Heirs of Vanity- The Complete First Trilogy Box Set

by R J Hanson

  “What is it father?” Whit asked as he followed his father’s gaze toward the north.

  “Do what you’re told, boy,” Garth yelled. “Hurry!”

  Whit ran for the house at a full sprint. Garth wanted to be with his family, but Harriette was a good woman and Whit was just short of being a full man. Garth was still a soldier in his heart. He knew the value of information. As he started toward the cloud of rising dust, he wished that he had brought more out with him that day than just his firewood axe and wheat sickle.

  Whit charged into the yard of the house and looked around for his mother and sister. He saw movement east of the house in the cornfield. He ran into the house and grabbed his knife, and his hunting bow and quiver of arrows. He saw his father’s only weapon, a broadsword, leaning in the corner. He knew what he would do. He belted on his knife and slung the bow and arrows over his shoulder. He carried the sword in both hands and ran for the cornfield.

  “Mama, Mama,” Whit yelled as he reached the edge of the tall corn. “Daddy says its danger! You’ve gotta go!”

  Harriette came out of the field with Clowie in her arms. She reflexively looked to the north and saw the dust rising.

  “Come on, Whit,” Harriette said. “We have to run for Skult.”

  “I’m to take Daddy his sword,” Whit said. “He said for you and Clowie to make for the river first and then turn northwest for Skult. Go.”

  Harriette gave Whit an uncertain look. She knew he was almost a man, but he wasn’t there yet. Garth was smart and he knew about war. If he said for Whit to bring him his sword, he knew what he was doing.

  “Very well,” Harriette said. “You get it to him, and quick. I’ll see you in Skult. Whit, I love you.”

  Harriette hugged her son and kissed his blonde head. She saw so much of her husband in her son’s face. Harriette started for the river with Clowie in her arms. Whit turned and ran as fast as he could hauling the heavy iron sword in his boy’s arms.

  Garth had let him hold the sword a time or two before. On those occasions Whit had imagined himself a great warrior, as most boys do at one time or another. Now he felt the full weight of the heavy iron weapon and the fear only a child could know clawing around in his heart like a scared rabbit in a trap. Whit ran, afraid that any moment the UnMaker would steal his strength and leave him lying in the trail like a weeping coward.

  “Father,” Whit called into the air. “Father, I brought your sword!”

  Garth heard the boy and turned around. He met him at the edge of the fields they had worked so hard to plant.

  “What are you doing here?” Garth asked. “I told you to take your mother and Clowie to Skult.”

  “I know father,” Whit said hoping his father wouldn’t take the time now to whip him. “I knew what you were going to do. You needed your sword.”

  Whit handed the iron broadsword to Garth and was ashamed that he was glad he no longer had to carry it. Garth looked the boy up and down. There would be no point in punishing him now. Harriette and Clowie should already be out of reach for him to catch them anyway.

  “Very well,” Garth said. “When this is over you and I will talk about disobeying me. From this point on you will do what I say, when I say it. I’m not speaking to you as a father now. I’m speaking as your commanding officer. Do you understand me, soldier?”

  “Yes sir!”

  “If we are lucky it won’t come to any combat,” Garth said. “We are going to gather information and then return to Skult as quickly as possible. Getting that information back to Skult is more important that killing a few of those…invaders. We will not fight unless we have to. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “If something happens to me, you have to get back with that report. We must find out what sort of troops are marching, what type of weapons they carry, how many are mounted, if any, and a close idea of their number. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes sir,” Whit affirmed.

  “The soldiers in Skult will know that an army approaches them from the north and east,” Garth continued. “They will be able to tell that by the dust. You must tell them what they don’t know. We are also looking for siege weapons. Do you know what a siege weapon is?”

  “Yes sir. You mean like a big crossbow, or a cat of pult.”

