by R D Wolfe
“Listen, you’re going to be fine,” Darien took her hands into his own, looking her in the eyes. “It’ll be just like leading a giant raiding party. You know how to do that, right?”
Evatra nodded as she looked up at him.
“Okay. then. Let’s go.”
Darien addressed the camp first, detailing the events that led to his and Evatra’s arrival. The two of them stood on top of the larger wagon, with the hundred or so marauders all gathered around to hear the news. He told them of his identity, the journey to Farkland Reach, discovering the army, the death of the King, and of his encounter with the wraiths, making sure to mention the fact that it was he who had released the wraith from Atreya before. Then he detailed the events of the previous night, a wave of shock rolling through the crowd as he informed them of Totra-Dal’s condition, and again as he recounted his duel with Kort, and the outcome therein.
At the conclusion of the story, Darien saw several marauders murmuring to each other. He could guess what they were asking their neighbors.
“Listen to me now!” Darien called, “I am not suited to lead you. There is someone else, who I yield that title to, now. Evatra!”
At this, the crowd went silent, before a wave of thunderous cheers rose up as the marauders shouted their approval.
“Told you it would work,” Darien teased.
Evatra moved to the front of the wagon, shooting him a look, before she addressed the crowd. She told them of her vision for the marauders, that they would always and forever retain their identity. They belonged to no city, or king, but to themselves.
“But to belong to ourselves,” she continued, “we must wander lands that are free!” The crowd nodded and clapped in approval.
“In order for the lands to remain free, this black army that Cyprin has sent down from his cursed mountain must be destroyed. Farkland Reach calls for aid and we, the marauders, the freest people in all of Olympus, will answer their call! Not to become subjects of their city, not because we have to, but because we choose to! Because we refuse to bow to the devil in that mountain, and because the Four have asked us to fight for the freedom of all of Olympus. What say you?”
For a few moments, there was only silence, and then a deafening roar went up from the marauders, as they shouted their approval. Evatra looked at Darien and smiled. They wouldn’t be going back to Farkland Reach empty handed after all.
Chapter 20: The Enemy
Darien rode at the front of the marauders with Evatra, their new allies following behind as they journeyed north toward Farkland Reach and the approaching army. Evatra had left Atreya with the smaller group of marauders who were to follow them to the troll city on the next day, arriving two days after the battle was supposed to begin. The battle would be decided by then, and its victor would be plain to anyone approaching the castle.
The group rode quickly, pushing their march into a run as the sun crossed the midpoint in the sky. They would reach the city by nightfall. As they rode from the south, a scouting party arrived to meet them, with Chorrun among them. Their party was barely visible in the moonlight from the moons hovering just above the horizon.
“Darien!” Chorrun called.
Darien waved back at the centaur, spreading his arm behind him to present their newest soldiers.
“Is the city ready for battle, then?” Darien gestured at Chorrun’s attire. The centaur was wearing a full set of chain mail on his torso, flowing into plate armor laid across his back.
“Almost. Your timing couldn’t be more perfect. The army is less than a day away from the first of our defenses. They’ll arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon.” Chorrun looked past Darien and pointed at the riders behind him. “Are those…?”
Darien looked back, confused by Chorrun’s question. He suddenly remembered his original plan when they left the castle. “No, that didn’t quite go as planned. These are the marauders.”
“They’re here to fight with us, Chorrun, don’t look so frightened,” Evatra reassured him, laughing at the expression on Chorrun's face.
“I suppose you have another story to tell, then,” Chorrun said, a mix of awe and confusion coloring his voice.
“You won’t believe this one,” Darien said, trying to smile past the knot of tension in his stomach. “Or maybe you will. Who knows what to believe anymore?”
The group rode back, Darien pushing off Chorrun’s questions until he could tell the others, intending to relay the story only once. Chorrun relented and began filling them in on the rest of the plans that had been put into place
“It sounds like we might just have a shot, then?” Evatra asked, hopeful.
“Based on our newest scouting reports, which vary in reliability, Cyprin’s forces outnumber us four to one. However, it doesn’t seem that the devil himself is with them. If he were we would stand no chance at all. The only question left, is whether or not he has imbued any of the soldiers with magic. That’s what we think he did with Tahmer.”
Darien felt relieved. He hadn’t been bested by another swordsman, he was bested by magic. Relief gave way to fear. If Cyprin had given any of his soldiers magic, it would only increase the four to one advantage they already had, which was already doubled from their initial estimates.
When they had reached the city gates, Chorrun turned to Evatra and told her that the best place for the marauders would be alongside the forces stationed by the eastern gates.
“I would give the group there some space, though. They won’t look favorably on marauders near their city,” Chorrun suggested.
“We’re not here to steal anything, Chorrun,” Evatra rolled her eyes.
“You know that, and I might even believe it,” Chorrun replied. “That doesn’t mean they will.”
Evatra went off with the riders, looking once over her shoulder at Darien. Chorrun looked quizzically between the pair but said nothing. Once inside, Darien and Chorrun made their way once more into the castle and again to the council chambers. Marenya was there with Oratrin, but no one else was in the room. She greeted Darien, anxious for news, but agreed to wait for Rist to join them.
