by Brian Murray
Rowet turned to face Dax. The anger in his eyes was gone, replaced with hope.
“The guide had been discarded by the evil forces that governed his mortal life and was now one of the lost souls trying to redeem his wrongs. He knew he might never succeed, but he managed to get us through the Mines of Moranton to the Dark One’s realm. He did it for a reason. He knew if we survived, we would eventually go to his father’s aid. True to his word, he got us through the mines. As we were leaving the mines he left our company, but I took his hand in friendship. I promised him I would tell his father what he had done for us. I know he loves his father even after death. The one thing he wants more than Paradise is the forgiveness of his father.”
Rowet turned away from Dax as tears tumbled from his eyes.
Dax stepped forward and squeezed the man’s shoulder. “He did good by us and is trying to make you proud. If you ever see him . . . Know that at least he’s trying.”
“Thank you,” whispered Rowet, who walked away to be alone. When alone, he fell to his knees and wept. He said a silent prayer for his son, then composed himself and walked back to where Dax waited. He smiled. “Thank you, again.”
***
On the Grey Path, a young man heard his father’s prayer. Tucci cupped his face in his hands and sobbed.
CHAPTER 22
THE SUN ROSE behind menacing deep storm clouds tingeing them red, but greys and black dominated the skies.
Zane was already awake following a troubled night’s sleeping. He wrote two letters; one to his mother and the other to his sweetheart, Aurillia. He told them he was well and he would be travelling home soon. Putting down his quiver, he wondered if he was telling them the truth. The young king rose from his chair and stretched his back. He took the two sealed parchments and exited his tent. He called over one of his axe-wielder guards and ordered the man to give the parchments to the next messenger. The axe-wielder scampered off to complete his orders. Zane looked around and saw Dax gazing towards the sunrise, silhouetted against the brooding sky. The younger man walked over and stood in silence next to his mentor.
After a while Dax softly said, “You never know when you are going to see the next one.”
“It’s awesome,” said Zane, wide-eyed.
“The sun will continue to rise after today—after we’re all long dead. It’s one of the certainties, like the tide will always flow in and out and the mountains will be there. Certainties. The sun, the sea, and the mountains do not care. They were here before us and they will still be here after our legends have disappeared and our cities merge with the dust. Is it all worth it?”
“You sound melancholy,” added Zane.
The older man turned to face his young friend and smiled. “No, just a lot of good men will die today and for what? I still do not understand evil. I do not understand monsters like the Dark One.”
“That’s what makes you a good man, Dax.”
“Aye, I suppose so,” replied the warrior, turning his attention back to the rising sun.
The young king left the warrior to his thoughts and returned to his tent.
***
Rowet woke. It took him a heartbeat to realise he was not in his palace. He rose and dressed swiftly in his armour. He felt awkward in the metal clothing, but it was a necessity on this day. He felt happy he had spoken to Thade last night. At least he could tell Ireen they had talked if anything should happen to him. Rowet thought about his conversation with Dax the night before and smiled. Deep down, he still loved his son. The Chosen stretched his back and donned his sword harness. Walking from his tent, he was greeted by clansmen snapping to a sharp attention. All around the Chosen, men prepared for war.
A strange kind of calm settled over the camp. Not being able to explain the sensation, the Chosen walked around the camp and talked with the men. All of the men bowed deeply when he approached; many kept their heads down when he spoke to them. After walking nearly all of the camp, the Chosen met Thade. The two men broke their fast together with light humorous conversation. Zane and Dax joined the pair and the four friends stayed together until the clansmen were ready.
The Dar-Phadrin clansmen went to their position northwest of the Dread’s camp and waited.
***
Platos, as always, rose just before dawn. He sat up in bed and looked down at his sleeping wife. He smiled and ran his rough, calloused fingers through her long soft hair. He sighed. The blacksmith had been lucky to marry Erykah. Her father was a powerful merchant from the coast and she, one of six children. Erykah’s father had disapproved of their relationship, and tried to stop it, but failed. When their marriage was announced, he disowned Erykah, which had the opposite affect he had perceived, it brought the young couple closer together.
