by Brian Murray
Rokal stirred again. This time he woke, yawned, and stretched his back. He saw his friend sitting slightly away from him. He crawled over and sat next to him.
He turned his gaze to the northwest and squinted. The moon was full and the sky clear, but he could see dense clouds cresting the horizon. He reached for his pack and pulled out a strip of savoury dried meat. He offered some to Ayfar, who accepted and delved into his pack for another strip.
“How’s the wife?” asked the younger man, enjoying the spices on the meat.
“Expecting again,” replied Ayfar proudly. “Due in the sun season.”
“Good woman, that one.”
“Aye, what about that girl you are dating?”
The younger man blushed, but his tan-coloured skin and the gloom hid the reddening from the older man. “Sonya, you mean.”
“The baker’s daughter, hey?”
“Yes, she’s the baker’s daughter and I will speak to her father when we return to town.”
“No fool that man, and he will not have his daughter marrying a fool.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that when you go and speak to him, make sure you are in your best clothes or better yet, in your uniform. Make sure all your buttons are shining and you look well-kept and groomed. Show the man the respect he deserves and he will show you likewise.”
The younger man smiled. “I’m sure my mother will help me.”
“Oh yes, your mother will make sure you look your best,” said Ayfar, chuckling. “You were always a mummy’s boy, hey?”
“I cannot help it if she keeps fussing over me. I’m her only son.”
Rokal grinned at his friend and turned his attention back to the northwest. “You better get some rest.”
“Soon,” answered Ayfar, staring absently in the same direction as his younger friend. “Those clouds are moving in quickly.”
“They are, aren’t they?”
Ayfar looked around and rose slowly to his feet. He looked up and watched a lone cloud amble before the bright moon. He stared to the northwest and squinted. The cloud moved towards them, close to the ground. He glanced up again and cursed.
“What’s wrong?” asked Rokal.
“It’s moving in the wrong direction. The clouds here are moving to the north. Those there are moving towards us.”
Rokal rose to his feet. He bit off another chunk of his dried meat and slowly chewed. He stopped chewing. “That’s no cloud. It could be a dust storm.”
“It’s blowing in the wrong direction and is not wide enough. That’s . . . ”
Ayfar peered over his shoulder at the ponies waiting in the next gully. “Better get the ponies ready.”
Rokal paused for a heartbeat, then stuffed a large piece of meat into his mouth as he rushed down to the two ponies. He swiftly saddled them and waited for his friend.
Ayfar continued to gaze towards the northwest and estimated the speed. He cursed. Sliding down the bank, he vaulted onto his pony and heeled it into a gallop with Rokal close behind.
“What’s wrong?” shouted Rokal over the drumming of the ponies’ hooves.
“Whatever it is, is gaining quickly.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Not enough. Now ride!” hollered the older clansman.
The two scouts from Negrilton rode their ponies hard and fast to reach the town to warn the citizens. Then it struck Ayfar—to warn them of what? He had not seen if it was a force riding to them. It could be a large clan moving towards them. It may not be the army holding Kal-Pharina under siege. What should he do? He could send Rokal on ahead while he waited to see who or what was in this direction. They could both wait. He dismissed the second idea and slowed his pony.
Rokal also reined in his pony and turned to face his friend. “What’s wrong?”
“You go on ahead and warn the Elders. I will wait and see what manner of force is coming here. It may just be a clan.”
“No clan would travel that fast.”
“You ride back to town while I wait and see.”
Rokal paused for a moment, not wanting to leave his friend to the unknown, but he knew Ayfar’s logic was sound.
“Take care of yourself. Now move!” shouted Ayfar.
Rokal wheeled his pony around and galloped off towards Negrilton.
