Saving Olympus- the Dark Army

by R D Wolfe

  “We’ll make it,” Darien stated it as fact. The two sat and looked out over the defending army towards the black mass approaching them.

  “That settles it. Would you like to let Cyprin’s army know, or should I?” Rist asked in a mocking voice.

  Darien laughed then, harder than he had since coming to Olympus. His mirth spilled over, threatening to send him over the edge of the wall onto the ground fifteen or so feet below. Darien wiped his eyes with his forearm, the back of his hands being lined with metal.

  “Thanks, Rist. I needed that. Let’s go meet our babysitters.” Darien stood up, walking towards where Rist had pointed.

  The groups assigned to fight alongside Darien and Rist to ensure their safety consisted of five trolls per unit. Each had been hand-selected by Oratrin, the troll general, based on their level of skill, courage, and proficiency with a sword. No one had seen a real battle in millennia, the constant threat of Cyprin and the Cycles’ regularity kept hostility between the races in check. They were still part of the elite guard of the castle, and despite his initial reservations, Darien thought he would be grateful for their presence before the day was out.

  Darien and Rist moved out to wait with the rest of the soldiers, taking their places on the right and left corners of the battalions. The enemy army was close now, and Darien could begin to make out individual soldiers as they marched their way towards the first lines of defense. They were the same black-armored beasts as Darien had faced at the sacked caravan with Evatra’s raiding party. His mind wandered back to her; he hadn’t been able to find her before settling in for the battle. He wanted to talk with her one more time before everything started, if only to see her smile again. Something about her smile made him hopeful for the days ahead. He couldn’t quite explain it, even to himself. Hoping to see her when everything was over, Darien turned his attention once more to the approaching enemy.

  The soldiers all wore the same jet-black armor, and where gaps appeared, dark skin with tufts of black hair stuck out at wild angles, giving each creature a barbed appearance. Darien noticed other races scattered about their ranks as they grew closer, some had sharper, more angled features, others had long, hooked noses like the goblins he had seen. Some had the distinctive single eye in their foreheads.

  “Do you have any idea what those are?” Darien asked one of his guards.

  “The stories say that Cyprin recruited from all the races,” the troll’s voice had a hint of fear mixed with horror. “They look like trolls, goblins, and others, but… mangled, somehow.”

  “Being imprisoned for three thousand years has to take a toll on you, I guess,” Darien said, allowing himself to express the dark humor.

  If he had understood correctly, they were going to be fighting the corrupted forms of the races of Olympus. These weren’t creatures pulled out of some black pit or created by the dark magic which only Cyprin wielded, this was his army from before, the same army that was locked away when the spell was cast. This was the beginning of the second civil war, or the continuation of the first.

  A horn sounded as the army stopped just beyond the range of the longest bows. A tremendous roar deafening, and terrifying rose up from the dark army, as they lowered their weapons and charged towards the gates of Farkland Reach.

  Chapter 21: The Promise

  The dark army, stretched across the battlefield as far as could be seen, rushed forward. There was a shout, and the ground began to fall away from under them. Hidden pits opened up to swallow large numbers of enemy soldiers. Howls of pain and anguish arose from their twisted voices as they landed on the sharpened stakes lining the bottom of the numerous holes that had been dug.

  “Fire!”

  Darien heard Oratrin’s command over the screams of the battlefield, and the first line of trolls loosed their arrows with a loud twang that seemed to hang in the air as their shots landed amid the enemy soldiers, who crawled over the broken, mangled bodies that now filled the holes. Ballista fired flaming bolts from the castle walls, colliding into enemy bodies burying them deep into the ground where they hit.

  Another wave of howls sounded as the army took more and more losses before they could even touch the city’s walls. A volley of arrows made their way against the defending trolls, but what wasn’t caught on their defenses fell harmlessly against shields or into the ground. Another attack of arrows and bolts flew at Oratrin’s order. The army was now only a hundred yards away. Another volley, fifty yards. Another, twenty yards. Another, and the dark soldiers collided into the troll defenses with a crash.

