Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  Captain Winick swore to himself. “Fire at will!”

  His men pumped the handles on their rifles, readying for their second shot. Each fired at their own volition, sending a stream of sporadic bursts to their intended target. The Ro’Nihn chopped his speed up and down, keeping his movements on the evasive. Most shots soared on past him. Some connected with the ground near him. Two connected with the cycle itself. Smoke was now dribbling from two spots, yet still the Ro’Nihn charged on. Captain Winick admired him for his valor but would have his life just the same.

  “Reload,” he spat. “You will again fire on my command!” All right, if this bastard wants to play, we are going to play. Come to me. Come closer. I’ll have you crumple broken at my feet! He would wait until the warrior was close, too close for evasive maneuvers. And then he would have the men unleash a string of punishment that would make him wish he had never been born.

  Winick raised his sword again. His quarry was almost upon them.

  -53-

  Norryn could see the intentions waiting for him just ahead. He would be upon the Thorne Squad in seconds. Then they would tear him to pieces with their rifles. He could hear the protests begin emanating from his ride. It couldn’t take much more abuse. There was no turning back now though. It was definitely now, or it was never.

  Precious few moments remained as Norryn struggled forward. In almost an instant his plan of action flooded his mind. Steeling himself, he pushed every bit of strength that was left in the cycle forward on a crash course path to his destiny. Norryn had one shot at this. He would either succeed or fail, but either way, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  In the distance the commanding officer’s sword raised higher as he commanded his men to remain steady. “Let him come!” He was confident in the impending outcome.

  And now the moment of truth was at hand.

  The young Vallance heir held his breath.

  The anxious Thorne Captain began to lower his sword.

  And then, raising it over his head, Norryn activated Ashener’s Calling.

  -54-

  Once again, as it had done five years ago, Ashener’s Calling burst to life. A blinding flash of bright light erupted from the amulet held in a young heir’s hand. The light screamed toward the heavens as it expanded upon the surrounding area, covering the battlefield in its full-fledged glory. The strength of its illumination stilled even the raging battle for long moments as all present stopped, engulfed in the brilliant energy that could be seen for miles and miles.

  -55-

  Looking down from the walls of Rahn, all Sindara Preece could see was an unconquerable wave. Legions of Thorne soldiers encroached mercilessly upon her town. The combined forces assembled on this day simply were not enough. And yet Wyndall of the Jacoi fought on below, refusing to give ground as he led the Vallance forces against impossible odds. How she wished to be down there with him. To die in battle with such a warrior, to sacrifice her life for her town and people, to Sindara, it was a death worth the price.

  But alas, she had her duty. Should Wyndall fall, the defense of Rahn fell to her hands. Her people needed her and Sindara would defend them with every drop of blood that coursed through her veins. Vallance would not go quietly into shadow on her watch. Sindara knew that Thorne would leave no prisoners. With that knowledge, Sindara and her people would give them a fight worthy of remembrance.

  Sindara’s soldiers continued to unleash a controlled barrage of arrows upon the relentless swarm of their attackers with little avail. She too found it impossible to fire upon the indoctrinated men and women of Galvin. And with each passing moment she knew the defenses below weakened. Sindara could see the resignation upon the faces of her soldiers. It was the grimness of battle weighed with the acceptance of utter inevitability, and it was almost too much to bear.

  “What in the blazes is that?” One of her archers stammered, catching Sindara’s attention.

  Suddenly, Sindara’s eyes were drawn to the distance. She lost all breath as a glorious, resounding brilliance covered the view before reaching out to her. It was the overwhelming light that stilled death and torment, filling Sindara Preece with an ever-increasing joy as hope and defiance returned within her. Instantly she knew what had transpired and the gravity of that light.

  What she had seen was Ashener’s Calling.

  Serra had been right.

  Norryn Ashener lived.

  Sindara’s voice thundered beyond her thoughts as her vitality returned. “Heroes of Vallance, hear me! Ashener’s Calling is at hand! Norryn has returned! Norryn has returned!” She could not believe the words that poured from her with complete conviction. “Answer his call! For your families, for Vallance! Fight on! To Norryn Ashener!”