Ayfar watched his friend ride off in a small cloud of dust. He then dismounted and tethered his pony to a nearby tree. He left his saddle in place, just in case he had to move quickly. Then he crawled up a small knoll and gazed to the northwest. The dust cloud darkened, getting nearer. In the murky moonlight, he could not see too clearly. He could just make out a black mass before the rising cloud, yet he was unable to make out individual shapes. He would have to wait until the dust cloud got closer before he could tell who they were. The night was not warm, yet Ayfar was sweating. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his tunic sleeve. The scout swallowed and looked over his shoulder to where Rokal had headed. He could no longer see his friend. He looked up and swore. A large cloud drifted gently towards the moon. It would kill all of the light. He strained his eyes, but still could not make out what loomed closer.
He gazed up and saw the cloud had started to cover the moon. Before him he watched a dark shadow smudge over the land, engulfing it in darkness. All he could do now was wait. Wait for the cloud to clear the moon.
***
Rokal rode as fast as his pony would let him. He was about halfway back to the town and knew every heartbeat was important. He angled his pony to the left along a narrow gully; he wanted to avoid climbing any hills or knoll. This would tire his pony more quickly. He knew the terrain from here to town like the back of his hand and would stay in the valleys. He would have to climb only one slope, the one leading to the town itself.
***
Ayfar waited for the cloud to pass in front of the moon. After what seemed a lifetime, the cloud gradually drifted past the moon and a bank of silvery light swept across the land. He held his breath as the light moved north until it hit the dust cloud. Ayfar swallowed hard. He could make out the shapes of huge horsemen and other strange shapes ambling all around the mounts. He did not wait to get a closer look. He crawled to the edge of the slope and slid down the knoll to his pony. He climbed into the saddle and urged his pony into a gallop. In the distance, he heard howling.
Ayfar had spent his youth on the Steppes and knew no beast that lived on the arid lands bayed like the sounds he now heard. For the first time in an age, fear swelled from the pit of the man’s soul. Ayfar, like Rokal, stayed in the shallow gullies and valleys, avoiding the need to climb slopes, but he had to see how far away his pursuers were. He angled his pony up a small rise. When he crested the hill, he pulled on his reins and skidded the pony to a halt on its haunches. He wheeled the pony around and looked back. The pony continued to turn and he cranked his neck to see the force moved quickly, getting closer to him. He dug his heels into his pony’s flanks and it nearly jumped down the slope.
***
Rokal rode his pony quickly through the gullies towards town. He was close, but still an hour away. His pony stumbled, nearly causing the man to be thrown from the saddle. Grimly, Rokal held on, cursing loudly. His pony started to limp and slowed from its gallop. He stopped his pony and leapt from it, landing softly on the sandy ground. He ran his hand down the pony’s left front leg. When he pressed the tendons, the pony snorted and pulled its leg away. His pony was lame. The scout swore aloud and thought quickly. He could run back to town. He was fit and could make the distance with ease. Or he could walk his pony back to town. The young man decided on the latter, not willing to lose his pony.
***
Ayfar continued his mad dash to Negrilton. He knew the dangers of travelling fast at night—his pony could step in a burrow or on a loose rock. He had to take the risk. He hoped Rokal had reached the town. He was halfway there and knew the younger scout should be galloping into town by now. The picture of his family loomed in
Ayfar’s mind and he grimaced. He needed to ensure their safety. He remembered the town elders calling a meeting of the militia captains, telling them what the Chosen had advised. Ayfar knew if the Chosen himself had travelled around the towns and cities to inform them personally, then the threat must be real. The elders had not told the men the army consisted of foul beasts and not men, but insisted their town lay in a key location and no army would destroy the town. This worried Ayfar. If the town were in a strategic location, then surely an army would not attack them—their town would be safe. Ayfar decided to believe what the elders had told him. However, when he told his wife, she wanted them to leave. Now, with hindsight, he knew she was right. She told Ayfar that if the Chosen himself had warned people then there must be a threat, a real threat. She wanted to leave, but Ayfar talked her into staying. He now knew his argument was flawed. Their town was not safe.
