by K. J. Hargan
The campaign into Kipleth had been very successful, but the Dark Lord wanted the effort to be quiet, secret. The humans still had a chance of banding together if they understood they had a common enemy.
He only needed to destroy Rogar Li and Gillalliath and then his conquest would have been complete. But, he had been stopped dead by Kellabald at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowland.
Ravensdred was surprised to find himself involuntarily growling. He stilled himself and continued checking the positions of his troops.
Ravensdred replayed the Battle of the Eastern Meadowland in his mind again and again. He had made so many mistakes. He had underestimated the crafty deceitfulness of the human mind. He had fallen into so many of their snares. They were a handful of fractured, weakened, bickering nations, and should have been quite easy to destroy. He had the human army outnumbered five to one, but they had united, and prevailed under Kellabald’s leadership.
Ravensdred suddenly realized he had a twisted snarl on his face, and tried to calm himself. He had won the precious sword, the Mattear Gram, but the success was vastly outweighed by the crashing failure of the Eastern Meadowland defeat.
In his musings, Ravensdred happened upon a sleeping sentry. With a growl in his throat, he seized the slumbering garond sentry by the throat. The sleeping garond awoke with a strangled cry.
“Who is this soldier’s captain?” Ravensdred said in a whispered bark. All the garonds nearby flinched in fear.
A terrified captain stood at attention in front of Ravensdred as the huge general throttled his charge in front of him, the poor garond’s feet dangling inches above the burnt stone of Ethgeow. Ravensdred grabbed the captain by the throat as well. With a vicious growl, Ravensdred lifted both garonds, by the throat, on either side of him. Both were soon dead, but Ravensdred was not finished. He tore the head from the sentry with a ferocious grunt. But tearing the head off the captain was a little more difficult and took some twisting.
“Take these to all the sentries,” Ravensdred said to two nearby soldiers. “Explain what happens when you fall asleep on your shift,” he said wiping the blood from his hands.
The terrified soldiers hurried away in opposite directions with their gruesome burdens.
Ravensdred understood the advantages of fear. His soldiers had to fear him more than the enemy. If they knew they were going to a certain death, none of them would follow him. Ravensdred thought of the boy, and envied the soldiers who followed him out of love and a lust for revenge against his garond warriors. The boy’s soldiers would never fall asleep on duty because their motivations were more noble, more moral. But when it came to battle, his soldiers were motivated by the primal instinct of fear, and so more dependable. Or were they?
Ravensdred rubbed his massive head. He had a headache, rare for him. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He felt it. But he had power, and could kill at will, with the only consequence, the might of the opposing army. And, it felt good to kill. He had the normal pricks of conscience years ago. But now, any problem could be solved quickly by murder. Ravensdred felt a tightness in his chest. He was hungry and wanted to cause more death. He wanted to destroy everything. He smiled to himself. Perhaps this was how his master felt.
Ravensdred turned to stare out at Arnwylf’s army. Their camp fires were going out for the night. They would probably attack at the first light of dawn. He wondered if he should give an order to save the boy general personally for his pleasure. But then he thought, if the boy died, by any happenstance, so much the better.
The torches of the human camp seemed to waver in the moonlight as the Wanderer began to crest Nunee. The larger moon was waxing, but the erratic, smaller moon was always full. The plain below the desolate castle was glowing with moonlight as the torches of the human camp swayed and seemed to be closing.
“What!?” Ravensdred bellowed in disbelief. The humans were attacking with torches in hand, led by the ample light of the earth’s two moons.
“BLAN AN (grunt)!” Ravensdred shouted, as the whole garond army roused to face the charging human warriors. Ravensdred looked down at the human warriors as their faces became discernible in the moonlight. They were so young. It wasn’t surprising, he thought, for children warriors to follow a child general. Are my warriors like me? He wondered. No, he thought, as he took his battle club from a scurrying attendant, my army lives by fear, fear that I will do worse to them than any human enemy.
“AN GUK (grunt)!” Ravensdred yelled, and the garonds charged.
The wolves were the worst. His soldiers didn’t know how to fight them. They were too low to the ground. They were animals, and so they held a primordial reverence for the garonds that no new religion of Deifol Hroth could ever completely erase.