Platos sighed again and rose silently from his bed. He moved to the next room where his armour waited. He looked at the armour for a long time, and for the first time in his life he hated metal. Suppressing a series of obscene profanities, the huge smithy donned his armour. He could hear movement downstairs on the first floor and assumed correctly it was Danf. The young man was making tisane when Platos arrived.
“Morning, Danf,” said Platos who surprised himself, for he was not normally cheerful in the mornings.
“Morning, sir.”
“Never ‘sir,’ just Platos.”
Danf nodded and the two men enjoyed their tisane.
When they were nearly finished, Erykah walked into the kitchen with a broad smile, then scorned, “You two are not leaving without some food in your bellies.”
Platos knew better than to complain and watched with love as his wife made them some toasted bread with slices of cold meat. Drawing up a chair, Erykah sat next to her husband, drinking tisane. When finished, Danf left the kitchen and waited downstairs.
Platos looked into his wife’s eyes and fell in love with her all over again.
“What’re you smiling at, you oaf?” she asked.
“You.”
“Well, be gone with you, I have work to do.”
“So do I.”
“Playing soldier,” snorted Erykah, rising from the table.
“Not playing,” snapped Platos.
“You’re a smithy, not a soldier, Platos,” she muttered, clearing the table and walking to the bowl. She started to wash the dishes when Platos rose, stood behind her. He wrapped his large arms around her and she sagged against his broad metal torso.
Tenderly, he kissed the top of her head. “I will be back later.”
“Not if those beasts get you,” barked Erykah, instantly regretting the remark.
“I will be careful,” said Platos, softly kissing his wife again.
Erykah turned inside her husband’s hug and looked up at him. “You’d better be,” she replied, touching his cheek as a tear rolled from her eyes.
“Hush, woman. I will be back for dinner, of that I promise.”
“Good. Now be gone,” said Erykah, stretching onto tiptoes to kiss her husband. Platos gave his wife a huge hug, then left her in the kitchen. He exited the forge and walked to where Danf waited.
Platos looked up at the kitchen window and saw his wife, who waved. “I love you, my beauty!” he called, bowing theatrically with one leg in front of the other and sweeping his arm before him.
Giggling, Erykah opened the window and said, “Be gone, you old romantic oaf.”
“Until later, my love,” replied Platos, smiling broadly and waving. With Danf at his side, the two men walked towards the mound near the western gate. Platos had a swagger in his step. Even after twenty years of marriage, he felt like a young man in love for the first time.
***
General Urkin woke before dawn to prepare his army. The man had been drawn out of his slumber by his aid politely waking him with the offer of a hot goblet of tisane. Now the general walked among the men while they prepared. As the sun rose behind the dense clouds, his men gathered in their units. This always made the general smile. Even before his promotio
n, he had loved to watch the Rhaurien army gather in all their might. He waited outside the camp as the army crossed the trench bridge to muster on the western slope. As his army passed him, Urkin held a salute.
The mighty heavy cavalry crossed first. Their numbers had dwindled during the past few days for they led all the charges into the beasts, yet they still amounted to over two thousand horsemen.
Behind them came the light cavalry with their long green coats billowing behind them. They were armed the same as the Royal Lancers, except their weapons had no ornamentation on them.
For the first time the Rhaurien foot soldiers marched over the bridge. The regular foot soldiers carried long rectangular shields and short stabbing swords. These men wore simple round metal helms and metal body armour. They had calf-length boots, reinforced at the ankles, and their sword belts were wrapped around their waists, which also held several daggers. These soldiers would interlock their shields to form large, slow-moving fighting squares that would move majestically towards the enemy. When the enemy hit the shield wall, the men would stab out with their short swords.
