Soldiers of Legend

by Stephen L. Nowland

  Sensing it unwise to remain stationary, Aiden rushed through the smoky battlefield, using the fallen rubble as cover as he sought every advantage he could find. As he crouched down behind a pillar of charred brickwork, the remains of the building exploded as the Ironlord charged through, its sword sweeping towards him.

  Aiden sprawled forward, barely avoiding the blade but falling flat on his face in the process. Its heavy metal boot kicked him, sending him skidding across the ground. Salinder slid from his hand, coming to rest several yards away while he clutched at his leg gasping in pain.

  “Thy stolen power has fled thee,” it intoned with its inhuman tenor as it loomed over him. “Left to thine own reserves of courage, thou findst thyself… lacking.” Aiden peered up at the monstrous construct, noting with dismay all the damage he had inflicted upon it slowly diminishing as the Ironlord repaired its carapace.

  Aiden was about to respond when a soft radiance filled the smoky air with light. He twisted around and looked in the direction it was coming from, as did his metal foe. What they saw, was quite simply, beautiful.

  A glowing feminine figure hovered ten feet off the ground, wreathed in a white light that seemed to form wings around it. Aiden lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the intensity, and gaped in disbelief as he noticed the face of the being was familiar to him.

  Nellise, empowered by a force Aiden didn’t understand, lifted her arms and bathed the battlefield in a refreshing breeze, which blew away the stench of smoke and death. Aiden felt a resurgence of strength as the pain in his body subsided. Around the courtyard, the wounded and dying were feeling the same effect, healing over their wounds and bringing them peace and comfort.

  The Ironlord evidently didn’t appreciate this show of power, for it began to raise its hand towards the angelic figure, with the obvious intention of obliterating her with its devastating weapon. In an instant, Nellise’s expression turned from peaceful, to one of anger.

  With a sound like a chorus of angry angels, a bolt of heavenly fire exploded from her raised hands, engulfing the Ironlord and blasting it from its feet. A second bolt came at it with similar intensity, searing its metal hide and charring the ground around it. With this display of incredible power, the light faded from Nellise as she gracefully descended back to earth.

  Above her, a glowing ball of light hummed for a moment, before completely vanishing from sight. She smiled faintly for a moment before slumping to the ground, unconscious. Aiden lay upon the battlefield, which, aside from the distant howl of mountain winds, had fallen quiet.

  Scrambling to his feet, he rushed over and grasped Salinder by the hilt. Upon picking it up, the sword flared to life one last time. Aiden could practically sense the ebbing energy of the dragon spirit within, so he activated his still red-hot gauntlet, turned about, and with firm resolve charged at the still prone Ironlord. Sparks flashed as it began to repair itself, but Aiden wasn’t about to give it the time it needed.

  He leaped as high as he could, with the blazing light of Salinder raised above him and with a roar of defiance, brought the point of the soulsword down on the Ironlord’s face.

  Salinder flashed with light as the last of the dragon’s energy crackled into the monster’s head. The blazing red eyes went out as a shower of sparks shot forth, and after a moment of twitching, the Ironlord lay still.

  Aiden wobbled unsteadily as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes transfixed on the prone form of the immense construct before him. He dispelled the strength from his gauntlet, which was whining and smoking to an alarming degree. The rough old soulsword that had contained Salinder’s spirit these past weeks seemed mundane once more, lacking any sign of power or life. A quick scan with his enhanced sight showed Aiden that it was completely devoid of magical energy. Salinder was no more.

  Unsure what to do with himself, Aiden glanced around the courtyard, taking in the sheer destruction the Iron Legion had visited upon the fort. The twisted hulks of the constructs dotted the landscape, surrounded by piles of bodies, the fallen heroes of Highmarch who had given their all to end this threat to their homelands.

  Aiden turned to regard Nellise, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully as she lay on the ground next to the keep. Sounds of life could be heard amongst the carnage as dozens of men and women stirred, saved from death by Nellise’s intervention.