Ravensdred got close and crushed a wolf with one swing of his great club. That should show them the way, Ravensdred smirked to himself. Now, he thought, where is that boy?
But, to Ravensdred’s surprise, the human army began to lose ground in the middle of their ranks. He heard his captains grunting in victory, urging their warriors forward.
The human warriors seemed to strike and then retreat a step or two. There were few causalities. This battle seemed a feint, a probing of his defenses. Something wasn’t right.
Ravensdred looked around. Where was the boy general?
His army pushed the human army back down the slope. The garond army was nearly completely out of the ruins of Ethgeow.
Instinctively Ravensdred turned his head and saw the blonde mop of the boy general off to his left flank. He quickly looked to the other flank and there was the other human captain on his right flank. The garond army had been completely drawn out of the ruins of the devastated city.
“BAAAAA (grunt)!” Ravensdred cried. But it was too late, he had completely fallen into their trap. The human warriors circled around and enclosed the garond army. Fool! Ravensdred said to himself, I’ve fallen for the father’s strategy, played by the son! Ravensdred screamed a war cry of frustration and defeat.
“FAN WAD (grunt)!” Ravensdred bellowed. His floundering army tried to fall back to the ruins, but it was too late.
Arnwylf smiled to himself. His ruse had worked perfectly. The garonds had been so desperate for a victory, they didn’t see how easily they had been drawn out of the ruins of Ethgeow, out from their advantageous position and were now surrounded. Arnwylf looked back with expectation. Would Apghilis attack his rear?
The wolves were magnificent, fighting so beautifully at their brother’s sides. Whenever a bonded human had an undefended opening, a wolf was there to snap the head or arm off the garond who tried to take advantage.
All Arnwylf needed to do was close the trap. But, he saw across the field, Geleiden’s flank faltering.
“Fool,” Arnwylf muttered to himself. If Geleiden allowed the garonds to escape, it would be another long night of exhausted chasing.
“Take your brothers to Geleiden’s side!” Arnwylf told Conniker, who yipped in understanding. Conniker barked at several wolves, who peeled away from their brothers to follow him. The surprised bonded humans looked up at Arnwylf
“Don’t look at me, follow them!” Arnwylf snapped. And the bonded humans ran around the rear of the human army, following their wolf brothers.
The stress of replacing the Brotherhood teams on Arnwylf’s side grew.
“Hold them in!” Arnwylf commanded, but the garond army was able to break the human ranks and retreat to the ruins of Ethgeow. “After them!” Arnwylf shouted.
In the black ruins of the wasted capital, the fighting became more personal, one on one. The shadows helped the garonds to attack the human warriors with stealth.
“Bring in torches!” Arnwylf called, and then he spotted Ravensdred. “You!” Arnwylf challenged the massive garond.
Ravensdred turned with a grimace of murder twisted on his gruesome face. In two, lengthy strides, the garond general was close enough to Arnwylf to bring his great battle club down with an overhand strike.
With agility, Arnwylf side stepped the crushing blow, and thrust his sword up into Ravensdred’s abdomen. It would have been a killing stroke if not for Ravensdred’s breastplate. But the strike was strong enough to momentarily wind the garond.
Ravensdred jabbed his club forward with all his might. The move was so sudden and the striking area so wide, Arnwylf only avoided the jab with a glancing blow.
A growl rose in Arnwylf’s throat. Here was one of his father’s murderer’s. Ravensdred circled for an opening, cradling his battle club.
Arnwylf slashed overhand, and all Ravensdred could do was block the strike, as a huge chunk of wood was cleaved from his club. But, he had no time to counter strike as the boy quickly struck overhand again with even more ferocity. This blow actually brought Ravensdred to one knee as he again deflected with his club. But, the boy was filled with pure anger and hatred, and had time to strike overhand a third time. Arnwylf’s blow shattered Ravensdred battle club, as his garonds desperately fought their own individual battles all around him.
Arnwylf quickly turned his blade in a loop and held it to Ravensdred’s throat.
“Where is the sword?” Arnwylf said with fire in his eyes.
“Over there,” Ravensdred said. Arnwylf turned slightly to see three garonds huddled together, each one holding a sword wrapped in cloth.
“Take the moment to kill me, and lose the sword,” Ravensdred snarled. “AN (grunt)!” Ravensdred barked at the three garonds, and they ran off in three separate directions.