Next marching over the bridge came the legendary and fearless axe-wielders, thousands upon thousands of seasoned veterans, all powerfully built to wield their weapons of death. Each man carried a double-headed battle-axe with awesome quarter moon-shaped blades. The axe’s metal shafts were hollowed to reduce the weight and the hilts were made of leather individually bound to suit the warrior’s particular grip. Below the grip was a short, quarter-arm length spike used for stabbing the enemy. They wore helms of brushed metal with a white fur rim and a metal nose guard protruding down the front. The helms also had metal cheek guards and the axe-wielders symbol stamped in the forehead, two axes crossed at the shaft. These men wore metal body armour; chain mail ran down their arms and legs, and thick leather leggings were tucked into their ankle boots.
Finally from the camp came the archers, carrying their longbows and quivers containing fifty arrows with spikes on the bottom for stabbing into the ground. They also carried a crossbow, quivers holding iron bolts, a short sword, and a dagger for close quarters fighting should they be needed. They wore baked leather helms and leather body armour that did not restrict their firing movement.
After the healers and stretcher-bearers crossed the bridge, the general rode with his messengers to the hilltop overlooking the Dread’s camp—the battlefield. Below him the Rhaurien army reached their positions and waited.
***
Maldino woke early and broke his fast with his friend Rayth. The two warriors laughed and joked as they ate. Maldino told Rayth of his dreams for a united Kharnack nation and Rayth told the chieftain he was the man to bring together the clans. After their meal, Rayth said his goodbyes and thanks to the chieftain. Rayth told Maldino during the battle he would fight alongside his axe-wielders. He was not comfortable on horseback and preferred to fight his enemy with axe in hand. Maldino watched his friend ride his horse from the camp.
Now it was time for him to prepare for war. Maldino joined in the ritual dance and drank the kashkar. His body and face had been freshly painted in his personal design and now he led his warriors around the city to face the enemy. Maldino said a silent prayer, asking for any fallen warrior to be welcomed in the Field of Heroes.
The Kharnacks reached their position and waited.
***
Admiral Rendel woke at dawn feeling stiff and old. In this battle the old man felt like a third leg—useless. He wished the battle was being fought on sea where he would have an input into the strategy, but it was on land and he was out of his depth. He had spoken with the Royal Lancer captains and agreed on an attack plan. Now dressed in his formal uniform, he inspected the lines of the Royal Lancers. He smiled for the horsemen, who were in full uniform, their armour and swords shining brightly. Behind the Lancers stood several thousand axe-wielders and archers. He had inspected the foot troops and now rode and stood before the men.
“Rhaurns, I am Admiral Rendel of the Rhaurien Fleet. I’m not a land soldier but a mere sailor. I’ve seen fighting men all my life, but never seen a force I am more proud of. Looking at you men, I feel my age, but with age comes wisdom. And I know one thing—you men will succeed today. Today three nations will fight side-by-side as allies. Today, the Rhaurns, the Phadrine, and the Kharnacks will fight together—warriors all. You are Rhaurns and you are the best. Do our king proud and let’s destroy those beasts down there. We will succeed, for we are . . . ”
“Rhaurns!” roared the soldiers.
“Give the beasts hell!” shouted Reedie, firing up the men.
“HELL!” screamed the men.
Reedie turned his horse and walked it to the southern slope overlooking the camp.
Around the admiral, the Rhaurns moved into position.
***
The Dark One had been awake all night waiting for this day. As dawn broke, Malice, Chaos, and Fury entered his black tent. A small fire lit in the centre of the tent gave the fabric room a ghostly glow. The Dark One rose from his throne and towered before the three warriors.
“Today is the day. Today is the day I have seen. Today, the Dread will be triumphant. Today, we will destroy the mortals and from this day we will rule this realm. It is as I have foreseen. I travelled the Paths of Time and have seen everything. Everything crosses on this day and in all of the futures, I have seen myself on a throne with the mortal leaders cowering on their knees before me,” said the Dark One, drawing the Blade of Yallas. “Today, we will attack and breach the city. I will cut down the Children of the Light and then the wench will again be ours. I will pleasure myself on Her; listen to Her screams, Her moans, and Her pleading. I will enjoy every slice I make on Her body. I will relish the moments and torture the witch for eternity.
