by James Dale
"The credit…belongs to your lovely squire, High Prince," Theros smiled.
"And what, may I ask, are you three grinning about?" Annawyn asked, eyeing the trio suspiciously as she stopped before them.
"Nothing of importance princess," Cilidon smiled.
"Come Jack, we need to get to you dressed," she said.
Jack followed dutifully, choosing to ignore the three as they struggled to hide their smiles.
The pair went back to where they’d camped the night, quickly packing bedrolls and gathering their gear. When everything was packed away, Jack assumed the stance Cyran had taught him for donning his armor; arms stretched out to his side, legs akimbo. Anna began to expertly outfit him in his armor, leg greaves first, then his arm shields, and finally his breast plate. Though he had to suppress shivers every time the lovely princess touched him, he was smart enough not to offer any suggestions. He was still learning the temperament of the beautiful Horsemaiden, in truth, he was still learning, well…everything about Annawyn, Princess of Doridan.
The princess remained silent, avoiding his eyes as she began tightening the straps of his plate.
"Will you smile for me this morning?"
"Perhaps," she replied, her cheeks flushing. When the princess finished with his armor, she retrieved his sword belt. Stepping close once again, she wrapped the belt around his waist, then buckled it with practiced ease.
"How is it? Not too tight?" she asked, not looking up though she still stood only inches away.
"It's perfect," he answered quietly. "But I like it better when you undress me."
"You are horrible, Jack Braedan," Annawyn replied, her hands lingering on his hips as she finally looked up to meet his gaze. "I’m beginning to have my doubts about your character.”
"That would sound more threatening if you weren't smiling," Jack grinned.
"Am I smiling?"
"Yes, you are."
"Then why are you not begging for a kiss?" the princess asked, her green eyes shining with delight.
"I hate to break this up," Captain Einnael growled, riding toward them, "but I everyone is waiting."
"Is she always in such a bad mood?" asked Jack quietly.
"You have no idea," Anna sighed, patting his cheek.
"Bad mood aside," Jack grinned, kissing Anna's cheek, "She's right. The sooner we get to Dorshev, the sooner we can..."
"Help me up, Beloved," Anna said, holding out her hand.
Once the princess was seated on Iraesh, Jack practically leapt onto Eaudrueil's back. Adjusting in the saddle, he surveyed the gathered company. The soldiers around him looked tired but determined, ready to be under way. It was quiet amazing actually, considering only a hand full of the riders knew what was truly at stake should they fail to stop Kiathan from reaching Dorshev. Aside from Cilidon's Rangers and the Dragon Guard, Jack knew most were here because of his word alone. They were here because of who he was, or because of who they hoped he might be. It was a sobering burden, to have people entrust their very lives to you because of the blood in your veins.
"Okay Malik," Jack said, struggling to shake such weighty thoughts from his mind, "let's get this menagerie moving."
"Just waiting on your word," the general replied.
"Well, you have it," Braedan nodded. "God help us."
"Captain Eraehart," General Gamrin bellowed, "get'em moving lad!"
After the first hour, Jack could not tell if the mountains had grown closer by a single inch. For most of the second hour, he was on the verge of believing they were trapped in some sort of temporal disturbance, a sinister reversal of the Ailfar Stream of Time, and were actually just running in place, expending all their strength while gaining nothing. By the end of the third hour however, the Val'anna had begun to gain their wind and the Ruwe Mountains seemed to grow closer by the second, soon dominating the horizon.
"Captain Eraehart," Jack called, as the company slowed to a walk at the end of the four hour.
"Yes, High Prince?" the Doridanian asked, stopping to let Jack join him.
"Captain, what is the elevation of the pass?" Braedan asked, suddenly concerned by the sight of the rugged peaks in the distance. Judging by the direction of the Great South Road, it appeared to be heading straight as an arrow to a point between two rocky crags at least several thousand feet in height.
"Elevation?" he asked, seemingly confused by the question.
"How..." Jack was momentarily at a loss on how to ask someone who had spent his entire life with his feet on the ground the concept of measuring altitude. "How high does the Pass of Galhir climb above where we are now? Does the road cut straight through the mountains or are we going to have to climb to the top of those lofty bastards?" he asked pointing south.
