by Brian Murray
The beasts fell back and Fontis ordered for the injured to be pulled clear and taken to the rear. He realised half of his crossbowmen had been killed or injured, but most of the lancers and back-up axemen units remained intact. One thing Fontis realised, he had to delay the beasts. He racked his brain. There was only one way, and he was not sure if it would work. He fell back along the line and called one of his captains.
“Do you think we can bring down the roof?” Fontis asked.
The captain looked up at the sandy roof and shrugged. He prodded the ceiling with his axe and sand chipped away. “It looks possible, but I’m not sure if we can reinforce it. It may come down suddenly and anyone in front of the collapse will be on their own.”
Fontis estimated there would be approximately thirty men in front of the cave-in if it were to come down suddenly. Was that worth the extra time? Such difficult decisions were the part of commanding that Fontis disliked. Going into a battle was what the men trained for and they had a chance of survival—a matter of skill and some luck. This course of action would definitely mean the deaths of men. They would not last against the beasts for long with their retreat blocked. But he needed time; they needed time. Questions raced through his mind. Should he tell the men? Should he be with them? If he was asking them to die, should he not be at their side? But further questions entered his mind. Who would lead the men if he died? The captain next to him, a man named Badu, was next in command. The howling started farther down the corridor.
“Badu, bring the roof down. If it collapses and we’re trapped, you take over command.”
“But commander, that’s against our ethics. We do not leave men behind. We are axe-wielders.”
“No ‘buts’ Badu, that’s an order. Bring the damn ceiling down. Make sure the rest of the men are clear. We will give you the time you need.” Commander Fontis turned to return to the frontline.
“Sir?”
“What?” snapped Fontis, turning. To his surprise, he found Captain Badu standing to attention and performing a crisp salute. Fontis straightened his tired body and returned the gesture.
“You know what to do, Badu.”
“Yes sir.”
Fontis raced forward to join his comrades. He knew he raced to his death. Fontis had no wife and no children, his blood ran in no living being and here in this fortress surrounded by hell-beasts, he would die. The beasts had not attacked yet when he reached to his units.
“Men,” he called. “We will die here. The ceiling behind us will be pulled down, as we are losing ground too quickly and we need to give our liege the time he needs. I’m standing next to you to die also. I will not run away and neither will any of you. Let’s kill those beasties and show them what axe-wielders are. When the ceiling falls, we will take the fight to them. We will die with axes in hand. We are axe-wielders! Are you with me?”
All of the men knew what the consequences were. But these were the legendary axe-wielders and their duty was to fight for their king and if necessary die for him. Here in this pitiful place created from evil, they would die. In this place that did not deserve their blood, they would die.
In unison, the men in the first line stepped forward, raised their axes, and bellowed: “Axe-wielders . . . WE!”
The beasts attacked again.
***
Behind Fontis, Badu started work on the ceiling, his thoughts mixed. He felt a swell of pride for the men in the front line when he heard them roar, “Axe-wielders . . . we.” He also wanted another option. He knew Fontis was right about needing more time, but he could not think of another option. Badu and his men used their axes to hack and prod at the ceiling. Pieces of the ceiling began to rain down on the men. For ten strides the men were working on the ceiling. A low rumble sounded above them.
“BACK!” bellowed Badu to his men. His men cleared the corridor just in time. The rumble increased, then suddenly the ceiling collapsed in a cloud of dust that gusted up and down the corridor, covering the men. Badu looked at his work yet felt no joy. The corridor was completely blocked. He knelt and said a silent prayer for the men on the other side of the cave-in.
***
Fontis heard the rumble, then the mighty crash when the ceiling collapsed. Dust flew over the men and billowed before the beasts that backed away. The dust slowly started to settle. The commander knew this was their chance. At that moment, they had the element of surprise.
“Men . . . To axe!” he bellowed. The crossbowmen and lance-bearers dropped their weapons and hefted their axes. The men waited for the command. Fontis walked to the front of the men. That was his position—leading his men. He lifted his hand, then screamed, “ATTACK!”
