by D. M. Murray
The commander had turned around on his horse and was looking at them open mouthed. “But, Your Highness, that’s a full four thousand troops. Are you sure?” The man looked nervous as he questioned the invigorated king.
Grunnxe’s face set like ragged stone. “Do I look like I need to be questioned by the fucking likes of you or that fallen spirit over there?” He withdrew his sword and pointed it toward the shaking commander.
“It’s done, Your Highness.” The commander cleared his throat and roared the order.
The flag waved the Ravenmayne horde off, four thousand forgotten people. Four thousand with thirst for vengeance in their hearts. Grunnxe felt a swelling press once more on the inside of his trousers.
“Apula will fall. Onwards to Carte.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“It’s ridiculous! I should be out there with him,” Kalfinar snapped as he stared out of the window of Harruld’s study.
He and Evelyne were alone, having answered the governor’s summons, only to find him absent from his study.
“Calm down,” Evelyne said, stepping up behind Kalfinar as he stared out the window. Her arms wound around him, squeezing his chest as she rested her head against his back.
Kalfinar tangled his fingers about hers.
“Broden will be fine.”
“I’m not achieving anything stalking these corridors. I should be out there, where I matter.”
“You matter right here, right now.”
He turned, breaking free from her embrace, and rested his hands on her hips. Her eyes sparkled with the flickering light of the stand of candles behind him. He kissed her.
“Apologies, I had business—”
They broke from their kiss as Harruld walked into the room, stopping as he saw them.
“I’m—ahem, I’m sorry,” Harruld blurted. “I didn’t know you’d be… well.”
“No need to apologise,” Evelyne said, stepping away from Kalfinar and pulling free a chair from Harruld’s table before sitting down with a casual smile.
Kalfinar replicated her actions, sitting down next to her. Both stifled slight laughter.
“Well excuse the interruption in any case.” Harruld carried on into the room, followed by Abbonan and Merkham.
Kalfinar caught Abbonan’s eye as he pulled free a chair opposite him. The Governor of Terna flashed a quick look to Evelyne, then back to Kalfinar, and winked.
Kalfinar turned away from the grinning Abbonan and looked to his father. “What news?”
“Troops have been allocated and reserves drawn up. Reinforcements have been ordered from Enulin and Gerloup, but they’ll take time. Maybe too much time. We’ve too few officers and even fewer who’ve true battle experience. As for the city, we’ve had several squads back to the High Command from patrols.”
“Broden?” Kalfinar asked.
Harruld shook his head. “The word back is grim. The dead have been taken by spirits and try to kill any they come across. Evelyne, can you explain what’s happening?”
“They’re harvesting,” Evelyne said, her eyes closed.
“What does that mean?” Merkham asked, his thin face etched with confusion. The grey bags under his eyes had grown.
“The demons within the dead harvest the souls of those they kill and feed them to Balzath. It is how the demigods would have fed under Bhalur’s will, but for Balzath to feed on such scale will only serve to give him greater strength.”
“Dajda!” Abbonan exclaimed. “Does Balzath mean to slaughter us all?”
“No,” Evelyne replied, opening her brilliant eyes. “It would not sustain him to pursue such a course. To take souls in such abundance would make him very powerful, but strength wanes. If there is no one to worship, there’s no more strength to be had, and so Balzath would diminish. To endure, he’ll seek to put all under the yoke.”
“So what am I doing still sat here? I should be out there keeping our people safe!” Kalfinar said, his earlier frustration rising again.
Evelyne placed a hand on Kalfinar’s thigh and squeezed.
“We defend,” Harruld said, “and we lead. Specifically, you lead.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Specifically, you lead,’” Abbonan said, his humour replaced with solemnity.
“Me? But you lead.” Kalfinar looked at Harruld.
“Aye, for now, but I’m sick.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Kalfinar asked, his stomach knotting.
Harruld’s face shifted into a humourless smile. “My blood’s bad. Has been a while. I’m weakening and soon I’ll go the way we all do in the end.”
Kalfinar stared at him for a long moment, searching for words, but he found there was nothing he could say.
