Valena softened a little bit. “Here, Derlin, take my ribbon,” she said, undoing it from her hair and letting her dark locks fall about her shoulders. “It is green, the color of life. Wear it next to your heart in the battle, and think of me praying for you. Fare thee well, and may life prevail…”
Derlin could not meet Valena’s gaze, as she started crying again. He slowly kissed her salty cheek and left, each wondering if it was the last time they would meet.
* * *
King Garkin was fortunate that he had General Cilio as head of his army. A lesser man would have been destroyed by Marhyn’s well-placed trap in the south. The Dark Lady was extremely cunning, and had almost been able to defeat King Garkin’s southern force. If that had happened, she would have had a free attack on the capital, and from there she would have been able to wreak havoc on the whole country. The Death Lord would probably not be as cunning as Marhyn, but he was certainly much stronger and his evil was of a deeper and darker nature. With Marhyn defeated, however, spirits picked up. The king’s army would not have to face an alliance of Marhyn and her brother. The commanders had been nervous that Darhyn would try to attack Breshen while Marhyn was attacking from the south, and thus face a split army. But scouts had reported no signs of any movement around Castle Rathskellar. Indeed, the fortress seemed deserted. If Darhyn had just awoken, he would not have much time to gather an army to combat the king’s men. If he was still asleep, then Tarthur would have an easy time stealing the Water Orb.
Cilio had come back with his force and had immediately begun to deal with the organizational problems that his return had caused. The king’s men had not been idle at Breshen, however, and all that lacked was rest for the troops. After two days, the vast war machine was ready. Cilio had decided to keep the whole army together because he didn’t want to take the chance of waking the Evil One. If he was awake, he already knew of their coming, and any advance unit would be quickly defeated, if he was asleep, an advance unit could wake him and give him time to summon forces to his aid.
On the day the army left, it was raining and cold, even though it was still spring, the time when evil was weakened. This is an inauspicious beginning, Tarthur thought. He had learned the word from Akin and now used it all the time. Tarthur had a limited vocabulary so the big words he did know he used often.
The rain cleared up during the afternoon and the rest of the day passed without incident. At a normal meandering army pace, the trip to the gates of Castle Rathskellar would have taken almost two weeks, but since every day possibly counted, Cilio hoped to make the trip in shortly over one week. The army was organized into patrols of ten men headed by a patrol leader and an assistant patrol leader. Groups of ten patrols were organized into squadrons with a squadron commander and two assistants. Ten squadrons were grouped together into a battalion of a thousand men, and two battalions together formed a company. The company leaders were the Duke of Walis, the Duke of Breswick, Sir Terin Ironfist, and the fourth was Sir Tali, who was Cilio’s pupil and handpicked successor to Cilio himself. Dalin was also in charge of a fifth company comprised solely of elves. The few token forces of other races like dwarves and gnomes were also segregated in the army. Zelin was the leader of a group of magicians, and General Cilio was put in charge of the whole army of slightly less than eleven thousand. Higher than General Cilio was an executive council of King Garkin, the elven king, Warren, Zelin, Cilio, Dalin, Yan and Sir Terin. They gave day-to-day control over the army to Cilio but would debate all major decisions.
They traveled until after it was dark, posted sentries, and rested. The next morning, they awoke, and the juggernaut rumbled on.
* * *
Sir Stephen was almost nauseous with excitement. He had expected to be picked as a patrol leader, but he had also been chosen to be first assistant to his squadron commander. None of the men in his patrol were knights, and none of them had ever fought before either. There were three farmers, two blacksmiths, an unemployed bum that they had picked off the streets of the capital, three merchants, and Sir Stephen himself. He had had a hard and frustrating time teaching them how to handle their weapons properly during their extended stay in Breshen, but eventually he had taught them passable skills. He had become good friends with his men, and he knew that they trusted him with their lives.