Arnwylf growled in anger. Then, he decided. He turned and sprinted after the garond with the largest bundle, as Ravensdred stumbled to his feet to flee.
“AN WAD (grunt)!” Ravensdred shouted to his army, and the remaining garonds gathered around Ravensdred to flee to the southeast to the shore of the Great Lake of Ettonne, now a flat gray, glowing with floods of moonlight.
Arnwylf caught up to the garond with the largest bundle and ran him through. Arnwylf quickly unwrapped the bundle to discover an ordinary sword. “AAAAHHH!” Arnwylf cried in rage.
“Arnwylf!” A captain shouted. “Apghilis’ army is attacking from the rear!”
“Where is Husvet!” Arnwylf bellowed. “He was to watch our back! To me! TO ME!” Arnwylf called to the human warriors fighting in the ruins.
The garonds still fighting in Ethgeow quickly disengaged and fled to join the remains of the garond army headed southeast.
As Arnwylf made his way to the rear of his army, it was clear Apghilis’ army, although half the size of Arnwylf’s were singling out the wolves, who were confused. The wolves were used to killing garonds and were hesitant to attack humans. The momentary uncertainty allowed Apghilis’ warriors the opportunity to kill almost half the wolves.
“Pull the wolves back!” Arnwylf cried. “Pull them back!”
Arnwylf spotted Apghilis’ fat head towering above his soldiers. He cozied himself safely in the middle of his men, pronouncing orders like an emperor.
Here he is, Arnwylf thought to himself, the man who stabbed my father in the back. With a fury bordering on insanity Arnwylf charged Apghilis’ line. The men fell back with Arnwylf’s onslaught, and Arnwylf’s soldiers pushed in behind him.
“Fall back! Fall back!” Apghilis cried.
Oh, no you don’t, Arnwylf thought to himself, as he hacked away at Apghilis’ soldiers.
“Traitors!” Arnwylf cried. “How dare human attack human who fights garond!?” Arnwylf’s words had a shocking effect on Apghilis’ men and several faltered.
“I am the son of Kellabald, the war general of the Eastern Meadowland!” Arnwylf shouted. Arnwylf held his sword strokes back, seeing several of Apghilis’ warriors filled with doubt and hesitating in their attacks. Several of Apghilis’ soldiers actually lowered their swords in shame.
“How dare you follow that liar and coward!?” Arnwylf cried, pressing the advantage, lowering his sword entirely, daring Apghilis’ soldiers to strike him. The soldiers all around Arnwylf actually lowered their swords, and Arnwylf held his arm out to keep his own soldiers from striking at the soldiers of Apghilis who were now so awfully conflicted. “Lay down your arms and join me, or sheath your weapons and retreat with your lying leader,” Arnwylf commanded. “I have no wish to fight human. My thirst is for garond blood.” And, Arnwylf sheathed his sword in an act of bold courage.
“Fight, you fools!” Apghilis’ cried from the center of the crush of men, and pushed his warriors forward. The human soldiers on both sides began to push each other, too ashamed to kill another human, but still filled with the energy of battle. “Kill! Kill!” Apghilis cried from the safety of his personal guard.
“Come out and face me, betrayer!” Arnwylf challenged. All the lethal fighting from both human sides had subsided to pushing and grappling.
Arnwylf could see Husvet and several of his men caught in a pocket deep within Apghilis’ army.
“Husvet!” Arnwylf cried. “Come out!”
Husvet looked to Arnwylf with mortal dread in his eyes, knowing he would never make it safely to his own side.
“Stay with me,” Arnwylf said to his soldiers all about him, and began to forcefully push his way into Apghilis’ soldiers, who had all now sheathed their swords. “Sheath your swords!” Arnwylf commanded his own men, and they obeyed. Many of Apghilis’s men also followed Arnwylf’s order as if they wished to be led by him.
The crush of men was suffocating, and the fear was that at any moment someone would again draw their weapon, and the bloodshed would begin anew.
Arnwylf pushed and pushed at the mass of muscles and arms before him. Husvet pushed and grappled with Apghilis’ men on all sides. “Arnwylf!” He cried.
“Stay calm,” Arnwylf called to Husvet, as he pushed and pushed at the wall of soldiers.