The Queen offered refreshments, which Darien eagerly accepted. Oratrin and Marenya continued discussing their plans for funneling any enemies that made it passed their initial defenses into strategic locations which would further funnel them into more desirable areas. Darien ate, enjoying the food and finding that he no longer cared what any of it was. He wasn’t going to get food from home anytime soon anyway, so he might as well get used to what was offered. He couldn’t afford to get picky now.
The door opened, and Evatra entered, eyeing the food on Darien’s plate. She sat across from him and he slid the food across the table to her. She thanked him and ate what was left.
Good thing I was finished.
As Evatra finished her last bite, Rist finally entered the room, apologizing for his lateness. No one inquired what he had been doing, and Darien suspected that like him, no one really wanted to know what the dark figure did in his personal time.
Darien finally recounted the story of his journey south with Evatra, the lack of results with the wraiths, and the subsequent decision to try and recruit the marauders. Darien concluded with the attack on Totra-Dal, the death of Kort, and how they orchestrated Evatra’s rise into leadership of the group. He carefully avoided any hint at what had transpired between him and Evatra personally.
“It seems, Master Darien,” Marenya said, shaking her head, “that adventure follows you wherever you go. I wish I could say that I’m not disappointed that you were unable to convince the wraiths to leave their cave. I’m certain they would have been a potent ally. However, you did manage to bring us the marauders. For that, you have my thanks. Evatra, how do you think it best to use them in the coming battle?”
Talk turned to plans for the next day. Darien and Evatra were filled in on all the preparations that had been made, as well as where he and Rist would be the during the battle. Being two of the most important
people on the field, they would be guarded jealously against large masses of enemy soldiers. Darien worried it would hamper his usefulness, but he understood the precaution. The conversation continued well into the evening, before they finally decided to allow everyone time to rest. They all retired to their respective quarters, all save Evatra, who elected to spend the night with the marauders, who were unused to being without a leader for the evening. Darien wanted to talk with her, but she left before he had the chance.
Darien tried to sleep but was met with limited success. What sleep he was able to get was filled with images of hulking enemy soldiers, swinging maces, axes, and lances. On more than one occasion, he woke up swinging an imaginary sword at an enemy that was likewise absent. He tossed and turned in this way until he saw sunlight coming in through the windows. Finally able to justify getting out of bed, he got dressed, opening his door to find a pile of items sitting just outside. There was a note that Darien could not read, but he guessed that they were a gift from the Queen. He picked up the pile and took it into his bed, examining the contents.
Sitting on top of the pile was a metal helmet, lined with pliable leather. There was a finely woven mail hauberk with plates covering the most vulnerable parts of the front and back of his torso, as well as a pair of vambraces and scaled metal gauntlets, all of which matched Darien’s dimensions exactly. The craftsmanship was incredible and rivaled anything Darien had seen at The Academy, or even the armor he had received from the centaurs. The hauberk hung down enough to cover the top of Darien’s legs, and swung freely. Strapping on his sword belt kept the mail from swinging too much. Just below the end of the hauberk, Darien attached the grieves to his shins finishing off the armor for his body. On the bottom of the pile Darien found a shield, with the crest of Farkland Reach emblazoned on its front, the red lion’s head and three swords on a yellow backdrop.
When Darien was fully armored, he pulled himself in front of the mirror and examined the image. He thought he looked silly, but trying to look past that, he supposed he looked something approaching fierce. The perimeter of the helm surrounding his face was engraved in the shape of a falcon, making him look pointed and severe. Darien decided to stop watching himself in the armor and find where he was to be stationed. Exiting the room, he found his way back to the castle doors, by memory this time, and made his way towards the eastern walls. Climbing to the top, he gaped in astonishment
The battlements under construction when he left had since doubled in number, and the spiked branches of the trees had more than tripled. Soldiers in various different armors milled about below, all of it matching the quality of the armor he wore, himself. Their weapons were of equally high quality, outstripping even his own sword. For a peaceful people, they made perfectly crafted tools of war. They were largely ceremonial for them, but today they would serve their original intended purpose. When offered on of the troll blades, he had declined. This sword was his last link to home. He wouldn’t use anything else.
The trolls made up the bulk of the force with the odd goblin or other race mixed in among their number. Every man of fighting age had been asked, though not pressed, into service. All of the citizens who had refrained from volunteering to defend the city were ordered into the medical wings to care for soldiers who would be wounded during the fighting. The only exceptions were mothers of young children, those expecting a child, and the children themselves.
Those of this last group were given the option of staying in the city or being escorted by a small group through the mountain passes to the west. The group that had left had been sent along with official notes from Queen Marenya, detailing their plight and asking that the surrounding cities send what aid they could, should Farkland Reach stave off the oncoming army. At the northern end of the force amassed before him, he saw the centaurs, maybe two hundred in number. He saw Chorrun walking amid his people, stopping to talk with them every few moments. A few of them wore armor similar to Chorrun’s, finely woven mail and arm guards similar to Darien’s own vambraces, but most were in simple leather armor, as it befitted their natural way of life in the forests. To the south, Darien saw the marauders, seemingly unorganized, but something about their movements suggested order amongst the chaos. Looking out on the horizon, Darien could make out a black line, which was the first he had spotted of the enemy soldiers. He couldn’t discern much detail, but he could see them as they marched forward.