"The pass," Eraehart said, as understanding dawned on him, "climbs less than a third of the height between Mount Ellaeth and Elltaek."
The revelation eased Braedan's concern somewhat, but still, over half a mile of mountain on either side of the company as they made their way through the pass was...distressing. If Tarsus and Khalmiya had not gained the advantage of the ridge? If...something had gone wrong with the plan? Call it premonition or worry or plain, basic paranoia, but Jack had a growing fear this day was going to go to hell in a few short hours.
He suddenly realized his path had been simple so far. Sailing with the Brotherhood, killing Krayga and a few wolves, even escaping from Gorthiel, was going to seem easy compared to what lay ahead. War was coming. A war where he was going to be looked upon as a leader. A real war, not the raids he’d participated in with the Brotherhood or the chaotic battle at the ruins of Amar. This would be a war of shifting tides and moments of decision that would save or damn thousands of lives. And…it would be his first war without the benefit of encrypted communications, satellite photos and real time, digital up link images from Predator drones. It would all begin in the Pass of Galhir.
"Judas Bloody Hell," Jack muttered.
"High Prince?" Captain Eraehart asked.
"Nothing captain," Jack sighed. "Push some scouts out ahead of us and see if they can link up with the Hammer's patrol."
"As you command, High Prince," Eraehart saluted.
"Something bothering you?" General Gamrin asked. He'd been listening to their conversation.
"Not knowing," Jack replied. "Bothers the hell out of me."
"And the younger Razorbacks wonder why my hair is turning gray," Malik grinned.
"How do you do it general?" Braedan asked, turning to the mercenary commander.
"Same way you are son," Gamrin shrugged. "You take what you know, or at least what you may suspect, mix in what you have to throw into the fray while worrying what the other sneaky bastards might be hiding, guess how much time it will take, sharpen your sword, and then charge off to see what happens."
"MET-TC," Jack smiled. "Mission. Enemy. Terrain. Time and Troops available. Civilian concerns."
"Basic soldiering," Malik shrugged. "Taught to every farm boy and every nobleman's son with enough intelligence to rise above a dog ass private. You use your brains. If you make it through the battle, you've done okay. If you wake up in the Bosom of Yh, you overlooked something. What's there to worry about?"
"Then why is your hair turning gray, Malik?" Jack grinned.
"Because I'm not entirely sure I'll end up in the Bosom of Yh," the mercenary laughed. "And that my boy, is reason I am still a live general and not some dead hero."
"You on the other hand, should have no fear," the general assured him, "whatever your fate may be, Jack Braedan, I'll wager the Bosom of Yh is not waiting for you in the Pass of Galhir. Or in Dorshev or any day soon."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure you're right general," Jack agreed, sadly. "God is going to drive me to the gates of hell and back before he's done with me. It's everyone else I'm worried about."
"And that, my Lord, is why your hair will turn gray before this is done," Malik said sympathetically.
As the company resumed their rid
e south, the mountains Ellaeth and Elltaek continued to grow on the horizon. As did the dread in Braedan's heart. He had been completely honest with Malik Gamrin. He did not have the slightest doubt concerning his own fate. In a few months, or a year, but not much longer surely, he would face Graith, son of Halbar. He would wield the Sunheart, Graith would wield the Bloodstone, and light would battle darkness. He knew Ail, or Yahweh, or the Creator, or whatever name He chose to be called in this universe, would ensure he fulfilled his destiny. He held no fear for himself until that day arrived. What worried Jack, what ate at his heart like the blackest cancer, was just how many of his friends and companions, how many strangers and how many of those...those he loved, would God be willing to sacrifice to see he lived until that day finally arrived.
Gray hair was the least of his concerns.
The fifth hour of their ride saw the Middle Run Plain gradually begin to change into foothills marking the assent into the Ruwe Mountains. Their mad dash from Immer was over. If light prevailed in this war, tales would be told, songs would be sung about this ride. But they had to survive it first. Caution replaced their urgency as the terrain grew more rugged and Jack ordered the number of scouts riding ahead of the main body doubled.