Ayfar dragged his thoughts back to the present as he continued to race home. Behind him, over the drumming of his pony’s hooves he could hear howling, louder than before. Ayfar did not look back, but there was no point, he knew the force drew closer. He could only pray that he would get to the town and leave with his family before any attack. As the thought entered his head, a nagging feeling of fear and foreboding, touched him. They would not escape this force.
The howling grew louder.
***
Rokal could hear the eerie howling from behind him. He stopped walking his horse and climbed a nearby knoll. He looked towards the northwest and saw the dust cloud had got larger; the force was getting closer. The scout looked to the southeast and, in the distance, he could just see the glow from Negrilton. He was close, but could he get there before the force? Fear touched the man’s heart and he thought of Sonya. Swiftly, almost recklessly, he skidded down the slope where he had left his pony and started to sprint for home.
***
Ayfar continued his mad dash home. The howling grew louder and louder. He could also hear the thundering gallop of his pursuers. They were close. He turned around a corner and spotted Rokal’s pony, but the man was not there. Ayfar did not stop; he had to get to his family. The howling grew. The pounding of hooves grew. His heart raced and thumped against his chest. He turned another corner and the last thoughts of hope slipped from him like water over a rock. He could see Rokal running before him.
“ROKAL!” shouted Ayfar. The scout captain slowed his pony slightly and held out his right arm.
Rokal turned at the call of his name and saw Ayfar charging towards him. His mouth dropped open. Following the rider came creatures the likes of which he had never seen. He saw Ayfar hold out his arm. Rokal hooked his arm with Ayfar’s, leapt and landed on the pony behind the rider. He looped his arms around his friend’s waist as Ayfar heeled his tired pony into another gallop. Rokal could hear the howling from the beasts, closed his eyes, and prayed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on their ends. The pony with the two men weaved around corners, not slowing down. Rokal risked a look behind him. The last image he saw—horror.
Rokal turned and looked into the orange eyes of the pursuing beasts. He looked forward again, but before his vision cleared a beast grabbed the man’s head and yanked him from the pony. Rokal’s last thought was for his friend and released his hold. He was torn apart and devoured in moments.
Ayfar felt the weight of his friend disappear. One moment, Rokal was leaning on him, and the next, no weight. Ayfar did not look over his shoulder for the baying was right behind him. The thundering rang in his ears. He reached the slope leading to his town. The pony started to gallop up the incline, but the exhausted animal stumbled and collapsed. Ayfar leapt clear and started scrambling up the slope. He reached the top, his breathing ragged, his throat dry. His heart pounded; his ears were full of a constant roar of fear. He tried to cry out, but his voice was weak. He started to stagger towards his town to warn the sleeping citizens, to get his wife and children. He reached the gate, but something thumped against his back. He tried to stumble on, but fell to his knees. He tried to call out his wife’s name, but no sound escaped his throat. Then the soft sand struck his face. Ayfar thought he would rest a moment to regain his strength. His body jerked and he no longer felt his legs. A comforting warmth settled over him as he thought again of his family.
Ayfar died with a smile on his face as a Talon Hunter feasted on his body.
***
Malice and Chaos passed a feasting Talon Hunter. They crested the slope and Negrilton lay opened before them. Behind the two silver-clad warriors rode the awesome Caynians. The horsemen thundered into town with the Talon Hunters and Shadows howling and hissing. Malice signalled a command and the slaughter started. Some of the townsfolk woke and peered out their windows and doors. Seeing the charging force, many slammed closed the wooden doors or shutters to keep out the invaders. But this gained them nothing. The Talon Hunters and Shadows charged into the doors and smashed the shutters and the glass windows behind them. Men, women, and children were dragged into the streets where the Caynians herded the people, like cattle, to the town’s centre. More and more people were gathered in the large market square.
Soon, all of the townsfolk huddled together. Those who tried to run or defend themselves were dispatched quickly. But the rest of them waited for their fate.
Malice dismounted from his stallion and walked towards the pleading people.
“Your emperor has provoked our master, the Dark One. Your lives will not be lost in vain. You will serve as a warning to all those who try to thwart us. The Dark One is all powerful and now you will reap his wrath.”