  “They’re called ballista, and catapults, or trebuchets. The soldiers in Skult will need to know how many of those are present. They will also need to know their rate of travel. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. We will travel light and silent. Quiet is our only ally. You will have to run a long way. A man can always run farther than he thinks he can. You will throw up but that is alright. Don’t let that stop you. A soldier can push himself beyond those pains of the body. Are you going to be a good soldier?”

  “Yes sir!”

  “Good,” Garth said. “Let’s get moving.”

  Father and son started toward the woods to meet the coming force. They didn’t have to travel far. Garth and Whit climbed a tree and saw the army of the undead marching across the plains and entering the forest they were in. Garth had some experience at estimating troop numbers, but he did not want to believe that over two thousand undead could be raised, much less called to march in one army. Furthermore, this was only one vanguard. This group might be one of three, or one of a dozen. They would not need siege weapons. Time was on their side. If they surrounded Skult, they could just wait for starvation to set in. Undead soldiers didn’t sleep and didn’t need food. All they did was fight.

  Garth didn’t have time for the fear he felt wrapping around his throat. His son certainly didn’t need to see it on his face. So, Garth did what good soldiers do. He put those fears away and relied on what he had been taught, what he had been trained to do.

  “We know all that we need to,” Garth said to Whit. “We have to move fast. We must run a straight line from here to the river. Do you hear me? When we get near the farm, we’ll veer toward the trail your mother would have taken. Do you understand me, son?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Garth and Whit slid down the tree and started running. Whit was tall for his age, but he still could not match his father’s stride. Garth cut back on his pace so that Whit could keep up with him. He would need his strength anyway. If the creatures catch up to us…

  Garth looked back over his shoulder at the unseen army he could hear crashing through the forest even now. Scared animals of all varieties fled before than army and scurried, scampered, and loped past Garth and his son. Garth took the bow and arrows from Whit.

  “When we reach the edge of the forest, I want you to run for all you’re worth,” Garth said between breaths. “Don’t look back, don’t slow down. Run, run hard.”

  Garth and Whit cleared the edge of the trees and entered the tall grass of the plain that joined their land. Garth prayed that Whit wouldn’t be seen in the tall grass.

  “Run!” Garth yelled.

  Whit bent forward and pumped his legs. He knew he would have to run hard to keep up with his father. His vision narrowed until all he could see was the path before him. Fear sped his feet and Whit sprinted through the grass lands as a good knife split cloth.

  Garth stopped at the edge of the woods. He hoped the hunger of the undead for flesh was all that he had heard it was. Garth climbed a tree and got nearly twenty feet from the ground. As the rotten and rotting creatures marched around the trees near him, Garth began to loose arrow after arrow. He knew he wouldn’t drop many with the farmer-made bow and arrows, but it would get their attention.

  Several of the undead, struck by the annoying arrows looked through the trees. Then their lifeless noses caught the smell. It was the smell of human flesh. Or, perhaps, it was the smell of life they missed so and would forever seek in vain. They milled through the forest until they found the tree Garth was perched in. A horrible roar went through the hundreds of undead near the tree. They scrambled over each other and tore at the bar
k of the tree. Garth abandoned the bow and began chopping at them with his sword. He managed to take four more with him before they pulled him from the limbs of his refuge.

  Whit heard the screams and whirled. The sudden turn caused him to tumble into the dust. As he pushed himself up from the ground, he realized for the first time that his father was not running next to him. He looked back and saw the monsters gathered at the edge of the forest where he had entered the tall grass. He heard his father’s screams and steeled his lips against the sobs that wanted to burst from his throat.

  “I love you, Daddy,” Whit said.

  Whit scrambled up from the ground and ran for the river. Now he was fueled with something other than fear. He must grow to be a man. He must rid the world of evil creatures that killed good fathers. He must kill all who would trade in those dark magics. That moment Whit learned how to hate.

  “I understand why they build a wall around the house and dig trenches on this side of the river, but why do they dig trenches on the north side of the river?” Claire asked Tin, raising her voice to be heard over the sounds of saws and hammer blows.