Darien climbed down from the wall, making his way across the soon-to-be blood-soaked battlefield east of the city. The mood in the streets was somber as he walked towards the eastern gates and, once outside, turned north to go find Chorrun. As he entered the camp, he saw Jodin, and Lotry, both of whom nodding as he passed, Darien returning the greeting in kind. Then, he saw someone he had not expected.
“Torin?!” Darien exclaimed incredulously, “What are you doing here?”
Torin looked up in surprise.
“Oh, Darien! It’s good to see you!” the young centaur called back.
The two shook hands and embraced, one arm over the other’s shoulder, as their hands squeezed.
“It’s good to see you, too. But what are you doing here?” Darien asked, surprised to see the young centaur. “Shouldn’t you be back in Taitron?”
“No,” Torin shook his head, his face becoming serious. “They needed everyone they could get here, and I wasn’t turning away. I’m here to fight with you and everyone else.”
Darien examined the young centaur’s armor. It was sparse, hardly even armor at all, nothing more than a leather covering protecting his chest from the elements.
“Listen,” Darien began carefully, “you could get killed out there, and you don’t have much to protect you. Do me a favor, okay? Stay back and fight with a bow. Take a spot behind something sturdy and shoot into them from cover. Anything else, all you’ll do is make yourself a target, understand?”
“But—”
“‘But nothing,” Darien cut into Torin’s protestation. “I’m going to talk to Chorrun about it, too. Please, don’t argue, just do as I say.”
He wasn't sure why, but Darien had taken a liking to Torin. Darien felt himself lapsing into his role as a team leader again. He supposed this was probably the best mindset for him to adopt for the rest of the day. Chaos would likely spread through their ranks. Calm composed voices would be at a premium.
“Fine,” Torin said, sullenly.
“Listen,” Darien said, genuine concern in his voice. “I want you to survive this. That’s all. I don’t doubt your heart, or your abilities. But this is your first time doing something like this, and you’re young. You don’t need it to be your last day.”
“Thanks, Darien. I appreciate it,” Torin said, his mood lightened a bit.
Darien slapped Torin’s shoulder and moved on to speak with Chorrun. The elder centaur was busy coordinating their plan of attack. Darien stood back and listened to him address the leaders of the various groups among them for a few moments. When Chorrun was finished, he turned and spotted Darien for the first time.
“Oh, Darien. I didn’t see you there. Can I do something for you?”
“Nothing really, I’m just wandering back and forth, killing time,” Darien grimaced at this choice of words. “Listen, I want to talk to you about Torin.”
Darien told him of his desire to protect the young centaur. Chorrun eyed Darien curiously, and Darien thought he might refuse, but he agreed. Darien thanked him and made his way towards the marauders to try and find Evatra. He wandered through their camp for several minutes, nodding at those who greeted him, but Darien wasn’t able to find her, and no one seemed to know where she might be. Deciding he would find her later, Darien walked back in the direction of the city, still getting used to moving in his new armor. He decided he should act out his forms, just to make sure he had his full range of motion.
Darien ducked into a secluded courtyard back in the inner walls of the city and drew his sword. He allowed memory to take over then, his body effor
tlessly flowing from one position to the next, just as he had when he had last practiced in Taitron. He decided then that he would have to remember to continue his routine of discipline, in order to maintain his same level of skill. Assuming he survived the coming battle, Darien resolved himself to put himself through these motions at least three times a week, the same as he had back at The Academy.
Satisfied, Darien made his way back towards the gates, climbing to the walkway above the giant wooden doors. Darien waited, sitting over the city gates. There wasn’t much more to do. The wait was excruciating. Darien thought he would welcome the battle when it finally arrived, if only to break the monotony. No, he wouldn’t. That wasn’t a good place to send his mind to. Darien looked around for something to occupy his attention and settled on numbering the ramparts and defenses for reference in his own mind. He got to thirty-seven when Rist joined him, sitting and letting his legs dangle next to Darien’s over the city’s gates.
“Are you ready?” The cool voice flowed over him. It still made Darien’s hair stand on end. He wondered if that sensation would ever go away.
“As best I can be, I guess,” Darien shrugged. “Are our guard units ready?”
“Waiting back there,” Rist nodded, pointing behind them with his thumb.
The two sat in silence for several seconds before Darien cut the quiet short.
“How much longer you think?” Darien asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice.
Rist’s hidden face looked out across the valley at the approaching force “More than an hour, less than two.”
After a few more seconds of silence, Rist asked, “Do you think they'll win?"
Darien allowed himself a brief smile. “The only way that will come to pass is if you choose to let it.”
Darien thought back to a few days ago, of Aren and the innocence of the child. Then he thought of Atreya, the small, sweet girl he had saved from the darkest creature in Olympus. Had all that been for nothing?