  -56-

  Below Sindara, with strength and hope renewed, Wyndall of the Jacoi turned his attention to the soldiers from Galvin and Allandar. “Survivors of the northern lands! Redemption is at hand! Throw down the yokes of oppression and stand with us once more! Galvin, Allandar, join us! To Norryn! To Norryn Ashener!”

  It took only moments for their decision to materialize. Ripping the tabards bearing the colors of Thorne, the citizens of Galvin turned their focus and weapons against their captors, taking up the rallying cry. As Vallance’s unified forces joined them. “To Norryn!”

  Within moments a newfound life erupted within the soldiers of Vallance. One by one they took up the call, charging forward with renewed strength into their opposition. Relentless they now fought against a superior force, taking their opponents by surprise as they now pressed the offensive. For their country, for their leader, for the calling of a hero, they refused to say die.

  -57-

  “What in blazes is that?” General Nathaniel Cresul was pulled from his stab at immortality by the uttering of a lackey idiot. His first response was to stare daggers at the soldier responsible for the distraction. That was followed by an immediate summation of how he would humiliate, ruin, and otherwise destroy the man. In a span of a second, Cresul had sealed the man’s fate in his own mind.

  It was then he realized what the soldier was referring to. A brilliant light flooded his vision before it engulfed him and all surroundings. The pure radiance washed over him as he watched some of his men duck for cover, fearing some horrible magic. Cresul knew better. He had seen this very light once before. Five years ago, the very same light had nearly cost him, forcing his hand, making him withdraw his troops from the smoldering remnants of Bannar before he was finished with his slaughter.

  It was the light that had saved thousands of lives. It was the light that called Vallance’s troops back home. And now, as the waves of light dissipated it was becoming the light that was changing the tide of battle in the favor of the opposition. Cresul could already feel it in his guts as Rahn’s defenses bolstered and for the first time took the fight to his men.

  It had been the light of Ashener’s Calling.

  For the first time in five years of a glorious and gleaming campaign of brilliant tactics and warfare, General Nathaniel Cresul allowed a small hint of doubt enter his mind. Quickly he shook it away though. He was not going to allow a minor bump in the road diminish his plans. Whoever held that amulet was giving his people a symbol to stand behind. All he had to do was quell that symbol.

  And cut its damn heart out.

  Soon, Cresul began to see that perhaps this little hiccup in his plan could glorify his name even more. A sure smile materialized upon his face. His eyes sought out the holder of Ashener’s Calling. Whoever they were, their last moments on this world were going to be remembered as the straw that broke the back of a dying country. Cresul was anxious again, ready to hold the head of this minor hiccup for Vallance to see. That would be the end of this newfound fervor.

  In his heart he knew. For glory and for Thorne, the end was near.

  -58-

  Captain Damien Winick could not help but shield his eyes from the torrent of light that flooded his vision. Many of the men under his
command did the same. He cursed again as he hollered for his men to fire. Though while many shielded their eyes, most had the opportunity to squeeze the triggers on their high-powered rifles, sending blue daggers of energy screaming before them. Finally, the light that engulfed them diminished as it passed them and continued to stretch out in all directions.

  At last, Winick was able to uncover his eyes, sure that there was no surviving a barrage such as that. He was certain that the Ro’Nihn would be crumbled and rolling in a heap toward his men. He was even more certain of the lifting of any taint that might have been carried upon his name had he botched up this task. Winick then found his breath stolen at the sight before him.

  As the light diminished in his view. Winick and his men saw again of the warrior before them. Somehow, the Ro’Nihn had survived the barrage unscathed and closed the distance fully. His cycle was turned sideways, and its belly faced the heart of Winick’s firing line. The Ro’Nihn’s left hand guided the cycle. His right now held a staff. His eyes told the story of his intention. Winick had half a breath to prepare though it was not enough.

