Burden of Stones

by James Dale

  Afterwards he went for a ride on Eaudreuil with Anna at his side and surrounded by Golden Lions. They visited the soldiers of every Whesguard kingdom. They listened to an Ailfar archer play a flute so beautifully when Jack closed his eyes he could see Ahvendalia trees in spring bloom. They visited Stone Company, 71st Regiment. Captain Gisborne was indeed still their commander. While Kirk and the boys greeted their former mates and regaled them with tales of what it was like riding with the High King of Aralon, the captain told Anna how he had wanted to deny Jack entrance into Brythond because of his well…disreputable appearance. Anna laughed hearing the tale, and Jack smiled dutifully. When they departed, he wished the captain well and assured him he harbored no hard feelings.

  At the camp of Amorhad, Jack drank stout mead from a horn cup while Anna danced with a young man with hair redder than her own as hard, as bearded warriors laughed and pounded out a lively beat on drums. When the dance was finished, the Amorhadi cheered their approval as she curtsied flawlessly, despite wearing Siegebreaker. They went to see the Highland Red Wolves where Sergeant Taelor made them lunch and Little Star actually let the men pet her. By the time they moved on she had eaten until she begged Jack to make them stop.

  Jack had another drink with the men of Caladin and met King Rhor’dal’s three other sons, each one stouter and fiercer than their father. Their mead was stouter and fiercer as well. After his second flagon, Anna informed him he had had enough and it was time to call an end to their day. The three sons begged him to stay and have one more, but Anna told them sternly she needed her husband sober this evening. They roared with laughter and as the pair rode away, the clash of axe on shield and shouts of “Aaaah oooo! Aaaah oooo!” followed them.

  “So,” Anna said after riding for a few minutes of silence. “Did they look like men who fear you, my love?”

  “They swallow their fear because of what I wear on my side,” he replied quietly.

  “Open your eyes, Jack Braedan,” she sighed. “See yourself as I see you. As they see you. They do not swallow their fear because you carry Yhswyndyr, they swallow it because of the strength you give them. Because of the hope you give them. You wrap them in hope like it is a cloak against the dark-ness. You give them strength like passing out treats from a festival basket. They do not follow you because you carry a Highsword. They follow you because they see a king who cares for them more than he cares for himself.”

  “Not because he has a thousand wolves as pets, and a Horsemaiden for his queen?” Borg Cassaban asked, with a wry grin.

  “You have not spoken a word all day, Cassy,” Anna replied. “No need for you to open your mouth now.”

  “Yes, my queen,” Cassy laughed.

  That night Anna and Jack slept alone in their tent. Shadow and Star remained outside, giving them their privacy. It was the last they would likely have until the war was finished. They made love, and afterward, Jack held his wife. As he listened to her soft breathing, her head laying on his chest, he wished he had found her on a world and in a time where Highswords and demons and Lords never existed. The next morning they rode east with four Highswords, almost one hundred thousand men, and two score Lords and eighteen adepts to face the Bloodstone and the dark-King.

  They reached the Bergaweld on the second day after leaving Tanaevar.

  When Jack had come here the first time, he saw the Bloody Plains as a blight on the earthe, an evil that burned his senses, and made him physically ill. The Val’anna and the wolves called it the Deadplace because of the restless spirits they felt here. To Braedan, carrying Yhswyndyr this time, it appeared more as a weeping, infected wound long left untreated. Unlike Bkormor and the enslaved grim ’Hiru, the force holding this land in its loathsome grip was not a product of the Bloodstone, though the presence of the stone so near certainly fed it. The Bergaweld instead, was a result of all the hate and sorrow and pain which had been poured out on the ground and had never been cleansed.

  He had done it for the Land of Dreams, it was time to cleanse this place as well.

  Jack dismounted and drew Yhswyndyr, Sunheart instantly filling him as he walked to edge of the illness. He turned and looked back at the army behind him. Other than Tereil and the Amarians who had come looking for him after his capture, and Tarsus of course in his youth, this was the first time many of them had looked upon the Bloody Plains. They had heard the tales to be sure, some of them from his own lips, but mere words could not convey the sheer hopelessness and desolation of this place. Anna, with her newly heighted awareness thanks to Siegebreaker, looked as if she wanted to weep. The Amarians, having endured its blight their entire lives, regarded it with their usual trepidation. Only the Ailfar faced it without fear. There was not much in heaven above or earthe below which frightened their long lived race. For centuries they had crossed it to take supplies to Cil’lena, stopping only when they thought her dead.