“Kalfinar,” Merkham’s words captured Kalfinar’s attention, “even if your father wasn’t ill, he couldn’t continue to hold dual rank as governor and chief marshal. Our constitution forbids it beyond a period of transition. The remaining senior members of the High Command voted that you would be the next chief marshal of the High Command.”
“This is madness. I’m a fucking addict!”
“You were washed clean of that on the ship,” Evelyne said. “The child, remember?”
“But I—”
“But nothing!” Harruld barked, slamming his fist on to the table. “You need to stop this now! The command has voted. You’re to assume your position with immediate effect and, for Dajda’s sake, stop being committed to your past failings! They’re past and they’re gone. You’re to take rank this night! Defend this city, this nation, and Dajda, above all. We’re finished here. Merkham, run through the oaths with him.” Harruld stood from his chair and made for the door.
Kalfinar watched him go, his cheeks stinging like he had been slapped.
Harruld opened the door and stopped. He turned back to the table and looked at Evelyne and Kalfinar, then smiled. “You look fine together.” He walked out.
Kalfinar looked across at Evelyne. She smiled.
“Excuse me,” Merkham coughed. “Don’t mean to spoil your moment, but I need you to swear your oath of office, Chief Marshall.”
*
“What do you see?” Broden hissed over the shoulder of the guard as they hid in the darkness of the alleyway.
“There’s nothing there,” the guard replied, keeping his eyes on the square in front of the cathedral.
Broden glanced down at the small girl who clung to the leather jerkin and chainmail. She stared up at him, red-rimmed eyes peering out of a soot-stained face. She hadn’t uttered a word since she had been rescued.
Broden offered a meagre smile. More likely to scare the poor kid with a face like this.
“What do you want to do?” the guardsman in the front asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
Broden noted the anxiety on the faces of the remainder of the platoon. “Here.” He handed the girl over to a guardsman further back in the shadows. He crept to the entrance of the alleyway and peeked into the cathedral square. The huge open square was lit with a flickering glow as oil lamps reflected off rain-soaked cobbles. “We make our move. Quick and quiet. Let’s get into the cathedral with as little fuss as possible.”
The platoon nodded in agreement, the men drawing their weapons careful and slow so as not to make any unwarranted noise.
Broden took the girl from the guard and cradled her to his chest with one massive arm, his sword ready in the other. He looked down at her. She had shut her eyes and small tears ran free, leaving smoke-stained trails down her dirty cheeks. Her breath was rapid and shallow. You’re terrified, child. So am I. So am I.
“Sir?” one of the guardsmen whispered, drawing Broden from his thoughts.
“What?” Broden glanced up to see expectant faces on his men; eager and frightened. He composed himself in the moment. “Move out to the right. Stick to the edges of the square. It’s just two sides to cover and we’re there. Be mindful of gaps between buildings in case any of these ghouls are hiding. Aim
for the side entrance. It’s less visible, more likely to be open, and easier defended if not. Move low and move quick. Keep your eyes keen.”
The men nodded and darted out of the alleyway, turning right and sticking to the edge of the square.
Broden’s feet pounded the cobbles, hard and fast. His eyes scanned the square and the gaps between buildings. His sword arm was ready and his left was pinned to his chest, holding the little girl in place. Over the sound of his breathing, his footsteps, and those of his men behind him, Broden could hear the child sobbing. He stepped away from the building edges as he approached an alleyway, mindful not to pass it within grabbing distance. He slipped past, sword arm raised ready. Keep going, keep going. Almost there, keep—
The sound of a man’s scream ripped through the still air.
Broden turned to see one of the platoon spinning into the square away from the mouth of the alleyway he had just passed. One of the creatures clung onto his back like a mountain lion tackling a deer.
The guardsman spun and flailed, trying to get the creature off with little effect.
Broden and the rest of the platoon leapt to his aid, with those closer hauling at the creature. As Broden reached them, the guardsman had been torn free, and the creature sent reeling to the glistening cobbles. Four of the platoon surrounded the creature as it hunched, ready to pounce, white eyes darting between them.