His squadron commander was none other than Sir Undbar, the gruff old knight he had known since he began his training with the Royal Knights. Sir Stephen admired him and Sir Undbar took him into confidence on all matters of the squadron. If Sir Undbar fell, it would be up to Sir Stephen to assume control of the hundred men. Although it was less than one percent of the whole army, Sir Stephen took his responsibility very seriously.
The glory of war burned inside Sir Stephen as his horse jostled him up and down during their journey. He reminisced over the stories he had been inundated with since he was a child. He was already on his way to becoming the greatest knight that ever lived; he would help destroy darkness wherever it reared its ugly head. He would chase the forces of shadow from the land and the evil ones would quake in fear when they saw him approaching. He could see it already. In the horrible conflict, the forces arrayed against his army would be immense, but through courageous acts, Sir Stephen and his patrol would hold fast, and if he had to take command of the squadron, well, a finer squadron would not be found on that day of bloodshed. It was time for the men to stand up and be counted, to find what they were made of. He knew his patrol would stand with him.
They stopped for twenty minutes at noon to rest and eat lunch. The hot sun was already beginning to beat down on them mercilessly, and there was no shade or cover of any kind in the Savannah Plain. They had left the last source of fresh water behind them a day ago, and now were on the rations that each had and what was brought by the supply wagons. One of the blacksmiths wiped the sweat from his forehead as he took a swig from his canteen.
“This weather’s just like the forges back home, eh?” Sir Stephen greeted.
“Don’ta remind me of home,” He said in the gruff and heavily accented voice Sir Stephen had gotten used to. “This placea’s more like hell. Home is a placea of love and warmth. Anda her.” With this, he opened the clasp of a necklace he wore around his neck. Inside was a magic image of a little girl, barely five years old. The girl danced a small jig and then spoke, pleading. “Daddy, daddy, come play with me.”
Sir Stephen was touched. He had no family in the world except his parents, whom he did not know very well.
“Aye, dona think I’ma complain’. I know why weare heare. I see the need to kill that bastard. But I dinna say’d like it.”
The man took one look at the glittering image, and the girl spoke again. “Daddy, daddy, come play with me.”
The man nodded, “I willa darlin. Just as soon as the bad things are gone. It’ll be like before, you and mommy and I will play all day long.” With that, he snapped closed the clasp and tucked it back into his shirt.
Sir Undbar received word to resume marching, called it out to Sir Stephen, and the army moved on.
* * *
Tarthur was using the trip to get to know his bodyguards better. He did not know that they were part of the Guard, or even what the Guard was, but from the first moment he met them, Tarthur was impressed. They showed him all sorts of neat tricks and sleight of hand that made Tarthur gape. He liked these guys already.
There was Gyeun, a half elf who was like the leader. He seemed open to whatever Tarthur might tell him and was always anxious to talk. Next was a man named Thon, a man almost as big as Yonathan but much more agile. The last was Youin, a girl who Tarthur thought might be pretty. He wasn’t sure, of course, since he had given up looking long ago. He had been beaten so many times by Yvonne that his body now had an involuntary reflex that made him look away from whatever girl he saw. All three seemed to know all about Tarthur, or at least whatever he had ever told to anyone else seemed to wind up in their brains somehow. And they never seemed to forget anyt
hing. They even knew about the incident with the pie, and about several other disciplinary incidents that had occurred back in Krendon. Only, they knew the wrong versions, so Tarthur assumed that they had been talking to the baron. He therefore took great pains to straighten them out on some things.
One example was the time that Tarthur and Derlin had decided to pretend that they were knights out of the old stories. No one could ever accuse the boys of not having an imagination, but they could not imagine everything. They would need swords to play at this game. So they had just meandered over to Baron Ercrilla’s house and found his sword neatly packed up with the rest of his provisions including food and clothes. The only logical explanation was that the wise baron had obviously known that he was coming and since he had set all of his things out in one place, he apparently wanted Tarthur to help himself not only to his sword but to some food as well. (It couldn’t have been that he was packing for his hunting party that was leaving the following morning.) Tarthur and Derlin had been hesitant at first to just take the food and sword, but as Tarthur pointed out, they really had no choice and had better obey their proper legal authority. Tarthur shuddered to think what the baron would do if he came back and found that Tarthur had not taken any of the things he had spent so much time getting ready for him in a nice and neat pile. It was good to know that they had a ruler who was so concerned with the safety of their town as to loan out his personal sword for military training of the less fortunate townsfolk. The food might even rot if left out too long.