  Darien saw that the enemy soldiers were fighting like berserkers. These weren’t the disciplined warriors he and Evatra had encountered before. He began to wonder why they seemed to have no regard for their own safety, but his pondering was suddenly replaced by a single, heavy thought.

  Survive.

  Darien took point with the members of his guard, the five of them protectively spread around him, guarding his rear and his flanks. This fight was different than any other Darien had been in, even larger matches in The Arena. The chaos that ensued was unlike any he had ever experienced before. It took all of his concentration to focus on the enemy, and not turn on the allied soldiers around him due to the mechanical nature of battling the dark army. It was hard for Darien to know how the battle was progressing from his current vantage point, but he knew that the people of the city were slowly losing ground. After Darien felled what he thought was his twentieth soldier, he called on his guard. The group was now only four in number. The four of them and Darien retreated, trolls on either side and behind, moving forward to fill in the gap left where Darien and his guards had been fighting.

  Falling back to the archers’ line, Darien drank greedily from his waterskin. He examined what he could of himself. His armor was stained and spattered with dark blood, giving him a grisly appearance. His right shoulder ached uncomfortably, but not so much that it was going to be a problem. Darien caught sight of the fallen member of his guard, allowing himself a few moments to pay homage to the troll's sacrifice. Steeling himself, Darien prepared to reenter the fray, picking a spot behind a thinning line of defenders to attack.

  This process repeated itself for hours as the sun made its way across the sky. Darien would assist a failing line of soldiers, pushing back against the enemy, before falling back to recover, finding a new weak point, and starting his assault again. Darien was pleased with how he was holding up in the battle. The theory that these beings were the corrupted counterparts of the people he fought alongside made it easier for him to continue past the gruesome nature of it all.

  That, and not wanting to die.

  On his ninth foray behind the lines, just before he drove into the fighting again, Darien heard someone call out his name. Turning, he saw Evatra, who motioned frantically for him to run to her. Relief seeped into him at seeing her alive. She was still on her horse, firing several arrows into the writhing mass of the dark army before Darien was able to close the distance between them.

  “I couldn’t find you before it started!” Darien shouted over the clamor of the battle in front of them.

  “I was helping with the city’s defenses!" she returned his shout. “The Queen wants us back inside the city! We need to get you and Rist inside!”

  Darien surveyed the landscape around him, realizing that the battle wasn’t going as well has he’d hoped. He wasn’t able to make out how many of the enemy soldiers were left, but it looked like they had lost about a third of their defending force. They had already been pushed back more than halfway to the city’s walls, leaving them in a dangerously vulnerable position. Darien looked up at Evatra, worry lining her face. The faiding light of dusk serving as a stark reflection to the ground of the battlefield to his rear.

  “Okay, let’s go then,” Darien replied, moving off to run to the gates.

  “Climb up here and hold on,” Evatra said, extending her hand to Darien.

  Sheathing his sword, Darien placed his foot in th
e stirrup, climbing into position behind her and wrapping his hands around her waist as she spurred the horse into action. She ran them through the city gates, held open to allow the wounded to retreat into the houses and buildings closest to the gates, which now acted as medical facilities. Turning left, they ascended a staircase leading to the top of the city walls, running as quickly as they could, practically leaping from the back of Evatra’s black mount.

  They found the Queen, Oratrin, and Rist there, looking grave. The black-hooded figure’s hands gripped the railing so tightly that it visibly vibrated with each breath he took.

  “Darien, good, you’re alive,” Marenya said, looking at him, her face haggard from the stress of the battle. “We haven’t been able to spot you for quite some time and worried that you had been—”

  “I’m fine. What’s going on?” Darien asked, eager to return to the defense of the city.

  Oratrin and Marenya glanced at each other. Rist looked over his left shoulder towards where Darien stood.