The men all around him roared their war cries and surged forward. Fontis stepped over dead bodies to reach the beasts. He did not have to wait long and charged at the first stunned creature. Fontis showed no mercy. He plunged his axe into the beast’s skull. The creature instantly dropped at his feet. Men moved around and ahead of him, hacking at the beasts. Thirty-four axe-wielders killed the beasts in a possessed frenzy. They had nothing to lose—for they were going to die.
Fontis saw a beast slash out and rip away a warrior’s chest. The man’s last dying effort was to stab out with the points of his double-headed axe. He managed to stab the beast deep in its neck. Both pitched over and died. All around Fontis, his men showed acts of pure heroism. One man had his right arm severed, but still charged at a beast, arcing a fatal, one-handed chop. But the second beast he faced killed the man. He died a warrior, a true Rhaurn, an axe-wielder. Even injured, the axe-wielders rose and fought on. None of them wanted to be eaten alive—they would rather die on their feet with their axes in hand, the axe-wielders’ way.
The group of axe-wielders shrunk as they moved closer to the hall. But the men did not stop and killed all, leaving a bloody mess behind them. Both men and beasts lay dead with blood pooling on the stone ground and splattered on the walls. Behind the men was a dead end. There was nowhere to go but forward. The axe-wielders slashed their way to the huge double doors and the beasts retreated into the great hall.
The bloodied axe-wielders entered the huge room.
Fontis, who had several shallow cuts on his arms, led his men into the great hall. Including him, there were only eighteen axe-wielders left. The men looked around in awe at the huge towering, angular room.
All around the men, huge beasts waited, weapons in hand. Total silence, except for the men’s panting, filled the hall. Torches flickered high on pillars that lined a central walkway. The light from them gave the hall an ungodly feel with shadows in many corners that were thick black, almost palpable. At the far end of the hall, opposite the axe-wielders, on a dais, stood an old man in black, hooded robes. The man lifted his arms and the sleeves of the robes fell back, exposing the man’s ashen, skeletal arms.
“Welcome,” he boomed, his voice belying his size. “I am the Darklord and before you is just a taste of my master’s army—the Dread. You have done well, but it will soon be time for you to die. I promise you it will be a painful death. You have delayed me and stopped our reinforcements reaching our master.
“But as I said you have done well. So, before you die, make peace with whichever god you follow and tend to your wounds. I will give you time.”
“We have already made our peace. And you yap like a small dog,” said Fontis, breathing heavily. “I see your pets are well-trained. Do they fetch sticks for you?”
“You insolent wretch!” bellowed the Darklord. “You will now die. Forward Dread, but I want their leader alive.”
Fontis did not reply, but hefted his axe. He watched the beasts slowly close on them. “Ready boys, let’s take as many of these beasts with us as we can. Axe-wielders!”
The surviving men answered. “WE!” They charged to meet the creatures. In the large space of the hall the Shadows and Caynians could use their massive weapons. The axe-wielders avoided the creatures with their massive weapons and concentrated on the unarmed Talo
n Hunters. The fighting was bloody and frenetic. The axe-wielders were torn apart by the Talon Hunters; in turn the beasts were being hacked apart under a flurry of axe chops. The men fell fast, but they took several beasts with them.
All around Fontis his men dropped in a bloody mess. He received several more cuts and grazes. He smashed his axe backhanded, on his right-hand side, caving in a Talon Hunter’s face. Yanking his axe-blade free, he hacked the other way, but the creature swayed out of the way. The momentum of his swipe forced Fontis around and off-balance. The Talon Hunter clenched its clawed hand and punched down at the smaller man, knocking Fontis to the floor. He did not move.
Around the unconscious commander, his men continued to fall. The last man died when a Talon Hunter slashed out and ripped off the man’s face. The last axe-wielder fell in a heap. The beasts howled and hissed victoriously, then started to feast on the dead.
***
The Darklord waited while a Caynian dragged the unconscious Fontis by the heels towards him. His body was thrown onto a small stone altar that stood on the dais. His breastplate armour was ripped off and the Darklord smiled when the man started to moan.
***
Fontis woke and felt his hands and legs being held. The blurriness began to clear as he struggled to free his limbs. He looked up and saw a massive creature holding his arms and another holding his feet. His stomach tightened.