  From behind, the sound of grinding metal caught Aiden’s attention, a familiar sharp racket of sparks and metal fusing together. With a dreadful premonition, he slowly turned to see the Ironlord reach up with one hand and break the weathered old soulsword in half, tossing the hilt aside like so much garbage.

  Aiden took a step backwards as the immense construct slowly regained its footing, its eyes blazing with light once again as it gradually repaired the damage it had sustained. Aiden couldn’t take his despairing eyes from the damned thing, unable to comprehend the artifice required to create a machine that could survive such punishment.

  “A worthy attempt,” it grated through its metal helm. “But all for naught. The war goes on, as it always has.”

  On a reflex, Aiden touched his enchanted belt and spoke the word of power that would activate his spectral armour. Without the benefit of the acadian warrior spirits, his senses seemed sluggish in spite of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The Ironlord swung its fist at him in an almost dismissive fashion, impacting directly on his chest.

  Aiden was thrown aside, kept alive only by the protective enchantment. He landed heavily on the ground and skidded across the uneven surface, gasping for breath as the unstoppable juggernaut stomped towards the keep.

  Unsure if the king had retreated by now, or if he and Criosa were still within the confines of the keep, Aiden reactivated his gauntlet and steeled his resolve before charging back in once more, leaving a trail of thick black smoke in his wake. He narrowly avoided its fist and connected with his own.

  The ring of metal on metal echoed across the courtyard as the Ironlord crashed to the ground. Aiden kept moving, hoping to avoid any retaliation from his mighty foe and felt one of its arms narrowly miss him as he lunged forward.

  He hurled himself physically at its chest, but his weight was insignificant and he simply fell on the ground as it stood. Sensing his vulnerability, Aiden rolled to one side as its fist slammed into the earth, then rose to one knee just in time to be punched in the chest.

  Aiden flew through the air and crashed into the wall of the keep, momentarily stunned from the power of the impact. Aiden shook his head and snapped out of his stupor just in time to see the Ironlord raise its palm towards him. Hurling himself away from the wall with his augmented strength, Aiden was only clipped by the brilliant lance of light that shot past him, tearing up the keep and destroying his spectral armour in the process.

  As he picked himself up off the ground, smoke rose from his charred clothing, a sure sign of how close he’d come to oblivion. He had risen to one knee when suddenly, the Ironlord was upon him, a huge metal fist drawn back ready to end his life in one swift blow. As it plunged toward him, he lifted his arm and caught the incoming fist with his gauntlet.

  Aiden gritted his teeth as he held it in place, while the Ironlord put its full weight behind the assault, trying to crush him into the ground. Aiden’s feet lost their purchase on the ground and he was pushed backwards, as the might of the construct simply overwhelmed him. His hand was beginning to burn from the heat of his gauntlet, which was screeching like a hornet under the load and he knew he had only moments left.

  Aiden reversed his approach and pulled down on the immense metal arm, while stepping in and lifting with his other. The sheer weight of the construct hurtled forward and Aiden roared loudly as he heaved with all of his might, lifting the Ironlord over his head and sending it crashing through the wall of the keep.

  The sound of the impact was deafening. Already damaged from the brilliant lance, the wall of solid stone bricks came tumbling down on top of the ancient war machine. Aiden stepped back as th
e entire southeast corner of the keep crumbled, burying the Ironlord under a small mountain of broken grey stone.

  A cloud of dirt and debris erupted from the ruins, enveloping half of the courtyard in the process. Aiden coughed and struggled for breath, but as he stood amongst the destruction his gauntlet, white-hot and smoking, suddenly exploded.

  Aiden screamed in pain and clutched at his charred arm. He fell to the ground, struggling for breath in the smoke-filled air and stifling the urge to cry out. Looking down, he saw his arm severely burned from the explosion and one of his smaller fingers missing.

  As the smoke and dirt began to clear, he could see a few robed individuals moving amongst the wounded, doing what they could to keep people alive. As much as he wanted to seek aid, Aiden knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Far worse had been thrown at the Ironlord before, yet it had risen up to continue fighting.