“Look at his apron,” one of the guardsmen muttered. “He used to be a tanner.”
Broden glanced at the heavy leather apron. “Well, he’s not a tanner anymore,” Broden snapped. “Kill it.”
The guardsmen fell upon the former tanner and despatched it. The injured guardsman was resting on his hunkers, a cloth pressed firmly against his neck.
“Are you hurt?” Broden asked, stepping over.
“It bit me. See.” The man removed the rag from his neck and dark blood welled out of the ragged wound.
“Dajda!” Broden exclaimed. “That’s deep. You’ll need that stitched. Can you walk?”
“Aye.”
Broden nodded. “Come on.” He called to the rest of the platoon, “We need to get moving. Help him up and let’s go.”
Helping the injured guardsmen, the group moved through the square to the cathedral, eyes darting side to side to make sure no more of the creatures were drawn to the commotion.
Broden clearly heard the sobs of the child now. “It will be fine, child. We’re almost there.”
They slipped alongside the massive cathedral and away from the open space of the square. The reach of the lamp light diminished the further they got from the square and Broden felt his pulse quicken. He hushed the child and indicated the same to the injured guardsman. With slow, deliberate steps, they felt their way along the wall, nerves shredded and breath quick.
Broden saw the faint glint of metal ahead and his pulse settled. They had reached the smaller side door, the caretaker’s entrance. He reached out and turned the handle, being cautious not to make too much noise. The metal groaned a little in the dark, but it may as well have been a mill wheel grinding. Then it stopped. It was locked.
“Fuck!” Broden hissed, his pulse quickened.
“What do we do now?” one of the platoon whispered.
Broden stood in silence, musing over his options, none of which he fancied. “This is probably the largest and easiest to defend building we could find in the city short of the High Command. If we’re to hold up for a while and try to get some of the people to safety, this is the best option. I say we either try to pick the lock or we try to break the door down.”
Broden could only see shadows and smudges of his men’s faces. Their silence gave him little comfort as to his choice.
“If we pick it, we stand out here for longer. If we break it down, we make more noise and have to repair it fast. What do you think?” Broden stood for a moment, the sound of breathing being his only companion. “Right then, I guess I’ll break it down.”
Broden turned to face the door and made himself ready to slam a heavy boot against it when the sound of metal turning in the lock caused him to pull back.
The door opened a sliver and an arrowhead poked out from the blackness within.
“Let me warn you, breaking down this door would be very bad for your wellbeing,” a faceless voice crept out from behind the door. “Put away your swords and declare yourself. And don’t try anything rash. My arrows are not the only sharp things behind this door.”
“I’m Captain Broden of the High Command and this is my platoon. We’ve been dispatched on orders of Governor Harruld to clear the city of these creatures and take the people to safe keeping. We’ve an injured man and a child here in need of succour. Our man needs stitching. He’s losing a lot of blood. Please, can you help?”
“Show me your orders,” the voice called out after a moment. “Place them in the crack at the bottom of the door and no funny business or the inevitable will happen with those sharp things I told you about.”
“Understood,” Broden replied. “I need to reach into my jerkin. Is that fine?”
“Fine. Go slow.”
Broden removed the order signed by Harruld. He took a couple of steps towards the door and knelt down, his left arm tight around the little girl and his right extending the folded piece of paper into the crack in the door. The arrow tracked him all the way. He stepped back and stood up straight as the piece of paper was whipped into the blackness behind the door. A spark of light flashed from within and Broden heard some mumbling inside. A moment later, the door creaked open and Broden saw several bows and spears levelled at him and his men.
“In you come, but remember, any funny business and we’ll have you. Understood?”
“Aye, we understand,” Broden replied. “Thank you.” He led the way into the cathedral, the small child still sobbing into his chest.
*
“How is he?” Kalfinar asked Evelyne as she opened the door to Olmat’s chamber.
“Soon,” she said, stepping aside and letting him in.