  -59-

  Norryn’ cycle collided into the firing squad. At the last moment he kicked himself away from the cycle as it smashed upon the human wall before him. Norryn crashed upon the ground as his heavy ride crushed flesh and bone at high velocity. Screams of pain littered the scene as guns, debris, and blood spat in all directions. The cycle, now broken and bloodied, carried on as it crushed, killed, and rolled to a crippling stop.

  Shaking away the darkness that threatened to submerge him, Norryn willed himself to rise. His right leg resisted his will to move it as his lungs fought to replenish the breath taken from them. Using his staff, Norryn slowly propped himself to his feet. Around him he heard the gasps and sobs of wounded and dying men. Blotches of blood leaked from scrapes along his arms and pain seared through him as he sensed the survivors around him regrouping. Norryn willed what pain he could away as a strong voice plotted against him.

  The voice was almost shrill, delirious as it entered Norryn’s ears. “Kill him! Kill him now! Kill the bastard!” Norryn’s eyes slowly focused on the source of the noise and then his surroundings. Though the crash had been effective, five soldiers remained of the squad sent to stop him. While each held some form of injury, all five were still able to fight. At the command of the one screaming, the other four charged at him, firing as they approached.

  Taking up the staff supporting him, Norryn readied the weapon. Twisting it at the base, he separated the staff into two equal parts. Three hasty blasts preceded his opponents. One shot was dodged as two were deflected. Norryn heard the distinctive sound of dual bayonets emerge from the rifles rushing toward him. An exhale of breath separated him from the advancing soldiers.

  As they met, the defiant screams of the remaining ranks of Thorne met swift, engaging silence. The first to reach Norryn found his rifle redirected by one half of Norryn’s staff as the other crushed his throat. As he fell, the second made for a stabbing lunge. Continuing his motion, Norryn brought the staff in his right hand downward, sweeping the strike away and to the right. As the rifle redirected, Norryn moved the now unobstructed weapon smashing into the face of the second soldier in his way. Blood sprayed carelessly from the soldier’s face as he fell.

  With bladed rifle before him, the third soldier fired his second shot as he brought his rifle inches from his enemy. Shifting his midsection to the left, the laser blast glanced off Norryn’s armor close enough to feel the warmth underneath. Norryn continued the evasive maneuver by spinning as he dodged. As he did, he engaged the blades that extended from the base of his dual staves. Norryn finished his spin, driving both into the stomach of the third soldier. As he pulled the blades from his third victim, Norryn had just enough time to block the fourth soldier’s stab at him before collision took them to the bloody soil.

  The older, larger soldier of the ranks of Thorne moved quickly, with frantic energy. He had hold of the Ro’Nihn that had just killed so many of his comrades and wished to return the favor. As he crashed upon the ground on top of Norryn, he fished for the knife at his side. They rolled once, twice, and the Thorne native ended on top. Raising his dagger above his head, he drove it toward the throat of his target.

  Using his left arm, Norryn passed the strike to his side and the blade ate into the dirt. Pulsing with fury and adrenaline, his attacker raised the knife again. As the blade swooped down for a second attempt, Norryn evaded once more. Just before the soldier’s third strike, Norryn countered with a hard elbow to his abdomen. As the soldier grimaced, Norryn’s left hand shot up under the blade to his wrist. Using his forearm as he twisted his hand, he disarmed the man upon him. Norryn followed up the maneuver with a strike to the throat.

  Using the momentary distraction, Norryn reached up, locking his arms around the neck of his breathless assailant. Pulling him to the left, Norryn used the man’s body to block two laser blasts meant for him. The first clawed into the ground inches from them. The second tore into the Thorne soldier’s back, killing him quickly. Norryn felt the life escape as the man became a heavy sack of dead weight upon him. In the distance, the remaining commanding officer charged, sword in hand.

  Using what precious few seconds he held, Norryn rolled the dead soldier off his body. Getting his feet under him again he dodged a slash from above as it descended upon him. Captain Damien Winick followed through with a sideways slash which Norryn evaded before rolling upon the ground and away. Winick pursued, readying his blade above his head as he charged. Norryn was still poised upon the ground as Winick closed the distance.