  Aiden hobbled over the ruins and into the keep, down along the main hallway to see the king and his daughter rushing downstairs to see what had just happened.

  “Aiden!” Criosa cried, rushing to him with her arms wide. He winced as she fiercely embraced him, but thankfully pulled back after a brief moment. “Dear God, you’re a mess,” she breathed as she took in his appearance.

  “That hardly matters now,” he croaked. “It’s going to get back up again at any moment — you’ve got to evacuate the fort.”

  “I already ordered those of the cavalry still able to ride to escort civilians to Fenwick,” King Seamus rumbled, drawing his sword as he leaned on Sir Leonard for support. “I will not retreat one step further,”

  “He’s right, Your Majesty,” the stoic knight informed him. “No further good can come from your presence, or that of your daughter.”

  “It’s bad enough I wasn’t able to direct the fight, man — I won’t bring shame to my family name by backing out now. Get Criosa out of here though, she doesn’t need to be here any longer.”

  “I told you, I’m not leaving you, father!” she protested as she led Aiden over. Before anything more could be said, the rubble exploded upwards as the Ironlord arose from its tomb, sending broken pieces of stone and wood tumbling across the flagstone floor.

  “Back away!” Aiden ordered, forgetting who he was addressing in his distress. He could barely walk, let alone continue the battle against a force that never tired, never stopped. Their small contingent hobbled through a nearby door into the Baron’s chambers as they heard the Ironlord slowly approaching, the stone under its feet cracking with each step.

  “No corner of this vast land will shield thee from mine righteous wrath,” it intoned with a hollow voice, walking straight through the wall of the cosy sitting room. Criosa stifled a scream as it towered over them, its head bowed slightly to avoid the ceiling. Seamus grabbed her and pushed her behind him, trying to shield his daughter with his body.

  “You have an intelligence I never expected from a soulless machine,” he said, quelling his fear as he stood toe to toe with the massive construct, glaring defiantly up into its blazing amber eyes. “Will you listen to reason?”

  “I cannot abide thy continued breath,” it informed the king emotionlessly. “Long have I waited for this moment, locked away in the darkness for a century and more.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Criosa whimpered, her stoic façade crumbling.

  “It was so ordered, and I must obey,” the Ironlord intoned. Behind it, out in the hallway, Aiden saw the movement of a black robe. He struggled to maintain his composure at the sight of Terinus, returned at last. The black wizard held a finger to his grey lips, signalling for quiet. In his hand, he held the staff Aiden and the others had recovered from the desert, intact and fully repaired.

  “Ordered by whom?” Seamus demanded, oblivious to the events taking place behind the Ironlord’s immense bulk. Before it could answer, Terinus lifted the staff and pressed his fingers upon some of the runes upon its shaft. A strange whirring sound emerged from the construct, and for a moment Aiden held his breath, wondering what had just happened.

  The Ironlord, sensing movement, turned and spied the wizard standing there. It swung a massive fist at him, impacting spectral armour Terinus had wisely incanted to protect himself. He still went tumbling through the air, losing his grip on the staff as he fell. While this happened however, Aiden noticed that something had changed on the construct’s back.

  A hatch had opened, revealing the dark innards of the machine standing before them. Aiden and Criosa stared at it in astonishment for a fleeting moment, until it turned around again and struck down the king and a robed priest in one swipe.

  “What hast thou done?” it bellowed, attempting to reach around to its back with its oversized hands. Aiden wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that question, but he suspected a weakness had just been revealed, a fact that was not lost on Criosa.

  Distracted by the opened hatch, the Ironlord swung its bulk around at random, with the agile woman ducking and diving to avoid contact as she drew her rapier and maneuvered for position. From out in the hall, Terinus began an incantation and a moment later, Criosa began zipping about even faster than before, augmented by the wizards’ powerful magic.