  “The battle does not go well. Look,” Rist motioned out over the field of carnage below.

  Darien stepped up to the railing and recoiled. More than two-thirds of the enemy’s forces remained. Darien’s estimates were very wrong wrong—they had lost nearly half of their defensive forces.

  “We’ve tried to hold the city, but with what numbers we had, and the lack of warning, it wasn’t enough,” Oratrin’s voice was somber. The leader of the troll defenders was helplessly watching his men be ripped apart below.

  Darien cursed under his breath, slamming his fist against the railing, racking his mind for something, anything that could be done.

  “We could… couldn’t we?” he stammered, his mind searching over and over again for some hidden solution.

  Evatra placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s over, Darien,” her voice was oddly calm. “We need to retreat west. We have to get you and Rist to safety.”

  The sun had fully set now, stars twinkling brightly overhead. Darien stared at her, not wanting to believe she was right. He looked up into the sky, noticing that it was devoid of moonlight for the first time since he came to Olympus as the last rays of light flashed on the horizon.

  A piercing shriek shook the battlefield, forcing everyone, from trolls to hulking black beasts, to protect their ears from the sharp sound. The noise died away, and the sudden pause in the commotion resulted in an eerie silence beyond the city’s walls as the two armies searched for the source of the shrill sound. Darien began to feel a cool sensation at his fingertips as he heard the penetrating pitch once more. A chill that he had felt before flowed through his veins like ice, before a presence spoke within his mind.

  “We have come.”

  Darien turned to look at Evatra who gasped at him.

  “Your eyes!” she cried.

  Darien nodded and turned to look at Marenya, Oratrin, and Rist, who stared at him, confusion written over the faces that were visible.

  “The wraiths are here,” Darien said, a wide grin sweeping over his face making him look mad with the flecks of blood spattering his armor.

  Looking out over the battlefield, he could just see the armies illuminated by the scattered torchlights of the trolls and the large pyres on the grey walls that lit up the city. A hundred or so of the enemy soldiers were wildly swinging about, attacking their allies. Confusion spread through the ranks of the trolls who, unclear how to act at this odd turn of events, stood back and watched as their enemy began to destroy itself. Each time an enemy soldier killed one of their own, another of their ranks would turn, and begin to wreak havoc among their own kind.

  “What is going on?” Oratrin asked, watching as the battle progressed on the field in front of him.

  “The wraiths are possessing them!” Evatra shouted, excitement and horror in her voice.

  Rist, Darien, and Evatra all glanced at each other, rushed down from the wall, back out of the city gates, Evatra and Darien on her horse, with Rist mounting a stray steed he found wandering the streets.

  “Rist, tell the soldiers on the southern flank to move north!” Darien shouted. “Let the wraiths handle the southern side! Meet us there!” He turned his attention back to the presence he found within his own mind.

  How? Darien thought to himself, hoping the familiar wraith would hear his question.

  “After you freed me from the marauders, I was trapped within the woods, unable to find my way back to our home. Many nights went by, and on the night of the last day, the moon set before the sun rose and I found myself free to leave the confines of the forest.”

  It’s the moonlight! You can’t be out in moonlight!

  “No, it is the sunlight, even reflected from the moon, it prevents us from leaving our home. Once I discovered this, I made my way back to the caves before the night was over. You had already visited them. We watched and we waited for the conditions to appear. When they did, we came from our caves to find you here.”

  Well, your timing couldn’t be better. Will you fight with the other wraiths?

  “I would prefer to fight with you.”

  Darien was unsure at this. He had never fought with anything inside him before.

  I’m not sure that’s a good idea, I wouldn’t—

  “I will not impede your abilities.”

  Darien thought for several moments before accepting and, having reached the lines of battle, jumped of Evatra’s horse.

  “Go find Chorrun,” Darien commanded. “Tell him what’s happening. Have him push down from the north and try to pinch those monsters between the wraiths and our soldiers!”

