by RG Long
This time, the army of Isol brought no such thing.
Men with shields stood at the edge of the canyon and waited. Octus held his breath as men began to cross the bridge, bearing similar shields out in front of them. Behind these shields, the steady line of Isol troops came marching.
“Arrows!” the call came from above the wall.
Missiles rained down from above onto the attackers. Their shields were effective at protecting not only themselves, but they appeared to ripple outwards and catch arrows that should have gone past the shield’s canopy.
Rimstone armor.
It was infamous in Ladis. Octus had firsthand experience with the things and hated them and what they hid.
Isol always put their most important and deadly fighters behind these shields. They were too precious to waste on anything else.
“Hold!” the call came again, just as the men holding the magical shields broke into a run. This was it.
Octus tightened his grip on his spear, even as the man next to him quaked and nearly dropped his own. There were no words he could say at this moment. His best and only instinct was to yell. To scream. To dare the enemy to come and get him.
And come they did.
The shield bearers lifted their defenses long enough to expose a row of Speakers who, as one, extended their hands in a jabbing motion. The resulting blast shattered shields, split spears, and sent the men of the front row of the line flying in all directions.
Octus was aware of being airborne before striking an outcropping just below the wall of the castle. He lifted up his head for a moment before letting it fall back down. He couldn’t keep it up.
The noise of the battle grew softer and the light of day faded.
Octus prayed it was over.
HE WAS BACK IN FRAY, walking the street as children played and ran and the people of the village went about their daily business. For him, this meant it was time to work with the skins.
Cloth was a luxury in their village. Only their prophet wore anything made from it. The rest of them either wore leaves if they were poor, or the skins of animals if they had anything to trade at all.
Octus was a fair man and would never over charge for his goods. He had seen the destitute and the outcast in the Disputed Lands. He swore to never allow such a thing when it was in his power to correct it. Therefore, nearly every child in the village wore some of his skins. Their parents, if their pride allowed it, also had at least something made from him.
And, most of the time, it was traded for in their favor.
Octus walked into his shop and work area, feeling the skins of lizards and leopards and other animals that had been stretched out for several days, preparing to be made into articles for use. The walls of his shop were the skins of his previous kills and trappings, all stretched and preparing for use. The ceiling was like every other hut in their village, made of clay tiles on top of a branch frame. A breeze blew through the jungle, bringing with it the scents of fresh rain, animals on the prowl just outside the wall of the village, and someone already hard at work for the noon meal.
Octus took a deep breath and set his eyes on his skins. One was ready.
With quick hands he took it off of the frame and laid it out, preparing in his mind what was needed. A large piece he cut for a vest that needed to be made. His niece was growing so big that she needed additional clothes. The last one he had made for her was already pulling at her and his brother had given him a hard-enough time, all in good fun, about making another.
This part of the material he put away. Then he turned to what was left. No piece was wasted. The larger leftovers he set aside to be made into a sheath. His own was finally beyond repair. Though he hated to make things for himself, it was necessary. He couldn’t have a dagger cut him when he was out trapping his game because it wasn’t sheathed properly.
Whatever was left after this, he cut into strips of larger and smaller width. Some of it would do only for a band or string. Some of these he set aside for his sister in law. She could make herself a bracelet if she wanted.
He wasn’t good at that sort of crafting.
The rest he used to wrap the handle of a spear. Old man Yarus was particular about his spear, even though he hardly went out hunting anymore. Still, it was Octus’ job to do what he was paid for, and Yarus was a man who often paid in coins.
Something Octus didn’t have much of.
He set aside the spear and began to get to work on his niece's vest. She had grown a lot and would certainly be as tall as her mother one day, if not her dad. Octus made some marks on the material before getting out the scissors to cut.
A noise made him look up from his work.
He was back in the siege of Grellis.
A trumpet blew into the darkening sky. The siege was still going on around him. The bridge was overrun by Isolian troops. Not a single soldier of Ladis was defending the expanse. Isol was marching into the castle steadily. The noise of battle had died away. Perhaps somewhere deep in the castle, the men of Ladis still defended something.
But not here on the bridge.
They were defeated. Octus looked around. He had landed on a ledge just below the bridge. It held up a sizable portion of the castle walls. The rock ledge kept him from falling down into the abyss, but it did not shield him from harm.
Any Isolian soldier who saw him moving here would surely put an arrow in his temple.
Or worse.
He tried not to move. Perhaps he could wait until nightfall and escape. Then the thought struck him. His niece!
He had to find her. Or at least know of her whereabouts. Did the women and children still live? Were they all taken prisoner or just slaughtered by the heretics?
Octus tried to calm his mind. He couldn’t be useful if he was panicked. One thing at a time. He would have to wait until the right moment to get up from the ledge and get inside the castle.
Another trumpet sounded as a caller’s voice rang out.
“Make way for Her Holiness! Yada Fekkos! The Great Speaker of Isol!”