“I see you are awake, my friend. My pets have seen to your men and enjoyed their warm flesh,” said the Darklord, chuckling—a dry, scratchy sound.
Fontis could say nothing so spat into the man’s hood.
The Darklord’s voice took on an icy tone. “You will die, but your death will not be for nothing. We will use you to communicate with our master. Ready for pain?” The Darklord nodded to the Shadow holding Fontis’s arms. The beast plunged his arms down. There were two loud, sharp cracks. Fontis screamed. Where the man’s shoulders were pinned at the edge of the altar, the beast snapped his arms out of their sockets so they now hung limp. The Shadow then released the man’s limp arms, which swung freely, then forced its clawed fingers into Fontis’s chest. Using its prodigious power, the Shadow ripped open Fontis’s chest. The commander screamed a second time when the fingers penetrated his torso. Then thankfully the man passed out and died as the Shadow tore open his chest.
The Darklord reached into the soldier’s chest and ripped out his heart that pumped once more, forcing blood to splash onto the Darklord’s robes. Turning, the Darklord placed the warm organ in a bowl. He started to chant, uttering a communication spell. The torches around the hall flickered and died.
The Dark One’s voice boomed out. “Why do you call me?”
“Master, there are men in your fortress stopping me sending reinforcements.”
“Why bother me with such details? You have a continual flow of my Dread. Use them to destroy the mortals. Do not fail me, Naats, the Rhaurien will be here soon.”
“Master, I live to obey, but . . . ”
“No ‘buts,’ Naats. Use the beasts. I need more of my Dread here now.”
“It will be as you command, master.” The torches on the pillars fluttered and ignited again. The heart in the bowl had disappeared together with all traces of blood.
The Darklord turned to the nearest Caynian. “You heard our master. Clear the corridors.”
“It will be as you command,” replied the Caynian, moving to the main doors followed by several Talon Hunters and Shadows.
***
The first night after leaving the Landbow clan, the men had yet to reach the next watering hole, so they made a light camp, mainly to rest their mounts. Dax, Thade, and Zane sat away from the clansmen, chatting. Later, Dax stretched himself out to sleep lying on his side, east-west. The two younger men did not feel tired so they stayed up, speaking in hushed whispers.
“I wonder how he’s doing?” asked Zane thoughtfully.
“Who?” countered Thade.
“Rayth.”
In the silvery moonlight, the young men looked down at Dax’s still figure. The old warrior heard what was said but decided not to respond. Instead, he stared out to the north, his mind drifting back . . .
CHAPTER 13
WEEKS EARLIER . . .
AT THADE’S HOME, Dax asked Rayth to walk outside with him. The two warriors strolled around the woodlands surrounding the main house and stopped by a clear stream. It was night and the moonlight sparkled off the clear, cool water. Dax knelt by the water, cupped his hands, scooped some and drank.
“You did not ask me to walk with you just so you could drink water,” said Rayth. “What’s on your mind?”
Dax rose from the bank and sat with his back against an ancient, gnarled hardwood tree that had been damaged by lightning during its long life. Rayth sat down next to him and sighed. “I do not want to go through that again.”
“What?”
“That journey to Yallaz’oom.”
“Aye, you are not the only one. That was a perilous journey, there is no doubt about that.”
“So Dax, what’s on your mind?”
“You know we will be facing the Dark One and his army of beasts. Well, I am not too sure we will be successful without help.”
“We have the Rhaurien army and the Phadrine. Who else is there?” Rayth thought for a moment. “Oh, no Dax. You cannot mean the Kharnacks.”
“Yes, I mean the Kharnacks. There are hundreds of thousands of the blighters in the mountains.”
“But Dax, they are all in their own clans. There’s nothing that would get the clans to unite. No, I think you should discount the Kharnacks.”
“I think you are wrong, Rayth. I have seen Maldino and he is trying to unite the clans. He wants a united Kharnack race. One of us must travel to Maldino and request his help. They still have a blood-feud with the Darklord; we can use their hate and get them to travel to Kal-Pharina.”
Rayth bowed his head and looked down at his huge, scarred hands. He shook his head. “You cannot travel to the Great Mountains for you’re Zane’s Warlord. So, you want me to go.”