  “But Darien, your eyes,” Evatra said fearfully. “Is that thing still inside you?”

  “It’s okay, I promise, now go!” Darien shouted back.

  She looked unsure, but relented, turning her horse towards the darkness of their northern flank.

  So how does this work? Darien asked the wraith.

  “You will see.”

  He wasn’t quite satisfied with this answer but didn’t see a way to force the wraith to tell him what would happen. He drew his sword to continue the fight.

  Something was wrong. The sword felt different, lighter than it had before. He could see the solders in front of him and beyond the front line of battle with absolute clarity, the darkness of the night having been wiped away. Making his way into the front lines, Darien readied himself for battle, calling those around him to push.

  “For Farkland Reach! For your homes! For your King! Send these beasts back to where they came from!”

  Darien let out a savage cry and leaped into the fray, cleanly separating one of the opposing soldiers’ heads from its body. The move had been effortless, his strength bolstered by whatever the wraith was doing within him. He fought with more ferocity than he thought possible, with barely any effort on his part. His sword swung naturally, as though his arm was suddenly lighter with it in his hand. The soldiers around him appeared to be moving through water, sluggish, their blows easily deflected by his shield and returned quickly with the tip of his blood-soaked blade.

  The battle raged on, and the defenders of Farkland Reach were now finally pusing their attackers back. The mangled black bodies covered the ground, as Darien’s forces met with Chorrun’s own. He saluted the centaur after beheading a particularly large brute, shocking the centaur. Darien turned to survey the battlefield. The tides had turned. Against all the odds, they were winning. The wraiths had made up the difference they needed.

  Darien caught sight of Torin, who had rushed past Chorrun, a sword in one hand and shield in the other. For a young, inexperienced fighter, he was holding his own well against the enemy soldiers.

  “Darien! Hey, Darien!” the centaur called out spotting him.

  He raised his shield to the centaur in greeting, feeling happy to see the other alive, and at the same time perturbed that his orders had not been obeyed. A black sword whistled through the air, cutting through the young centaur from the back of his chest and str
aight through the front.

  "Torin!" Darien cried in shock.

  The look of shock and pain crossed the youg face, followed by bliss as the shock began to set in to shield his mind from any pain, burned into Darien’s mind and Torin toppled to the ground. Darien let out a wicked scream as he leaped at Torin’s attacker, slicing through the body of the corupted cyclopse from shoulder to hip, hitting the bloodied ground the same time as the beast’s corpse.

  Hurrying over, Darien pulled Torin’s head into his hands, shouting the young centaur’s name. The face still held the blissful, unmoving expression.

  “No! No, no, no. Torin! Torin!” Darien shrieked over the clank and clamor of the battle around him, his rage keeping him from hearing his own screams.

  Can you do anything?! Can you save him?!

  Silence.

  Hello?!

  “There is nothing that can be done, his soul has already left the body.”

  Darien sat in shock for several moments as the battle progressed around him. There had been no time at all for him to talk with the boy. What he would have said, he didn’t know, but something, anything was better than this. His grief quickly turned to rage as he regained his senses. Darien turned to the shrinking army of black soldiers, his fury overflowing.

  If we can’t save him, then we’ll kill every last one of them.

  Darien charged into the fray once more, dealing blow after blow, killing soldier after solder. Blood sprayed into his eyes, blinding him, but he continued his slaughter, not caring about which of the black beasts met his blade. It was not enough, they needed to suffer more. He lost himself in the fighting, swinging and swinging until his mind was consumed by a single thought.

  They would pay for Torin’s life with their blood.

  Chapter 22: The Four

  When the sun rose the next morning, the battlefield lay still. Bodies of trolls, centaurs, the beastly enemies, and a handful of other races who had given their lives in defense of the city, lay strewn about the blood-stained ground. Darien walked alone, his rage having since subsided, examining each of the fallen defenders as he walked by, checking for any signs of life. He found none.