Cheers rang up from the Isolian troops. Octus looked to the bridge without moving his head or opening his eyes too wide. A troop of soldiers in black robes came walking over the bridge, carrying on their backs a large wooden litter. On top of it, sat a woman on a couch. He knew who she was, even without the caller’s declaration.
The chief heretic and usurper. Yada the Old.
Octus resisted the urge to jump from his ledge and shove a spear through her chest. He would never make it past her guards. But he hated that woman with everything he had inside of him. She had cost him so much.
Because of her wars to the south, the men of Ladis had been unable to keep the lizards from multiplying. Because of those beasts, he had lost his brother, sister-in-law, family, and home.
Now he was here, recruited again to fight Yada, even while neglecting the protection of his niece. Oh how he wanted to put a blade in her.
But he couldn’t. Not now.
He must wait.
“Clear these away,” a voice said from above him on the bridge.
“Yes, Your Holiness,” came the reply.
Immediately, Octus felt himself being lifted off of the ledge as if by ropes tied to his middle and his wrists. Involuntarily, he let out a yelp.
“Wait!” a soldier said, pointing in Octus’ direction. “That one’s still alive!”
Octus took in a sharp breath. He had been discovered. Floating around him were the bodies of other Ladis soldiers. They had not been so lucky as he. Or, quite as unlucky.
“Discard the rest,” Yada said from her perch.
The bodies of the other soldiers fell into the ravine as their magical bonds were loosed. Octus, however, stayed hovering in the air.
“Bring him to me.”
Octus’ body floated over in the direction of Yada, without his consent. He tried desperately to pull himself free, only to find that, no matter how hard he tried or where he pulled, he was stuck in the
position he was.
There was nothing he could do.
As he was floating over the chasm, the Speaker who had his arm outstretched towards him moved his hand in such a way that Octus floated right in front of Yada. Octus had never seen her up close. He had only ever heard stories of the dark ruler from Isol.
Now he had a face to hate.
Octus was placed at Yada’s feet as real ropes materialized and bound his hands behind him, his feet in front of him, and his neck to a rung on the side of Yada’s litter.
“Let’s go see your precious city,” she said, looking down at him with devilish grin. “And the defeat of your people.”
40: Dimming Lights
Ealrin hacked and slashed at the carnivorous bugs that kept appearing through cracks in the cavern walls.
The more he cut them into two, the more that seemed to take its place. Silverwolf was doing her best to keep from throwing up as she chopped the insects into pieces. Ealrin could see her gagging as she stabbed another one in its hard shell. With each stab, green, slimy innards oozed onto her blade.
“Yuck!” she said as she took out the blade and stabbed another.
“Gorplin!” Ealrin yelled. “I hope you found a way out!”
They had sent the dwarf ahead of them to find the best way out of the caves. He was still within ear shot, though it was difficult to make out his words over the skittering and chomping of the larva like insects.
They had no discernible legs, but they did have two very sharp mandibles on their fronts. Their shells appeared soft, until pierced with a blade. Only in between the soft plates of their armored tops could they be wounded. That or flipping them over, like Barton had tried to do. He had found out that they could be killed this way, but that the stench that came from the bottom of their carcasses was enough to drive a man to his knees. The old scout was just now recovering from the first such attack of poisonous gas and was stumbling towards them to help.
“I feel like the curse of Yada is already upon me!” he said as he stabbed another bug with his spear.
“The curse of this cave is enough, thanks,” Silverwolf said through fits of coughing. “How about that escape path, Shorty!?“
“Bah! Come up this way,” Gorplin shouted from far away. “Take a right, and then follow the water!”
That was good enough for Silverwolf who sprinted off down the cave, her magic ring casting light above her head. Blume was right behind them. She had stopped casting bolts of magical energy when she found that, as soon as they hit one of the bugs, it exploded its juices all over the cave floor and ceiling. It also exploded all over her companions, searing their exposed skin and clogging their lungs with the gas that escaped.
Ealrin was certain his jacket would never smell or look the same.
He began to back away, making sure that the bugs were not following them closely and that Barton had successfully managed to stumble away himself. The monsters did not move fast, but they were relentless. As far as Ealrin could see in the other direction, bugs with clacking claws and shuttering mandibles inched their way towards them. No matter how quickly they cut and slashed and stabbed, more always came. Crawling and tumbling over their own kind, they continued their ceaseless offensive.
They had tried to outrun them at first but found that the bugs had brothers and sisters crawling out of the walls to reach them. Gorplin figured they gave off some type of scent to alert the other insects of their presence.
Grabbing Blume and taking her to the right side of the path Gorplin had indicated, Ealrin made his way forward.
Barton stumbled along behind him. He was still woozy from the gas the terrible creatures gave off. Ealrin didn’t want to leave him behind to the mercy of the bugs, but his priority was to keep Blume safe.
“Get in front of us!” Blume said to the slow coming scout. “I want to try something.”
Either too tired or too woozy to be skeptical, Barton obeyed. He stumbled past them and kept going up the cavern path. Ealrin worried if he would be able to see without the use of the light from their ring. Barton didn’t seem to mind stumbling through the dark without them at his side.