“Malice and Chaos, ready my children. Fury, you will stay by my side. Malice, hold the Caynians back until the last moment. That is key for the battle. Hold them back.” The Dark One looked into Chaos’s red eyes. “Do not charge at the mortals until I give the command.”
Chaos held the Dark One’s eyes and then slowly nodded.
The Dark One raised his black sword. “Let us go and conquer. We cannot fail.” The four warriors left the black tent. The Dark One and Fury walked towards the moat, whilst Malice and Chaos mounted their stallions and rode to join the Caynians.
The Dark One had neglected to tell the three warriors one detail, for he remained ignorant of the fact. He had not seen all of the futures. He had seen the futures he wanted to see. On the Paths of Time there were thousands of variations of the future. He had seen all of them, except one. In that one future, the men were victorious. This future was a single thread in the jumble that made up the Paths of Time. A weak future with little hope, but it was there, and it relied on . . .
***
The main Rhaurien force gathered to the west of the Dread’s camp. The Dar-Phadrin gathered with the Chosen, Zane, Dax, and Thade to the northwest. Admiral Rendel gathered his Rhaurien force to the south. Maldino gathered his Kharnack warriors to the southeast of the Dread. On the mound, Platos and Danf stood ready; the catapults had been checked and most of the defenders massed around them.
Above the city, threatening storm clouds bunched and billowed, blocking the sun, smudging the sheen from everything. It would rain today, that was for certain; the only question was—when?
General Urkin watched his men move into position. The archers stood at the front on the western and southern slopes, with large gaps between the units for the cavalries to ride through. The heavy cavalry waited in front, their horses pawing the ground. All around the Dread, the men waited.
A silence hung over the battlefield.
Then a voice boomed out.
***
The Dark One reached the moat and looked up at the defenders. “Today, we finish this battle. Today will be your greatest failure. I have seen the futures and you will be defeated.” The Dark One pulled the Blade of Yallas free from its sheath and h
eld it aloft. “We will be victorious!” he bellowed and plunged his sword into the moat. He uttered a spell. From the mound a man fired his crossbow. The bolt flew in a straight line towards the Dark One, who calmly recited his spell. The bolt flew closer. At the last moment, Fury’s hand flashed up and the bolt clanged noisily against his sword.
The Dark One finished his spell with a word of power. The Black Crystal in the hilt of the Blade of Yallas began to pulsate. Loud cracks emanated from the moat. It stopped rippling and a glassy sheen covered the water, slowly becoming translucent. Ice started to grow from the blade, expanding outwards covering the moat white. The ice thickened and the cracking sounds grew in intensity. The Dark One pulled the Blade of Yallas free of the iced-over moat and roared, “Victory will be ours!”
The Dread charged towards the frozen moat.
***
Platos watched in disbelief as the Dark One froze the moat. He swore under his breath, for he now realised the mound would be an easy target. He pulled back some of his warriors, ready to seal any breaches. He hefted his war-hammer and prepared himself for a long day. He watched as the beasts streamed towards the moat. The first beast reached the ice and skidded across. Soon the beasts were climbing the mound with ease. To his right, more Dread pounded on the western gate and pulled at the retracted bridge.
***
General Urkin heard the Dark One and watched in astonishment as the mage froze the moat. This was something he had not considered possible. He now had to hit the Dread hard and fast to draw their attention away from the city. He turned to his messengers and called, “Archers!”
The messenger lowered the archers’ flag.
***
The archers saw their order and started firing their projectiles at the enemy. From the west and the south, a shower of death rained down on the unprotected Dread. Volley after volley of black waves arched towards the Dread. Shafts jutted from the Talon Hunters, who howled in anger while arrows just bounced off the Shadows’ exoskeletons. Yet one or two of the sharp projectiles arched high enough to puncture the Shadows’ organic armour. These beasts hissed with contempt.