  Tin tilted his head to the side to hear her better over the ruckus. He turned to speak directly into her ear to respond.

  “They want defenses against the enemy on the other side of the river just in case Sir Roland gets the dam broken and the river flow restored. They’re afraid he might get the river flowing again before they get a chance to fight.”

  Claire looked at Tin to see if he was making fun of her. She saw by the lost expression on his face that he was just as shocked as she was at the battle lust of the dwarves.

  “Will they be able to cross the river to get back to this side if it begins to flow again?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t think they care about that,” Tindrakin said.

  “Tin, what is that?” Claire pointed into the distance.

  “It’s someone running,” Tindrakin said. “Someone running this way. It could be an enemy soldier.”

  “Not this far ahead of the rest of them,” Claire said. “Oh, Tin. It’s a woman. She’s carrying a child.”

  Tindrakin leapt from the riverbank and hit the muddy bottom on a full run. He had only a moment to notice that the river bottom was only that. No water flowed over the sand and gravel of the riverbed. Ungar didn’t know where Tin was going but he saw the look on his face. Wherever Tin was going there would be battle. Ungar fell into step next to him, his legs working double time to match the pace set by the long legs of the man. As they ran, the figure they ran toward came into view. It was a woman with hay-yellow hair and she carried a child in her arms.

  Ungar looked again to the northern horizon. It was a wall of dust. Ungar remembered battles and wars from his youth over one hundred and fifty years ago. He had seen armies of several hundred take the battlefield and had once been in a battle of over two thousand troops. His grandfather spoke of the Battles of Rending and of several thousands of troops taking a battlefield at once but Ungar could not imagine that many warriors on the march. Looking at the wall of dust to the north Ungar now understood what thousands of troops taking a battlefield would look like. They couldn’t be more than a few leagues away now.

  As they approached, they saw a blonde headed woman in her forties carrying a child that couldn’t yet be ten years old. The woman was rasping for breath and tears cut through the dirt on her face. The child, a little girl with hair the color of fine golden ale, was crying.

  “Take the child,” Ungar said to Tindrakin. “I’ll carry the woman.”

  Tindrakin took the child from the woman’s arms and she collapsed on Ungar. Ungar and Tin turned and headed for the river with their new burdens.

  “Must stop,” the woman said. “My husband, my son.”

  “Where?” Tin managed to ask between long strides.

  “Behind. Somewhere behind.”

  Tindrakin and Ungar reached a group of dwarves that ran out to meet them. They handed the little girl and the woman over to the approaching dwarves. Tin and Ungar exchanged glances and turned back toward the cloud of dust.

  “Get them beyond the river,” Ungar commanded to the dwarves.

  Three more dwarves followed Ungar and Tin toward the marching enemy. The rest carried the woman and child toward the river bed. Ungar took his war hammer from his back and shouldered his shield. Tindrakin wished that he had his pole arm with him. He drew his broadsword and charged ahead. They ran for another league before they saw him. It was a boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, running with a score of undead at his heels. Tindrakin could see tears running down the boy’s face and vomit drying on the front of his shirt.

  “Run to us, boy!” Ungar yelled.

  The boy with the same golden ale colored hair looked up and noticed the running warriors for the first time. He pushed on through the impossibly tight pain in his legs and stomach. Tindrakin sheathed his sword and caught the boy as they met. Ungar struck down the closest animated corpse in one swipe of his heavy hammer.

  For the first time they saw the enemy. It was as Roland had guessed. An army of undead charged for the river with a cursed hunger in their dead eyes. Tindrakin and Ungar felt the ground trembling beneath them with the weight of Daeriv’s charging force.

  Tin and Ungar turned and headed back for the river at a full sprint. An army of over three thousand undead chased them.

  “They’re going to need us all on the other side of the river,” Tindrakin yelled as they fled. “You’ll have to move your soldiers back.”