“They’ve killed Maldon, my wolf!” Husvet cried with a pain too awful to describe.
Arnwylf pushed harder and harder on the grappling soldiers all around him, until he broke through to Husvet, who wrestled with soldiers while cradling his dead wolf in one arm.
Arnwylf joined with Husvet and his men and they made their way back to their side.
“Hold him!” Apghilis cried, pushing forward towards Arnwylf. Hands grasped and pulled at Arnwylf on all sides.
Arnwylf struggled with his men by his side, but Apghilis’ came close.
“Clear the way!” Apghilis commanded and an arena opened for Apghilis, who brandished his sword. “Give me the Mattear Gram!” Apghilis demanded.
“I haven’t got it,” Arnwylf said circling Apghilis in the clearing of soldiers.
“Draw your weapon,” Apghilis snarled.
Arnwylf looked at the soldiers all about him. If he drew, the bloodshed would began all over.
“I don’t need my sword to beat you” Arnwylf crowed.
Apghilis lunged at Arnwylf and the lanky boy grabbed Apghilis’ arm and wrenched the sword away. Arnwylf handed the sword to one of his soldiers.
“Give me another sword!” Apghilis commanded his men, but no soldier moved to help him. The large, fat man looked around in terror. Then his rage settled on Arnwylf. With a bellow, he charged.
Arnwylf swung under Apghilis’ out stretched arms, grabbed his tunic and rolled him over so Apghilis landed with a thud on his back. Arnwylf was on top of Apghilis in a breath, raining blows down on his fat face. Then Arnwylf got his hands around Apghilis’ throat and began to squeeze.
Apghilis tried to strike Arnwylf, but his face was turning red, he struggled for breath, and then he desperately clutched at Arnwylf’s strangling hands.
“No!” Husvet cried and tore Arnwylf off of Apghilis. “Do not give them a martyr!”
Arnwylf violently pushed Husvet away, and, staggering, faced Apghilis, who wearily stumbled to his feet, feeling his neck.
“Get out of my sight” Arnwylf said to Apghilis, and then turned to easily push his way back to his men.
Geleiden made his way to Arnwylf. “The garonds have a great lead, now.�
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Arnwylf turned violently to face Husvet, who stopped to stare at Arnwylf with courageous shame. Arnwylf’s face was red with anger, but then he threw his arms around his captain. “Thank the gods you live,” he said to Husvet who still cradled his dead wolf.
“We have to be after them right away,” Arnwylf said wiping the dust and blood from his face.
“We will not leave our brothers,” Conniker, the white wolf, now at Arnwylf’s side, said.
Arnwylf turned to stare down at Conniker, then gently put his hand on Maldon’s head.
“Make litters from the tents, to bear the slain wolves, so we may later mourn them properly,” Arnwylf commanded as he strode away. “Let us bury our human dead quickly so we may be after that garond scum.”
Arnwylf turned to face the numbed and confused army of Apghilis.
“Join us or leave us be, but do not hinder us,” he boldly called to the shamed warriors of Apghilis.
Ravensdred’s chest ached. The strike from the boy was surprisingly powerful. He fingered the deep mark on his bronze chest plate where the sword would have impaled him.
He only had about four hundred garonds left. It would be one on one, even odds, the next time they met. That is, if the other human army didn’t finish the boy off first.
Ravensdred looked back. He could see a column of dust on the western horizon. They were after him. Ravensdred snarled and clouted a nearby garond out of simple frustration.
Arnwylf trotted after the garonds. His army ran with him, no complaints. Husvet ran by Arnwylf’s side, holding one end of a litter that bore his dead wolf, Maldon. Geleiden held the other end of the litter, with his wolf brother, Lanner, trotting by his side.
“They won’t stop at the ruins of Glafemen,” Geleiden breathlessly said. “I think they’ll again pull that trick of sacrificing a platoon to keep the main body ahead of us.”
“Then we mustn’t let that slow us,” was all Arnwylf said, with a blank look of determination, never breaking stride.
The sun rose in the east, over the Great Lake of Ettonne. The beacon of light was a mute, orange glow warming through the clouds hanging over the expansive lake. Ettonne was so vast, its eastern shore was not visible from any point on the western shore in Wealdland. Even on Byland, the land bridge linking Wealdland to the rest of the world, the eastern shore was never visible.