When the situation was analyzed from this obviously true and rational viewpoint, it was downright absurd that that old cranky knight Erso had found Tarthur and Derlin, innocently practicing their fighting skills, and brought them to the baron. The baron, much to the surprise of any objective observer, was actually angry. He had probably been drinking, or under the spell of some ghastly trickster gnome—they abounded in that part of the world, living only to cause mischief. Tarthur himself had been blamed more than a few times for things that they had caused—so that he had misinterpreted his own magnanimous act.
Tarthur and Derlin had been sent to bed without dinner, and he was to miss breakfast the next morning. That night was when the dream had come…the dream that had started all this. Tarthur looked around him, amazed. Thousands of people were together, were risking their lives, all because of his dream. He felt suddenly powerful, for it was his dream that had set everything into motion, and then helpless. He was being caught up in events that were sweeping him away just as the water wave had swept away those evil things in his dream. He felt as if the dream was so long ago, centuries ago, or even as if he was hearing about it happening to someone else. He just hoped he would be able to use the Water Orb when the time came.
Gyeun chuckled when he heard Tarthur’s story. Tarthur had only known these people for a short time, but he already felt like they were his friends.
* * *
On the fifth day they caught sight of Castle Rathskellar. Derlin, Dalin, Yan, and Tarthur were the only ones who had seen Marhyn’s castle in the south, and even they gaped at the awesomeness of the Death Lord’s fortress. Even seen from far away it was terribly forbidding. The rest of the army was totally unprepared. Fortunately, they were still far away, so it did not look as terrible as it really was. They could see no sign of any evil soldiers, yet they could feel the malevolence in the air. The heat waves that beat down over the king’s army were relentless, and everyone was uncomfortable. During the night, the desert cooled off and water froze. Men huddled in blankets to keep warm, as there was nothing to build fires with in this land where nothing lived. Morale was low but the men were still loyal, though talk to the effect of “Let’s do this and then get home” was heard throughout the ranks.
After they caught sight of the fortress Cilio doubled the sentry. It didn’t really matter because that just meant people were watching from a guard post instead of watching from their bedroll. They traveled most of the day and night because the men weren’t likely to get much rest in the desolate land. They had well protected supply lines coming from all over the world to Breshen and then to the army along their route. The wagons were plentiful and kept the army well stocked.
They slowed up on the seventh day because they were almost there, and no one wanted to begin the attack at night. On daybreak of the eighth day they stood on the hill overlooking the castle. Men tightened their armor, took swigs of water, and stretched out their muscles in anticipation. As of yet there was no sign of anything moving within the castle. The army’s plan was simple, to go in and destroy any opposition. If there was none, they would search the castle until they found the Orb and alert their commanders who would alert Tarthur’s group.
Tarthur was ready with his group of Gyeun, Thon, Youin, and Yan. They were to go in on foot with the army and then Tarthur would try to navigate them through the fortress to where he had found the Water Orb and the Death Lord. From his dream, he remembered nothing more than that he had taken alternating right and left turns. Yan was nervous; he would have to fend off Darhyn if they encountered him until Tarthur found the Orb.