  As Tin and Ungar reached the riverbank a vanguard of dwarves met them with their crossbows leveled and ready.

  “Loose and then fall back to the other side of the river!” Ungar yelled at the dwarves as he and Tindrakin raced past them.

  Thirty-four blessed crossbow bolts ripped into the charging army of undead. Thirty-four evil creatures burst into a holy flame. Tin, with the boy over his shoulder, jumped from the riverbank to the soft sand of the riverbed. The dwarves began to reload for one more volley.

  Tindrakin scrambled up the south side of the riverbank hauling the exhausted boy with him. Clairenese met him at the edge and helped pull the boy up and over.

  “Whit,” Harriette cried. “Whit, where is your father?”

  “They killed him! He died to give me a head start,” Whit said in gasps and sobs. “He died because I run too slow.”

  The dwarves released another set of thirty-four blessed crossbow bolts. Thirty-four more undead burst into the cleansing flame. The dwarves fell back and crossed the muddy bed of the river as quickly as their short legs would carry them. As they reached the top of the bank on the south side, the first enemy soldiers leapt into the riverbed. The undead army stretched for nearly a full league along the river’s northern bank. Their leading point was crossing the bed and reaching the bank the dwarves stood prepared to defend. The rest of their army was less than a league from crossing the river.

  Clairenese took the woman and two children toward her home and saw Kullen still standing on the roof with his pup in his arms. She directed the woman and children inside.

  “Kullen! Get inside,” Claire yelled.

  Kullen shook his head and began to say something, but couldn’t get it out. Claire, having no time to argue with him returned her attention to the farmer’s wife and her children.

  “Stay in here,” Claire said. “You will be protected.”

  Clairenese stepped to the front door of her home. She would save the spells she had stored until she absolutely needed them. She stood at the gate between two hastily constructed walls that the dwarves had built around the front door of the log house. She began casting.

  Tindrakin joined Ungar and the other dwarves on the riverbank. They cut the undead down as they climbed up the muddy slope. The undead poured into the riverbed. Tindrakin and the dwarves cut down monster after monster but the sheer numbers were easily pushing them back. The undead gained purchase of the riverbank and Tin and the dwarves had to
fall back lest they be surrounded and cut off.

  “Get back to the walls!” Claire yelled.

  Tindrakin and the dwarves fought a retreat back to the log walls the dwarves had built out of the pieces of teleported dam. Lady Clairenese’s spell culminated into a huge blue ball of flame that landed where the river had once run. Over one hundred undead burst into bolts of electricity or caught fire. Then she began speaking words that made the guts of the hearty warriors around her twist in sickness. Words of the demon language spewed from between her lovely lips.

  “Kleta lartcta betrel u’ kleta (I command you to turn on your brethren),” Claire said in the evil tongue. “Kleta lartcta udrel nordre Daeriv muerka (I command that you take your fight to the north and do not stop until Daeriv is dead)!”

  Another forty undead turned on their fellow soldiers as they began attacking each other.

  Tindrakin and Ungar stood hip to shoulder at the gate. They began cutting down the undead as the remainder of the invaders reached the home. The other dwarves loaded their crossbows again and took positions along the walls loosing into the herd of undead gathering in the front yard of the home. The peaceful glad that had been the scene of so many pleasant meals among friends was now being trampled by the rotting feet of these foul creations. The creatures had reached the wall and five of the dwarves were pulled over its top into the feasting mob.

  Lady Clairenese looked out over the mass of undead in her front yard and back to the others that were approaching the river. How could they hope to ever win this battle?

  “I have it,” Roland yelled. “I need your help.”

  Eldryn struck down another man that was reaching the top of the riverbank and then hurried to Roland’s side. Roland tossed him the green crystal.

  “Put it under the top log when I get it lifted,” Roland yelled. “We’re going to teleport this dam home.”