The room was smaller than Harruld’s study by half. The stone walls were bare, the only decoration being an intricate stained-glass window depicting a blazing star. Olmat lay on a narrow bed, clothed in a deep blue, ankle-length gown. The two girls, the Horn of the Anulii, sat beside the old man. The younger girl smoothed Olmat’s thin white hair with the palm of her small hand whilst the older hummed a soft, slow melody.
“How are you?” Kalfinar whispered to Evelyne.
“Fine. You?” she asked with a gentle smile.
“Little time to feel anything. I’m glad to be here with you.”
“Do you want to speak to him?” she asked, leading him towards where Olmat lay. “Uncle,” Evelyne whispered.
The smallest of the girls stood up from Olmat’s side and hugged Kalfinar around his knees.
“Whoa!” Kalfinar laughed. “What a fine welcome.” He cupped the back of the small girl’s curly head as she tipped her face back and smiled at him. His heart swelled with a sense of joy at the sight of her. Are you my angel?
“Kalfinar,” Olmat’s thin, reedy voice sounded. “Come close, lad. My eyes are failing me.”
Olmat was fading, that much was plain.
“How’re you, old friend?” Kalfinar asked, his hand resting on Olmat’s bony shoulder as he sat down in the chair beside him. What a curse of fate, you that I love so dearly; who I now wish death upon.
Olmat’s rheumy blue eyes had lost their vitality and clouded. He managed to force his dry and cracked lips into a weak smile. “I’m on my way, it seems. The last of three. My brothers are dead, that is why I slip now so quick from this world.”
Kalfinar leaned in closer to Olmat. “You three, you were the three pillars that Teporan Mane wrote must fall to call forth the Anulii. First there was Capriath, then Sarbien, and now, finally, you.”
Olmat nodded, his head seeming so little and his neck so thin. “It appears we three were entwined to this fate from the start. It
was our role to live in service of and die for the name of Dajda. After we pass, I’m sure three more will come to be. Three more to keep watch. They too will serve Dajda as we have done, and diminish also when their time comes.”
Kalfinar clasped Olmat’s trembling hands and regarded him with a sorrowful smile. Not long until you rest, dear friend.
“When you make it through this,” Olmat’s voice grew in strength as he spoke. “Don’t fan the flames of your pain and burn all your life away. Don’t waste it for nothing. You know they wouldn’t want that for you.”
“I know,” Kalfinar said.
“No, you don’t!” Olmat croaked with urgency. “If you love only in death, in a memory, it can breed despair in a soul. You must find love in the living. It will bring you peace.”
Evelyne hunkered down beside Olmat and Kalfinar, and placed a hand on each of theirs.
Kalfinar looked at her and smiled. “I think I understand now.”
*
“Bowmen!” Thaskil cried out, his words being relayed down the battlements. “Next volleys on my command. First volley, set to flame and into the trench. Let’s cut them in half. Second volley, bring it in and take down those on the inside of the trench.”
Sergeant Omree stood by Thaskil’s side and watched as raiders sprinted forward, wailing war cries. They appeared as masses of shadows swarming forwards to the breach. Some tripped and ran into the large blocks of masonry blown from the wall, whilst other stepped on caltrops, falling to the ground with screams of agony. The positioning of the obstacles and the fallen comrades caused the pace of the advancing raiders to lessen.
“It’s working. They’re slowing,” Omree said.
“Light the arrows!” Thaskil called as shadows of men swarmed over the open ground. So many. He waited and watched as the line of flame spread to either side of him. Dajda, let this work. “Fire!” he screamed, sweeping his raised hand down to his side as the order echoed down the battlement.
The line of fire leapt and climbed high in the air, gliding a trail of light in the dark and arching downwards like the fall of an axe. Some appeared to strike the ground, spluttering out, while others found their mark in flesh, the flame’s journey carrying on before spluttering out. Some of the arrows found their way into the trench. Flame burst into an explosion of violent life, engulfing the trench, blasting heat and light against the walls of Apula and flashing fire and death onto any nearby. Some unfortunate raiders who had fallen in the trench ran across the ground towards the walls like comets, trailing liquid fire before their terrifying screaming subsided. A wild cheer sounded from the battlements.