Malice turned on his heels and nodded. The Talon Hunters and Shadows rushed past him, attacking the townsfolk.
The screaming was deafening, but the sound soon waned.
Blood flowed freely from the market square, seeping down the surrounding streets and alleys, staining the ground.
Within moments, the town of Negrilton was bleeding and swiftly died.
***
Danf woke just before dawn to replace the men who had been manning the catapult on the mound by the western gate. He had woken earlier during the night when the Chosen walked to the mound. He did not hear what the emperor said, but was told later that he had thrown two heads into the moat. Danf shivered at the thought. He could remember seeing the Chosen pass him, his face grim and like the rest of him, splattered in blood. Danf pushed the mental picture from his mind, woke his men, and got dressed in silence. He walked out into the darkness and took a long, deep breath. He felt tranquil and relaxed. The air was still cool before the sun rose. Then he heard the howling from the beasts waiting outside of the city. The Cross-swords clansman sighed and walked to the mound with the rest of his relief team. He found the catapult and ordered the men who had been on watch to step down. He looked over the beasts and saw their blinking eyes. Did they sleep? he wondered. He gazed around and saw one area of just darkness; no eyes blinking. Danf thought nothing more of it and waited for the glory of the sunrise over the Steppes.
Dawn broke, the sky filled with orange and pink tones. The clouds changed colour to match the rosy sky as the sun gracefully started to crawl above the horizon, giving birth to a new day. Danf heard a commotion to his left. Men were pointing, others shaking their heads, and some turned and retched. Danf peered where the men were pointing. The horror struck the young clansman like a blow. He turned away from the sight and slowly walked down the mound, his mind trying to comprehend the scene. It was not possible. He called an Imperial Guard and told the warrior to go and fetch the Chosen.
Within an hour, the Chosen was riding his huge white stallion towards the mound with his master armourer at his side and Imperial Guards following close behind. The Chosen dismounted and Danf walked up to his emperor and bowed deeply.
The Chosen looked at the younger man. His dark-skinned face was pale and he looked around at the other men who all held haunted looks.
“What is wrong?” asked the Chosen.
Danf
looked up at his emperor, but no words would form in his tight throat. He knew the Chosen’s feeling would be the same. Danf dropped his head and just pointed to the mound. The Chosen knew instinctively something was wrong, very wrong. He patted Danf’s shoulder when he walked past, but said nothing. He slowly climbed up the mound with his head bowed. He reached the top of the structure and gradually looked up. His eyes locked on the scene. Next to the Chosen, Platos cursed softly, his eyes wide with shock.
Before him was a sight of pure horror. Thousands of spikes had been stabbed into the ground and on top of each spike was a head. The heads of men, women, and children dripped blood and stained the green grass and churned earth crimson. Each face held a horrified expression; many had bloated blue tongues protruding from their mouths. Surrounding the field of heads, Shadows and Talon Hunters waited with gaping maws dripping with ribbons of saliva. The Chosen’s face was set and grim as he looked over the gruesome scene. He watched as the Dark One walked from his tent. He strolled through the forest of heads and stopped by the last two. They were the heads of a young boy and girl. He yanked the heads clear of the spikes and marched to the moat. He lifted the heads high for all on the mound to see.
“This is my wrath!” bellowed the monster, then he threw both of the heads into the moat. The Dark One pointed to the Chosen. “Do not threaten me again, mortal. I am the Dark One and this,” he shouted, sweeping his arms aside, “this is your fault; their deaths are because of you. You were their protector, but you cannot defend them, like you will not be able to defend the people in your city.” The Dark One paused. “Enjoy.” The Dark One turned on his heels and strolled back to his tent. At his tent, he stopped and turned again to face the moat. “Children . . . FEED!”
The Talon Hunters and Shadows swept forward. The following scene was indescribable. They fought among themselves for the heads. Even over the Dread’s squabbling, the Dark One’s laughter rumbled like thunder.