All around him, Jack saw troopers begin to make final preparations to their gear; adjusting swords, tightening armor, donning helms. For a time, Braedan left his own head bare, wanting his vision clear and hearing to remain completely unhindered for the battle ahead. Annawyn gave him a disapproving frown as she placed her own helmet upon her head, but still he waited. It was not until an uneasy quiet fell over the company, when idle conversation ceased, earlier bravado gave way to watchful silence, and two hundred riders became instantly more alert, that Jack finally donned his own helmet.
They entered the Pass of Galhir.
Without command, the riders fell into their battle ranks. Julian Brin, Lancemaster of Aralon, rode point, his strong, iron headed lance the literal tip of the spear. Following Brin was Captain Ardel d'Kenna and sixty of the High King's Hammer in four ranks of fifteen. Following the Hammer, their black and silver armor coated with dust, rode Brydium's Dragon Guard and their king. Theros and Cilidon, both with Highswords draw, were followed closely by Jack, Princess Annawyn and her Horsemaidens, then General Gamrin, Arrinor and Ailicia. Bringing up the rear of the company rode Duke Morgan Ellgereth with his Doridanian guard, followed by the remainder of the volunteers led by Arrgenn Dunnahel. As planned, the Ailfar Ranger's uncased bows and assumed position on the flanks as best they could in the confines of the pass.
The first warning of danger came soon thereafter.
"Rider's approach Horse-Brother," Eaudreuil beamed, nostrils flaring as he picked up a scent on the wind.
"Someone's coming," Jack warned, and the leading ranks of the company lowered lances, raised their shields, and prepared to charge at the first appearing of a foe.
"How many?" Theros asked, tightening his grip on Dragonslayer.
"How many?" Jack repeated.
"Only a few," Eaudreuil replied. "There are Storm Men among them."
"Hold!" Jack commanded. "It's our scouts!"
Less than half a minute later, a dozen riders came galloping into view; Galekindar and with them...Cyran d'Abba! As the lead ranks of the formation parted to allow the Golden Lion’s lieutenant to pass through, Braedan saw the bloody bandage wrapped on Cyran's arm. It was not a good sign.
"What's happening Cyran?" asked Jack, knowing already he wasn't going to like the Lion's answer.
"There were Raashani were waiting for us," d'Abba replied. "Well... I imagine they were actually waiting for Kiathan. We just got here first."
"A company of heavy horse was already in the pass," he informed Jack and the rest, "an escort most likely, and a mixed company of archers and infantry at the base of Maadim’s Ridge.”
“Maadim’s Ridge?” Malik snorted.
“The captain said it had to be called something,” Cyran shrugged.
“Finish you report, Cyran,” Jack replied.
“We surprised the hell out of them when we appeared out of the mist last night,” he continued, “but they recovered quickly. They put up a spirited fight, but we've pretty much cleared the ridge. Early this morning someone...or something, arrived to aid the remaining Raashani. The twins and the Lady Ara’fael have not yet regained the strength to...contest with it. Tarsus sent me to warn you."
"What aids the Raashani?" Cilidon asked. "Describe it."
"It has the form of a man m'Lord," Cyran answered hesitantly. "But the feel of him is something much darker. It is not natural. I have not seen it's like before. And never hope to again. I’m sorry, but a better description of it I cannot give. When you try…when you try to get a good look at it, your eyes kind of...slide off...like they are refusing to see. Or it's not wanting you too. I'm not sure which."
"A sorcerer?" asked Jack.
"Worse," Cilidon informed him. "What Lieutenant d'Abba is describing sounds like...the Raashani, how do they react around him?"
"They seem more scared of him than they do of us. Where he walks among them, they fight like madmen," Cyran said with a shudder. "And if he touches one in passing, well, they are just as likely to turn on each other as fight us.”
"It is a na'Hhoul," Cilidon informed them quietly. "They are conjurers most foul. They were men once; some legends say they were even Lords but I do not believe it. Their powers are only second to those of the Seven. One of their darker…talents is the ability to share the rage of the imprisoned Sa'tan with all whom they come in contact. Their rage makes all they touch become berserkers. And his rage is great."
"Can it be killed?" Jack said.