Cilio rode back and forth through the ranks screaming out a speech he had prepared earlier. It told of bravery, of history, and of the chance the men gathered there had to make the world safe from evil. A few of them had already conquered the evil to the south, now only one remained. “We might die today,” he extolled. “Yet how many people can say they have truly lived? Is a safe, comfortable life truly living? Some would pity us who have to bear hardship and who will defeat the evil, for there is no doubt we will win. But I say, let us pity them! They will never feel the blood rush through their veins, feel adrenaline, feel the excitement of war, the thrill of victory. Thousands of years from now they will look back upon this day with wonder and amazement. Ours is not to listen to tales of bravery and great deeds done by others in some far away land, once upon a time. Ours is to stand up and fight and leave it to others to listen to legends written about us! We know the quickening of the heart, the turning of the stomach, which I am sure all of you feel now. We know what it is to be alive! We know what it is to be men! We will show Darhyn what the men of Daranor are made of!!!”
Cilio was shouting now, galloping back and forth on his horse and filling the troops with his excitement. “For king!” he screamed.
“For king!” they echoed.
“For good!” he shouted.
“For good!” they echoed again.
“To live!!!” he screamed, thrusting his sword in the air and then leveling it toward the hated fortress.
“TO LIVE!!!” They screamed, drawing their weapons and charging down the hill into the still empty fortress of the reviled Death Lord.
THE TRAP
A bone chilling sound echoed from within. The men were almost at the gates when they magically swung open and a hundred skull knights came marching out. Creatures of every size and shape burst from the battlements and turrets. A skull knight on horseback led the columns of the undead. A chill filled Derlin when he remembered the terrible time in the forest when Yan and Yonathan had saved the boys from the skull knights and the reaper. But now there were a hundred of them. The king’s men would have trouble killing the unkillable.
Tarthur’s group was to wait and see if the king’s men could obtain a victory before starting off into the fortress. If the enemies were too strong to be defeated easily, Tarthur’s group was to wait until they had a good opening and then break through. Derlin glanced at his friend and saw how he looked nervous, yet ready.
Horrible things kept swarming out of the dark fortress. Derlin was even surprised that all of them could have fit in it before. The lines were only about a hundred meters apart now, and they were closing fast. Derlin was a patrol leader and he ordered his group to follow him as he charged into a five-headed monster. The monster flung up his claw but Derlin sliced his Light Sword through it and down through its arm, cutting it in half lengthwise. The creature didn’t seem to notic
e, and it swung its other claw at Derlin. Derlin ducked, and brought his Light Sword sweeping across the monster’s legs. The hideous being collapsed and the other members of Derlin’s patrol were quick to finish it off.
Zelin’s magicians had immediately scanned the battlefield and decided that the skull knights were the biggest threat. The magicians closed in on them and began to attack. A black clad conjurer brought his hands up out of his long, billowing cloak and sent a burst of fire that blew off the heads of several skull knights in a row. Another sorcerer folded his hands intently in his cloak, murmured a few words for a second, and then brought his hands up and faced them towards the decapitated heads. Immediately, they were encased in meter thick ice, and useless to their bodies, which were already beginning to fall down. But the ice was melting in the hot sun.
Zelin himself stuck out his hand, which for a moment quivered as a fireball began to grow in his palm, then abruptly straightened his elbow and sent the ball of fire shooting out into the air. It split into four pieces, each of which went directly for a skull knight. The fires hit them square in the chest, exploding and sending fragments of their bones for thousands of meters around. It would be some time before those got back together.
* * *
The battle was going much worse for Dalin and his company. Hideous monsters were killing the elves. The elves were shooting arrows dipped in potent neurotoxins, but they were not having much effect. A grim looking giant charged toward Dalin. Dalin’s friend rushed out to meet him. The giant stopped where he was, and his eyes turned red and began to glow.
Two ruby streams shot out of the giant’s eyes and into Dalin’s friend, who screamed in agony. He kept screaming, and Dalin saw that the streams of red were not killing him, only burrowing around in his insides until they had caused all the pain they could—only then would they finish the job. Dalin tried to break a stream of red with his sword, but it was useless and only caused his friend to cry out all the more. The frightened elf looked up into his prince’s eyes and the message was crystal clear. A solitary tear running down his cheek, Dalin raised his sword and in one stroke finished it.
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 29