  The Lords, the Lords looked…ashamed.

  “You told me once your only oath was to the earthe,” Braedan said, facing the High Lord. “Yet for almost a thousand years while Graith slept, the Staffclave suffered this affront on nature to remain.”

  Braedan had not intended the words as a rebuke, but a simple statement, yet the High Lord seemed to duck his head as if avoiding a physical blow. Perhaps the choice of his words were harsh, and his tone accusatory, but he did not apologize. “Join me Perigaen Dre’kail,” he said, more kindly. “Help me correct this…oversight.”

  “You speak the truth, Son of Bra’Adan,” Perigaen nodded, recovering quickly and sliding from his saddle. “This should have been done centuries ago.” Say what you would about the High Lord and the Staffclave’s aloofness, Perigaen was not one to avoid responsibility or to admit when the Staffclave had erred.

  “I will join you, my love,” Anna replied, bravely coming to his side and drawing her own Highsword. “Siegebreaker was made for tearing down strongholds, whether of stone or malice.”

  “We three should be enough,” Jack smiled, drawing strength from his wife. It was time to see if her theory was true. To cleanse the Land of Dreams he had sealed it off from Graith’s influence and chased away the nightmares that remained. To heal the Bergaweld, he would have to put the spirits roaming this land to rest before washing the ground free of death’s hold on them. He summoned power from Sunheart, and called out to the waste.

  “I am John Braedan of the House Bra’Adan,” he said, raising Yhswyndyr high. “Bearer of Lifebringer and Deathbane! Hear me Spirits of the Bergaweld! And come!”

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Then slowly, a mist began to form and a breeze began to stir. Carried on it were the wails of the long dead. Ulgog’rel was coming. Hell’s Breath. Faintly it was heard at first, but it slowly drew in strength. High Lord Perigaen drove his staff into the earthe and began to chant softly. He was soon joined by Lord’s Dhoran and Rhai’dal and several others of the Staffclave who did the same. Anna plunged Siegebreaker’s blade point first into the ground and dropped to her knees in prayer.

  The leading edge of the army took a step back in fear, but Cilidon turned and faced them. “Hold!” the Ailfar king commanded drawing Grimblade. “They are not evil ghosts, but the shades of your long suffering ancestors! Hold I say! They deserve your respect! Not your fear!”

  The wind became a gale, beating at them. All the dead spirits had answered Braedan’s call. But the wail of the damned changed. No longer was it cries of anguish, but of sadness. Of lost life. Of the centuries without peace. Slowly, specters began to appear on the edges of the mist. Ailfar and men of all the Whesguard kingdoms, with forlorn and haunted faces, full of unimaginable suffering. There were grim’Hiru among them as well, standing side by side with their enemies. They wore the same look as Bkormar had worn, the look of slaves weary of their chains.

  High Lord Perigaen finished his chant and shouted a single word. “Enough!”

  The gale ceased. The wails grew silent. He pursed his lips and blew and the mist disappeared. The shad
es stretched from horizon to horizon. Countless thousands of the dead. They had terrified Jack before, but now they only filled him with sadness. So many lives lost. So many souls denied their rightful sleep. He lowered Yhswyndyr and stepped forward, close enough to almost reach out and touch the nearest shade. It was some nameless farm boy, barely old enough to grow a beard, yet old enough for some noble to put a rusty sword in his hand and call him to war. Whatever fate awaited the army at his back, at least they were all soldiers. Jack took comfort in that.

  “You have roamed these lands long enough,” Jack said sadly. Though his voice was low, and he addressed only the young boy, filled with the power of Sunheart, every shade heard and turned to face him. “Go to your rest.” Braedan drove the point of Yhswyndyr into the ground at the boy’s feet. “Yhaires! Sinalda! Enne’Eyloyas! Daeon! Cythora.” He cried and released all of Sunheart’s power into the ground. It detonated with a force of creation, the shockwave dissolving the specters of the dead into the same nothingness their corporeal bodies and had become centuries ago. The shockwave spread outward, driving the rot and desolation of the Bergaweld with it until it disappeared in the distance.

  Jack returned Yhswyndyr to its sheath and turned back to the army. “Thank you High Lord,” he said, laying a hand on Perigaen’s shoulder. “Thank you my love,” he said, offering a hand to his wife and lifting her to her feet. “Thank you both for your strength. I could not have done it without you.”