He wouldn’t have to wait long anyways, it seemed. As soon as he had passed them Blume pointed her fingers back towards the bugs and began to utter the first few words of a spell. Ealrin had heard enough of Blume’s practicing to pick up on the essentials.
“Wait, isn’t that one...”
There was no time to stop the wall of fire that came from her fingertips and flew at the carnivorous bugs. They screeched a horrible sound that made Ealrin hunch over and cover his ears. Blume closed her hand and stopped producing the flames, even though they continued to burn.
“Let’s get going,” she said, covering her own ears and scrambling up the path in the same direction Barton had gone.
Ealrin only looked back once to see the bugs twitching and scampering. He did not like the sounds they were producing but didn’t want to take the time to investigate what it would mean. He followed Blume and did not look back again.
The two of them caught up with Barton after only a few steps, but Silverwolf and Gorplin were further away still. The ground beneath his feet was becoming more and more slippery with every step. He felt comforted knowing they were at least following the water. It ran at a steady pace down in the direction they had come from and now they were steadily climbing upward. For so long they had been traversing down, Ealrin felt odd to be moving up.
“I prefer the sunshine any day,” Blume said, holding up her ring to offer its light to their path. The glow from the stone was enough to penetrate the darkness, but not to dispel it. Ealrin was glad they had any light at all.
“I agree with you there,” he said, smiling at her. The two of them had certainly had some adventures together. A very large part of him hoped that they would have fewer adventures underground in the future. These always felt like the worst ones.
Finally, they caught up with Gorplin and Silverwolf. Gorplin was feeling along a cavern wall, his ears to the stones. The top of the cave was just at Ealrin’s head. He had to duck slightly to keep from bumping against a stalactite as it clung to the cave ceiling. Small rocks and mud lay at his feet. The water continued to trickle, but it seemed to come up from the ground, not from above anymore. Silverwolf had her ring up high and was, to Ealrin’s surprise, beginning to look panicked.
“Where’s the way out?” she asked with a higher than normal voice. “Where’s the way out, Stunty!?”
“Bah,” was all Gorplin said in reply. He kept his ear to the wall and moved along it slowly. He probably would have kept at it longer if Silverwolf hadn’t taken him off and shaken him by the collar.
“You better have a way out!” she shouted at him.
Her call echoed along the cavern and was repeated once, twice, and a third time before they heard a new sound coming up from below.
The skittering and clacking of the cave bugs.
“Not good,” Ealrin said. “Gorplin, what’s wrong?”
The dwarf shook Silverwolf off of him and adjusted his tunic before turning to Ealrin. He looked sympathetic.
“There’s got to be a crack somewhere,” he said, without much explanation. “Water just doesn’t come from nowhere. We’ve come so far! Bah! There’s got to be a crack.”
“Don’t tell me we’re at a dead end,” Silverwolf said wildly, drawing her sword and looking back.
Ealrin began to understand. She was a master of escape and evading her pursuers. If they were trapped in a cave underground, there was no way out.
Was there really no way out?
“Bah,” Gorplin said, grumpy and irritated as he tapped the wall and listened. Ealrin didn’t know what the dwarf hoped to hear from the rock, but he was beginning to hope it would be quick. The clacking was getting louder.
Ealrin turned and kept his sword out. They had moved fast up the cavern tunnel. Could the bugs have moved faster? They didn’t seem to move very quickly in the light
. Maybe...
“Blume, try to make your light brighter,” Ealrin said.
She responded by muttering under her breath, increasing the light that shown from their three rings. They had been in the semi darkness so long that Ealrin’s eyes had adjusted to it. Now that the light was increasing, it was beginning to pain his eyes. He strained, though, to keep his focus on the tunnel that went downward into the black abyss.
And he saw them.
Sliming and oozing over one another, the bugs were at the bottom of the tunnel. They were still pursuing them. And there was more than last time. Some of them bore the marks of burns or had a mandible charred off at the end.
If Ealrin knew they had emotions, he would have said they were angry.
“Gorplin,” he said with his own fears rising in his stomach. “We need to get out of here.”
“ARGH!” the dwarf replied, hitting the cave wall with his fists several times before turning and drawing a sword. “It’s not good. No exit that way. I can’t find any cracks to work through.”
Barton readied his spear.
“And so, the curse of Yada runs its course,” he said, melancholy running through his words.
“Just throw yourself at them if you’re so ready to die,” Silverwolf said, her sword in hand. “Can’t you do anything?”
Ealrin had thought she was talking to Gorplin. The dwarf had led them through the tunnel safely thus far. He felt it was a little harsh to call his worth into question now. But Silverwolf wasn’t looking at him. She was facing Blume.
He shook his head.
“The whole cave could come down on us if she tried to blow a hole in the wall!” he protested before Blume could answer. “Besides, what if there are more bugs on the other side of that?”
As he voiced the fear, he realized it was greater than he had anticipated. What if they did break through and found only more of the terrible things? He shuddered at the thought.