"Oh, a Highsword will kill one good and proper," Malik Gamrin sighed. How he knew this, he didn’t share. "Your Grimrorr can kill it if I have not misread the spells written on its blade. But without a Lord of the Staffclave tossing lightning bolts at the damned thing or a Spellweaver blasting away at him with Ailfar magik, we'll waste a company of men getting close enough. If the stories are true, I mean”.
"They are true," Cilidon nodded. "At the fall of Gorthiel, the last recorded appearance of a na'Hhoul, it took two Lords and one hundred Caladini knights to slay it. But there is another thing which concerns me more."
"What?" asked Jack.
"They can travel the Stream of Time," Cilidon replied.
"Judas Bloody Hell," Jack cursed. "If it came here for Kiathan..."
"He will be in Dorshev before sunset," Theros finished for him. "If we do not stop him. Or well on his way to Gorthiel."
"What of Kiathan?" Annawyn asked. "Did you see him?"
"We passed above him and his Raashani less than half an hour ago, princess," Cyran replied. "If any of us had possessed a bow, he'd be dead, but..." he finished with a shrug.
"Let's get'em moving Malik," Jack said. "Full gallop. Captain d’Kenna!”
“High Prince,” the Immer Knight saluted.
“We’ve found you a nail. Drive the Hammer into their rear and pound the Raashani ranks.” Jack ordered him. “Theros and Cilidon will follow the Dragon Guards into their midst and try to reach Kiathan. Or the na'Hhoul. The Ranger's will shower arrows into their center until Kiathan is dead or their quivers are empty. The rest of us will do what we can. If someone else has a better idea, speak now."
No one did.
"Let's go then," Jack said, drawing Grimrorr. The Elven blade wasn't a Highsword, but the Ailfar magik forged in its steel hummed at the promise of coming battle.
For over a thousand years, the Great South Road had been the primary route between Dorshev and Immer, with the Pass of Galhir being the least arduous passage through the Ruwe Mountains from the River Whesguard all the way to Riverslannon. Because of its importance to trade and travel, over the centuries armies of workers had labored upon the road, widening the narrow pass and paving the valley floor with limestone quarried from the surrounding mountains. Though sheer, vertical cliffs often rose
several hundred feet on either side, the roadway through the pass was as smooth and broad as nature allowed and the ingenuity Whesguard engineers could fashion.
Because of this long history of improvements, the company was permitted to ride at breakneck speed through the pass, twelve abreast, the thunder of Val'anna hooves echoing loudly off the surrounding cliffs. Soon, here and there, they passed the body of an unlucky Raashani guardsman, felled by an arrow from one of Jack's ambushers when the battle above on Maadim’s Ridge had quieted enough to allow them to concentrate on their intended mission.
About a league into the pass, the company came upon the Raashani rear guard. It was only a platoon of horsemen, not more than thirty men. Perhaps unaware of the strength of their pursuers, or perhaps because they feared Kiathan even more, they attempted to turn and give battle. The tight confines of the pass however, hampered their ability to quickly form their ranks into a proper defense. With lances lowered and at full gallop, the armored knights of the High King's Hammer, led by the Lancemaster Julian Brin, slammed into the disorganized Raashani with the force of an avalanche.
From his protected vantage point several ranks back in the company, Jack saw little of the initial encounter beyond the red and black clad Raashani disappearing beneath the charging Immermen. But the agony of the dying and wounded Val'anna they were riding filled his mind. He quickly brought up a wall to block out their cries, regretting the pain of the noble horses more than the deaths of the Doridanians in service to Kiathan. Then Eaudreuil was vaulting sure-footed over the shattered, bleeding bodies of men and horses and his focus shifted once again to the battle ahead.
Five hundred yards distant, they came upon another Raashani platoon. This time Kiathan's troops were already formed and ready to fight. But the High King's Hammer, now bloodied for the first time in over seven hundred years and eager to prove their metal to the new Heir, gave a shout and charged fearlessly into their ranks. Lances shattered and more men died. For a brief moment, the Raashani held their ground, then a breech opened in their defense and Captain Marten du'Gail, followed by his company of Dragon Guards, galloped into the fray and their resistance crumbled.