“Maldino will only listen to you or me. We are the only two who have a chance to convince him. I’m not saying it will be easy. They will probably not come, but Maldino will listen to Violet Storm or Fire in the Storm,” said Dax with a cheeky grin, using their Kharnack earth-names.
Rayth returned the smile and shook his head. “I have not heard that name in a while,” he commented.
“Rayth, it is you or I who travels. I will be honest, I’m worried about your health.”
“I’m as strong as an ox,” snapped the innkeeper.
Dax raised his hands. “Fine Rayth, you were always a stubborn old mule.”
“Listen Dax, are you sure we will need the Kharnacks to defeat the Dark One’s army?”
“Yes.”
Rayth thought for a moment, then nodded. “Fine, I will go.”
“Good, now that is settled, my throat is as dry as the Steppes.” The two men returned to the house and sat in the kitchen drinking into the morning.
***
The next morning Rayth said his goodbyes. He held his sobbing daughter for an age. “I will be back, Aurillia,” he said softly.
“You’d better be.”
“I promise.” Releasing his daughter, he hefted his pack and rode from the house with Dax. After a while the two men stopped.
“You come back in one piece, old man,” said Dax with a smile.
“Who you calling old man?”
“I will see you at Kal-Pharina.”
“With or without them, you will see me there.”
“Good. Take care, Fire in the Storm.”
“Look after yourself, Violet Storm.” Dax watched the man ride his horse to the north and wondered if he would be successful. With a sigh, he turned his mount when Rayth disappeared over a hill. He said a silent prayer for the former axe-wielder and returned to his own problems.
***
Rayth rode nor
th for several days without any incident, deciding to camp off the main paths and trails. He reached the foothills of the Great Mountains and looked up at the wintry peaks, white with various shades of grey and black that merged with low grey clouds. Just looking at the mountains made Rayth shiver. He shook his head, turned his mount to the east, and urged it forward. For another couple of days, the axe-wielder turned innkeeper skirted the foothills with the range to his left. Avoiding all towns, he reached the point where the Glass Mountains, that ran north to south, met the Great Mountains. Here Rayth turned his horse to the northeast and started to climb into the range. He crossed Reach Pass near the southern exit and continued to head east. Finally, he decided to enter the range.
The weather closed in around the man the farther he climbed. He wrapped his cloak around his massive frame, pulling the fur-lined hood into place. The days in the mountains were biting cold, but the nights were murderous. As he rode during the day, Rayth collected dry wood for a life-saving fire at night. He travelled high into the mountains along dangerous paths. On several of the higher passes he had to dismount and walk his horse. Dax had given him the location of the Silverswords clan’s last camp, but there was no way of knowing whether the clan would still be there. If the weather had closed in Maldino may have moved his clan.
The wind picked up and snow blew into Rayth’s face, hitting him like icy needles. Dusk closed in fast and Rayth started to search for a cave to camp. Just before nightfall, he found a shallow cave. He dismounted from his horse and dusted the snow from her flanks. Walking the horse into the cave, Rayth looked at his home for the night. His first necessity was to try to light a fire. His fingers were numb with cold and he tried warming his hands, blowing on them and rubbing them together to gain some warmth. He formed a circle of stone, placed some thin sticks in the centre, and fumbled some kindling from a small tin box. He leaned forward and snow from his hood fell onto the pile. Rayth swore. He stood up, stepped away, and shook the snow from his cloak. He returned to the circle of stone. The temperature was falling rapidly. Rayth calmed himself, cleaned away the snow, and reached for this kindling box. He pulled some of the bone-dry, shredded leaves out. He closed the box and moved it to one side. Taking his flints, he cracked them together. A spark jumped and landed in the kindling. Rayth dropped his flints and lifted the kindling, cupping it in his hands. Blowing gently, he urged the fire. Smoke grew from the shredded leaves and soon he saw several small flames lick out at his thick fingers. He placed the kindling between the thin sticks and continued to blow gently, wafting smoke into his face. Flames started to lap around the sticks. He added larger and larger sticks. Soon, he could feel the heat from his fire. The innkeeper felt relief, but he could not rest yet.