  “Thank you High King, for doing what should have been done long ago,” Perigaen nodded.

  Jack patted Perigaen’s shoulder and kissed his wife’s cheek. “Cilidon. Send out the scouts. Morgan, send your brigade south. Let’s see what’s out there.”

  “The Deadplace is gone Horse-brother,” Eaudrueil said, as Jack remounted.

  “Let’s hope is stays that way,” Jack replied. “Shall we go see what is waiting for us?”

  They found out two days later.

  “Thirty-thousand?” Jack asked the Ailfar scout who had galloped back to the army to relay the news. Graith was not going to sit behind his walls. Not entirely anyway. The dark-King had sent a grim’Hiru army to greet them.

  “At least, High King,” the elf nodded. “The Morgog grim’Hiru are at their front. I faced their kind in the first war,” he continued, revealing his age. “They are not lowly tower guards but a cruel and hardy breed. There are at least six sorcerers with them. I could not gauge their strength.”

  “None of the Seven?” High Lord Perigaen asked.

  “We only saw them from a distance, High Lord,” the Ailfar shrugged. “I cannot say.”

  “Field Marshal Tolkaen, General Meridion, how should we meet them?” Braedan asked. Without satellite imagery and drones to see their array, Jack would defer to the experts at this type of warfare. That…and he could not find the strength to pick which units to send into the meat grinder first. Thirty thousand grim’Hiru and at least six sorcerers? The army he’d brought to field could certainly defeat them, but it would be bloody.

  “The plains are rolling here,” Tolkaen replied. “According to the old maps, least ways. From what we have seen so far, this is horse country, wouldn’t you say Rhyn?”

  “The White Horse at the tip of the spear to drive a wedge into their heart,” Rhyn Dunnahel nodded. “Doridanian cavalry supporting us. Pour Brythond’s infantry into the breach. Ailfar archers can harass their edges. If we coordinate the brigade we sent south to hit them at the right moment, we can roll them up like a blanket and continue on to Agash Thugar.”

  “What…what will it cost us?” asked Jack, dreading the answer.

  “Ten thousand dead and wounded?” Tolkaen speculated.

  “Jesus,” Jack whispered. He came from a society that mourned the loss of a single solider and where ten casualties was a tragedy that dominated the evening news. The days of storming the beaches at Normandy were ancient history.

  “The Staffclave can blunt those loses somewhat,” Perigaen assured him. ’Leave their sorcerers to us.”

  “What about the pack, Great Lion?” Snow Dancer asked. Arrinor had been providing the wolf a running commentary. “We can leave now and be at their rear in a few hours.”

  “Do so,” Jack nodded.

  “I will go with them Great Lion,” Shadow said. Jack barely noticed the hulking, black wolf anymore he had become such a fixture at his side.

  “Go Cloud Shadow,” he nodded. “Protect Little Star. Fire Mane would be heartbroken if she were to come to harm.”

  “Of course,” the black wolf cuffed.

  “The wolves will attack their rear,” Arrinor informed them as Snow Dancer left the tent to summon the pack.

  “A thousand wolves clawing at their backs will definitely give them something to think about,” Tolkaen smiled grimly.

  “We will know more when we see them, High King,” General Meridion added. “And adjust our plans as we must.”

  “I wish I had some stirring speech to give,” Jack said quietly. “The grim’Hiru stand between us and the Iron Tower. They must be removed.”

  “We will see it done, Jack,” Theros said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  “Jack Braedan,” Lady Ara’fael began.

  “I know my place,” he sighed. “No swatting flies with a sledge hammer.”

  “What about the rest of my army?” Annawyn asked, her Horsemaiden blood surging through her veins.

  “Siegebreaker has its own place as well,” Morgan replied. “This is but the first battle, my queen.”

  “Remain at your husband’s side and keep from doing something…rash,” Lady Ara’fael said to the Queen of Doridan. “You both will have your chance when it is more than just Beast-men to swat.”

  “Let’s get to it then,” Malik Gamrin smiled. “I know my place. Where the grim’Hiru need the most killing.”

  Lady Ara’fael did not look like she agreed with him.

  Two hours later, Ailfar scouts engaged a patrol of grim’Hiru. The Ailfar were mounted. The grim’Hiru were not. The warriors from the Golden Wood suffered only minor injuries. Another hour and they spotted the bulk of the grim’Hiru army. They occupied a large rise in the middle of the plain, their numbers spilling into the surrounding hills. Thirty thousand beast-men, with the Black Banner of Grethor waving above their heads.

