced as one. The dark men charged simultaneously, faster than before. The feel of snow beneath Bendrick’s feet sent fire through his legs as he ran to the enemy. His muscles remembered the aura of war.
This will not end like the Lyedran.
Bendrick clenched his teeth as the lines met. Swords clashed. On his left flank, Weserithian men were thrown into the air as a daemon whipped his horned head at them. Bodies hit the snowy ground. In an instant, Bendrick was surrounded by a flurry of black and steel swords. Screams erupted from both the men and the monsters. He blocked a strike from an enemy sword, riposted, and plunged the blade into his opponent’s abdomen. Black goo trickled down the sword. He tore his sword from the enemy as the monster fell to the snowy ground. Bendrick smiled as he glanced at the black blood on the ground.
They can bleed.
They can die.
Before the body of the daemon fell, he countered another adversary’s blade. Soot wafted from the dark corpse and filled the air around them. The smell of sulfur and death covered the battlefield like a cloak. Bendrick’s arms and legs burned as they blocked, riposted, and killed. A faint pain in his side began to erupt within him, but he ignored it. Steeling his mind, he struck at an enemy cutting deep to it’s neck. The body collapsed in a heap. He turned to see Sieglinde block and kill her opponent with a flurry of her sword. It was the same footwork he had taught her in that sparring room.
The knight with two swords spun gloriously, cleaving dark armour from decaying flesh. His strength was impressive to behold. Bendrick killed an armoured enemy as the knight struck at a daemon. It stood with clawed arms outstretched. It hissed at Bendrick as it took a step forward. Its skin was as black as pitch, but it had red glowing lines shooting up its thin arms and legs. Its pure-red eyes stared at Bendrick evilly. Saliva seeped from its gaping maw. The daemon jumped at Bendrick, claws poised to tear.
Bendrick swung his sword in a wide arc to cut the daemon above him, but the daemon’s claws blocked the strike. The daemon fell behind Bendrick, but it didn’t waste any time in getting up. The lanky beast rose from the snowy ground with a snarl. Bendrick dodged a blow to his face and twirled his blade at the creature, nicking it in the stomach with his blade. The creature screamed, and Bendrick noticed a dark creature behind him raise its sword above its head. Bendrick turned and blocked the dark blade, but he wasn’t fast enough to block the second attack from the wounded daemon. Its claws ripped through his side, tearing his armour as if it were paper. Bendrick’s eyes widened as the warm blood seeped from his ribs. He bit his lower lip and plunged his sword into the daemon’s skull, killing it instantly. He ripped the sword from the carcass and blocked a second blow from the dark man. He blocked the sword, throwing it into the air. The dark man, now weaponless, turned and stared at Bendrick. He began to raise his hands in the air and mutter something, but Bendrick didn’t wait. He twirled his blade and cut the dark man’s head from his neck. The body fell in a heap onto the snow, and his head rolled to his feet.
Bendrick took a step forward, but his head began to swim. Screams of terror erupted in his mind as he saw daemons tear into flesh. Blood covered the snowy ground, turning it from white to crimson. Bendrick shook his head to regain his balance.
A blur of blades spun before him. Rebecca, in three moves, sliced through a daemon, cutting off its arm, leg, and head. Its body fell in pieces into a steaming pile of flesh. She twirled her single-edged blades elegantly. For a moment, though it seemed that the Weserithian Army had been caught off guard, they were repelling through this new daemonic army. Their armour was rusted as were their swords. Weserith had lost the Lyedran Valley battle, but they had better armour and weapons than the daemons seemed to have. Bendrick looked around him to see the Weserithian line holding its ground.
Suddenly, a sharp and loud scream emanated from the heavens. Dark men and Weserith soldiers alike looked up at the skies. A bright pillar of fire broke through the darkened skies and crashed into the ground, incinerating three Weserithian soldiers in an instant. Snow melted around the crater, and from it came something that made Bendrick hold his breath.
A nasty, hulking roar blasted from within the pillar of fire, making Bendrick’s head swim with pain. He clenched his teeth and placed his hands over his ears. The monster within screamed once more, driving the smog away, revealing its hideous form. The beast stepped from the crater, feet cloven, drawing a massive warhammer. Its muscles bulged and were covered in black fur. Its eyes glowed red with anger. It had two horns atop its head almost seven feet long. Its towering stature overshadowed the other daemons and dark men on the battlefield. The knight with two swords fearlessly turned to attack the horned beast. The monster didn’t even flinch or raise its weapon; it simply screamed. The attacking knight burst in a thick cloud of bloody crimson mist and broken bone.
Bendrick’s heart stopped for a second.