  The blade tore down toward Norryn as he side-stepped the attack. As the blade met the ground, Norryn’s hands went to Winick’s head. Controlling the chin and base of Winick, Norryn wrenched, twisting his enemy to the ground. As Captain Winick crashed on the ground back first, Norryn grabbed his right wrist, the one that still held grip to the sword. Stepping his left foot across Winick’s chest, Norryn fell to his own back still gripping Winick’s wrist and clenching his arm between his legs.

  Locking the arm, applying pressure, Norryn raised the elbow of Winick’s arm with is hips. There was a distinct popping sound as Captain Winick surged with pain. As he screamed, Norryn took hold of his sword and rolled backwards and to his feet. In a swift swing he brought Damien’s own sword upon him, ending the captain’s cries. Leaving the sword where it lay, Norryn took a moment to regain himself and access the situation,

  Norryn’s body protested further action. The prolonged fighting and cycle crash had taken their toll. He could stop the bleeding if he willed it, but it would take time he didn’t have. The battle between Thorne and Vallance was still waging and one of the prime orchestrators was not far away. Reclaiming the two parts of his staff, Norryn drew a deep breath as he set his eyes upon true enemy of his people.

  And then Norryn walked slowly and steadily toward that man.

  -60-

  “The Ro’Nihn broke through! Open fire!”

  General Cresul was again appalled at the sheer audacity. The idiot from before was now, of all things, shouting orders! Not only that but many of his own personal guard were listening. Before the lackey had signed his own death sentence. Now he carried it on to his offspring. Cresul knew there wasn’t an equal among him. To have any of them think they knew his will was enough to send anger coursing through his façade of tranquility.

  “Stand down! Back to your positions. Let him come!” Cresul’s voice was ominous and haunting as he lowered himself from his horse. His men complied, though he was surprised to see that the lackey again saw fit to allow emotion to defeat his better judgment. He continued to fire at Cresul’s prize. Much to the relief of Cresul, his quarry deflected these shots and continued forward. The lackey had begun to reload.

  General Cresul unsheathed his dual blades. Both were lightweight and dangerous, also capable of firing two laser blasts from their bases. Cresul’s hands rejoiced at holding them again, remi
nding him that while an intellectual killer, the thrill of combat was not lost to him. Taking a few steps, he crossed the blades across his chest before slashing them both upon the man that dared to defy him.

  Blood riveted into the air. A choked gasp crept from the lips of the soldier as he dropped to his knees. His rifle trickled from his hands. His dying, betrayed eyes looked pleadingly at his commanding officer and death dealer.

  “Thank you, sergeant. That will be all.” Cresul passed the dying man in the direction of his approaching godsend. The soldier collapsed fully as Cresul gave one more order. “This is no ordinary Ro’Nihn. This boy is of the Ashener bloodline. And for that, he belongs to me and me alone.” No other soldier present that heard these words dared to dispute them.

  At last satisfied that his orders would be followed, Cresul allowed himself to focus on the incoming heir of the Ashener lineage. With all his flawless calculations, with all his masterful planning, he never would have allowed himself the notion that he would be allowed such a gift in the field of battle. The fact that it happened in the moment of his crowning achievement even more solidified his destiny in his mind. Cresul knew the men watching would speak of this moment always, adding the proverbial icing to the cake of the day. Putting grandeur from his thoughts for the moment, Cresul readied himself for his opponent.

  From the reports offered him, Cresul recognized Norryn Ashener almost immediately. The young heir’s steps were sure, despite the pain he was in and the exhaustion that was upon him. Blood clung to him like badges of honor, some his own and some belonging to others, as he gripped tightly to the staves in his hands. Around his neck was the symbol of his heritage. His eyes never left Cresul and Cresul himself respected how one so young could carry himself in such a matter. Norryn plodded toward him, seemingly having no regard for whether he lived or died. He had the heart and blood of a warrior and in that instant Cresul accepted him as a near equal.