  “If he didn’t empty the Iron Tower, he certainly thinned its ranks,” Tarsus said grimly at Jack’s side.

  “More than we had hoped, less than we can handle,” Tereil shrugged.

  “Jack, the general’s made no plans for us,” Tarsus began.

  “Take the Galekindar and Amar wherever you wish, my friend,” Jack sighed. “Tars Aernin has waited a long time to be avenged.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” the King of Amar grinned. “I will see you after.”

  “Take care of yourself. Maerinna will not be pleased if something should…,” Anna could not finish her thought.

  “I still have fight left in me, Queen Anna,” Tarsus said, drawing his sword. “Amar! To me!” he shouted, kicking the flanks of his Val’anna, Astaer. It meant Speed in old Amarian. “Today we get pay back for Tanaevar!”

  “What are your orders, High King,” Captain d’Kenna asked. The High King’s Hammer had a place at his side, but it was painful watching others ride off to war.

  “Watch and be ready,” Jack replied. “These hills could hide a thousand grim’Hiru. You too Cassy.” He added. Borg had forged the Golden Lions into a company to be feared. He could see he and the rest of the Lions were anxious to flex their muscles as well. “You’ll get your chance. As will you Einnael. Your Horsemaidens will play a part before this is done.”

  “We all may before this day is done,” Dorad remarked quietly. Thirty-thousand grim’Hiru, even from their place behind the formation as it was organized, was a fearsome sight.

  At the forefront of the formation, a solitary rider was moving forward under the banner of a white flag. Bkormor had demanded to see Jack not long after the gri
m’Hiru army had been spotted, pleading to be allowed to go and offer them terms. “When they sees me, Lord Jack, sees me as a Hiru, maybe they can know they can have their chains broken as well.”

  “You do not have to do this Bkormar,” Jack had argued. “I can’t protect you out there. You will be alone.”

  “Lord Jack, if I has to pay for the wrong I done you,” the Hiru pleaded, “Let me do it offering them the same chance you gave me!”

  “It is an honorable thing you ask, Bkormar,” Anna had replied. “Go with the blessing of the queen.”

  “My queen?” the Hiru asked with a yellow toothed grin.

  “Until you have another,” she nodded.

  “Thank you…my queen,” the Hiru bowed.

  Bkormar was nearing the leading edge of the grim’Hiru army, over a mile distant. He planted the staff of his white flag in the ground. At this distance none could hear what he said, but the reply was an arrow that threw him from the saddle.

  “Looks like not all grim’Hiru are ready to shed their chains,” d’Kenna remarked grimly.

  The Second Battle of the Bergaweld had begun.

  Four hundred Knights of the White Horse in a V-formation of three ranks cantered forward to the sound of horns. Lord Marshal Rhyn Dunnahel rode at their front, as all Lord Marshals had done before him when their order went to battle. Sir Gain Ellgereth led the second rank. He had been a White Horse Knight longer than he had been Duke of Raashan. Nothing short of a direct order from the queen could stop him. Anna had tears in her eyes when she agreed to his request. Baranir Samil, restored Baron of Caer-Emn, commanded the Raashani troops in their place among the reserves. Eight thousand Doridanian cavalry supported the White Horse. The 1st Thunderiders rode in ranks to their right. The 9th Red Horse were on their left. The Queen’s 12th Lancers following behind the White Horse. Outnumbered almost four to one, the mounted warriors would charge into the grim’Hiru like a wave of steel and armored flesh.

  Behind the 12th Lancers, Braedan spotted the Lightning Banner of the Galekindar with Tarsus riding at their front. When he’d told his friend he could choose his place in the attack, he somehow knew it would be in the first wave, though he’d foolishly hoped otherwise. Lord Rhai’dal rode with the White Horse Knights. Lord Dhoran rode with the Thunderiders, Kaiddra da’Caerl, her old cavalry saber already drawn, rode at his side. They had married the evening before in a quite ceremony and no amount of pleading from her husband could keep her from his side. Lord Shaeron rode with the Red Horse. Her “flighty” disguise had been a shroud that concealed a spirit as fierce as any Horsemaiden of Doridan. Dispersed evenly among the mounted Doridanians were a score of other Lords.