The horned beast raised its massive warhammer above its head and swiftly brought it down upon another soldier who was too stunned to even move. The blow crushed the soldier nearly to the ground. He didn’t even have time to scream. The beast swung the warhammer in a wide circle, cleaving through flesh and bone as if it were wielding a jagged blade. The head of the warhammer was made of black, thick steel, with daemonic runes carved into the sides. The beast twirled it as if it were as light as a rapier.
Bendrick’s thoughts rushed back to him.
We could never kill a beast such as this.
The creature snorted and stared at Bendrick. Briefly, they stood before each other. Bendrick didn’t understand why the beast had stopped, but he couldn’t move out of the way. It was as if he were frozen to the spot. He emptied his bladder then and there. Bendrick couldn’t do anything to will his legs to move. The beast smiled, revealing sharp, jagged black teeth.
‘I never would have guessed to meet you here, Apostle,’ said the beast. It’s voice echoed inside Bendrick’s mind. Like flesh being torn apart, it almost made Bendrick vomit in pain. The beast chuckled, darkly. ‘Could you be the opponent I have been warned about? No, it can’t be you.’ The beast raised his warhammer above his head with a nasty grin, but just as it did so three darts hit its right shoulder. The beast screamed and turned to an elf crouching in the deep snows. Rebecca didn’t waste time in jumping at the horned beast. She ducked under the swing of the mighty warhammer. Snow flew into the sky under the air pressure created by the massive weapon’s swing. The elf leaped to its side and drew blood after slashing its fur-covered side. The beast screamed, but the elf held her ground.
‘My blood has not been spilt for millennia. And now by a fucking elf, no less.’ The beast snorted wisps of smog from its snout. It raised its arm and pointed the warhammer at Rebecca. ‘I thought mankind wiped your race from existence.’
Rebecca didn’t respond. Instead, she threw three more darts from within her sleeve. The beast raised his arm, and the three darts pierced his flesh. The beast, with one hand, swung the head of his warhammer at the elf. Snow and mud flew in all directions. Rebecca crossed her arms and absorbed the blow of the massive weapon. The blow sent the elf sprawling head over heels into the deep tundra. Her body was encased by snow, and nothing more moved from it. The beast slowly turned its head to Bendrick and snorted.
‘Elven bitch.’
Bendrick suddenly took a breath in. He didn’t even realize he had been holding it. His legs and arms snapped back into action. Bendrick gripped his sword defensively. How could he attack such a beast when an elf had failed?
Then, to his left, he heard a sho
ut. Sieglinde leaped with sword raised high above her head. She lunged at the monster, but the beast blocked the attack with its warhammer. The beast grunted and hit her shield with the butt of its weapon. The blow sent Sieglinde back to the ground, shield bent from the attack. The beast stomped its feet in the snowy ground and charged with head bent low and horns speared at Sieglinde. In the last moment, Bendrick jumped in front of Sieglinde with sword raised and closed his eyes for the final blow.
BUT THE ATTACK never came.
Bendrick could hear himself breathing rapidly. His heart was beating just as fast. Yet the screams had faded away. Bendrick opened his eyes to find himself in a dark room. Snow was falling lightly through the destroyed roof. He gasped at the echo of his voice resonating in the empty room. Grasping his sword tightly, Bendrick turned in a circle, hurriedly scanning the room. The brick wall was cracked, and the door had been broken off its hinges. Moonlight spilled through the roof, giving Bendrick just enough illumination to see.
Confusion embraced Bendrick as his heart began to pound faster. His breath was caught in his chest, and Bendrick fell to his knees, using his sword to break the fall. There was no furniture or tapestries in the room—nothing he could see to indicate where he was. Bendrick jumped at the sound of armour being thrown to the ground. Slowly, Bendrick advanced through the door, sword poised to attack. He entered the giant hall to see a man lying on the floor. Blood was spilling from an open wound in his chest. The man was whimpering. Echoes bounced off the broken walls eerily. Suddenly, the man turned his face to Bendrick.
It was no man at all.
Sieglinde.
Bendrick rushed to Sieglinde’s side and picked her head up off the ground. She had taken a blow to the head from which she was bleeding profusely. Bendrick set his sword down and began to take Sieglinde’s armour off. The wound in her chest looked as if the beast’s horn had pierced her. Once Bendrick undid the straps, he took her chest piece off. It wasn’t like a normal wound, however. Dark vein-like indentations appeared across her abdomen. Sieglinde’s shirt had been partially torn, exposing her damaged chest. Blood spurted from the wound as Bendrick tore her shirt into two strands. He placed the bigger strand flat on her chest and wrapped the other around her torso. Sieglinde’s breath was shallow, coming in small, raspy attempts to inhale. She grunted in pain as Bendrick tightened the makeshift bandage. Then he unsheathed his dagger and cut a long piece of cloth from his own cloak. Bendrick wrapped it around her head.