  Aiden stumbled over to the king and saw he was still alive, although barely. The priest who lay next to him had been partially crushed in the attack, ending the poor man’s life instantly. Aiden grabbed hold of the king’s arm and pulled him over towards the fire, away from the continuing battle taking place only yards away.

  Terinus was back in action, sending a bolt of lightning at the Ironlord. Not only did it have the usual effect of causing its limbs to judder and shake uncontrollably, but this time it arched backwards and let out a very human roar of pain. Aiden was dumbstruck for a moment, until it occurred to him that the construct’s voice, along with its intellect seemed to point to a very obvious conclusion. Some aspect of the machine was human — and that meant that Robert’s initial assumption had been right all along. It could be killed.

  The Ironlord flailed ineffectually at Criosa with its massive arms, sundering brick and stone as her magic kept her one step ahead of the staggering construct. She suddenly winked out, and reappeared on its back, with her rapier poised to strike.

  With one swift motion stabbed her weapon into the darkness of its interior. The Ironlord screamed as the princess withdrew her weapon and gasped. A deathly silence descended upon the scene as she took an uncertain step back, and a moment later a pale, claw-like hand emerged from within the cavity.

  As Aiden watched, a thin, emaciated old man clawed his way out of the construct’s unmoving metal shell, blood spilling from a wound in his chest as he gasped for breath. His tiny, withered frame collapsed on to the back of the Ironlord. A number of black cords wound their way from his bald scalp, back into the depths of the machine itself. With rheumy, squinting eyes he glared at the king with unnerving hatred for a long moment.

  “Usurper… blaggard… I will never yield,” he whispered with a broken voice, just before the light faded from his eyes and he moved no more.

  There was naught but silence as everyone present stared at the scene, trying to make sense of it all. Terinus stepped into the office and stared down at their defeated enemy without a hint as to what he was thinking.

  “I know that face,” Criosa finally said, breaking the eerie silence.

  “This man must be over a century in age, judging from his appearance,” Terinus supplied in his rasping voice.

  “Of course, that’s who it is,” Criosa said, pointing at the wall above the fireplace. Aiden looked and saw the portrait that still hung there, at an odd angle to be sure and clearly much younger, but without a doubt it was the same man. The caption on the portrait’s frame read ‘King Alaric I, founder of Aielund’.

  “How can this be?” Aiden breathed, looking around at the others for answers that did not come.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As the sun sank below the horizon, Aiden and Nellise walked amongst the de
vastation of Highmarch. She had used what little strength she had left to heal the worst of his injuries, ensuring he wouldn’t die from blood loss.

  Light snow was falling onto the battlefield, dusting in white the twisted wrecks of the war golems, stopped at such an immense cost of life. The bodies of the fallen were gathered near the chapel, one of the few buildings within the courtyard to remain standing. Everyone able to move was herded inside the keep itself, for nightfall was fast approaching and the temperature was plummeting rapidly.

  After the adrenaline had worn off, Aiden felt the full measure of his wounds. The sting of his lost finger hurt the most, but the burnt arm was a close second. The scrolls he had unleashed had filled Aiden with such energy as he had never known, and the abrupt cessation of the incantations gnawed away at his mind. Criosa had ordered him to rest in bed while she organized the clean-up operation, but there were a few important matters he had to attend to.

  Amongst the survivors was Morik Far-Eagle, though he had been grievously wounded in the fight. Of his warriors, more than half had been slain during the fight. The women of Akora had willingly paid the ultimate price to stall the enemy advance, and Aiden looked at them with admiration.

  “I’ve rarely seen such courage as they displayed today,” he murmured to Nellise as the tall, proud women helped their chief move into the keep. A few of them saw Nellise and Aiden, and raised their hands in respect.

  “They come from a resilient people,” Nellise affirmed. “Few could have done their task better, and their return to Akora will undoubtedly have implications for their culture. For the better, I should hope.”

  “They can hardly get any worse.”

  “There is that,” Nellise agreed. “Where are we heading?”

  “Towards the battlements,” Aiden rasped. “I need to know if our friends survived.”