Shadow Rises

by A W Tinney

  Frightened and inspired by the display of power, the herd around him began to chant, banging crude weapons on shields, locking horns with one another, whipping themselves into battle frenzy. Some even drew their own blood, barking foul promises to Morigana, beseeching the Shadow Witch for favour.

  “The city will be yours,” Tchensar called over the din. “Maim them. Kill them. Feast on their flesh. Bring ruin and change upon them all.”

  With a unified bellow that shook the mountainside, the six tribes charged. Tchensar watched them eagerly, holding his stave close.

  It begins.

  5

  Exemplar Kasela, Knight of the Iron Thorn and Defender of the City found her eyes ever drawn towards the floating orbs that were the Amethyst Isles. The thick clouds crackled with foul Void storms, silver flashes illuminating the city with foul light.

  “A poor portent, if ever there was one,” Nasir, her fellow night said.

  “Indeed,” Kasela responded. “Today is not our day, my friend.”

  “Is it ever?”

  A warning horn blared, the fifth in as many minutes, and Kasela’s eyes were drawn from the Isles to the gathering horde of beasts below.

  Thousands of the vile creatures approached. Their warped flesh illuminated by the shining Isle storms overhead, catching hues of violet, crimson and grey. Thick throaty bellows saturated the air, and the road that led to Faris-Manzil’s southern gate was soon flooded as ar’kans of all breeds spewed forth from the forested valleys. With them came rattling battalions of chariots, scores of crude war-machines and a tusked giant, warped by the powers of their heathen goddess.

  Atop the high walls of the silver fortress city Kasela watched the foe advance. She cursed herself for not foreseeing the attack. She should have placed the city on alert the moment her scouts did not return from the forest. Now there was scrambled panic as the Manzilian regiments mustered out of barracks and beds.

  “They look angry,” Nasir said, his breath misting before him. Kasela’s companion Knight was busy stringing his massive crossbow, a weapon he affectionately named Steel Rose. Though the Knights of the Iron Thorn were expected to fight with sword, halberd and lance, Nasir wielded a crossbow like no other, and the death he brought by its bolts permitted him to break protocol.

  “They do,” Kasela confirmed. “So, try not to miss.”

  “Don’t think that’s possible,” he said, nodding at the endless mass that surged towards the city. His fingers moved swiftly, despite the chill, pulling the cord over the laths.

  That same chill made Kasela shudder. The walls of Faris-Manzil were high, and even in her elaborate gilded plate armour, the Exemplar felt the cold creeping. The wind caught her copper hair, that shimmered with her silver-tinged skin, her own physicality blessed by Goannus. Her left hand gripped the sword hilt at her waist tighter, as the prospect of battle became a reality. As a child of the city, Kasela would give her life to defend it.

  Behind and below the pair, a growl rose from their panthra steeds, sheltered in a stable of stone and timber beams. Kasela’s mount, a silver-furred beast named Selvar shuddered with fury, pulling aggressively at the chains that fettered him. His predatory senses had caught the stench of the approaching herds and the panthra was eager to end their abhorrent existence.

  “Fine time to be on guard duty,” grumbled Sergeant Larim.

  “Where else would you be?” Nasir chided as the old Sergeant lumbered towards the Knights.

  “Laid out in a tavern with copper ale in my belly and a wench under each arm.”

  “Come now, Lari. Be truthful. It’s been a good few years since you’ve had any luck like that,” Kasela pointed out.

  Larim let out a single grunting laugh. The veteran watchman was aged, silver-grey hair and beard peeking out from under a steel helmet. He held his usual halberd in his right arm, the two-handed shaft at home in his grasp despite its length. Larim had no choice, for he had lost his left hand to a particularly ferocious hobgoblin, many years past. A shield was strapped to the stump, allowing him the means to protect himself. His scarred face looked sourly on the approaching horde. “I knew they’d come.”

  “Did you?” Kasela asked.

  The sergeant spat. “Aye. There’s been an odd stench in the air of late. Foul. Something didn’t sit right.”

  “You sure that wasn’t your own odour?” Nasir quipped.

  Larim was solemn. “Would that it was, lad. Been having dreams of late too. Horrible memories.”

  “Of pox-faced wenches?”

  “Of when the Portal closed.”

  Kasela tutted. “You’re not that old, Sergeant. No one has memories of that time.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s not something I want repeated all the same.”

  Kasela nodded. She had heard the stories, read the histories, as all in Faris Manzil had. That day, when the city had been over-run by ar’kan herds and demons from another reality. A time when fire and molten iron reigned from the sky, when Goannus wept tears of fire upon the earth in anguish. The twisted screams of the dying could be heard in every corner. The Void beasts come in their thousands, splitting forth from the bowels of reality, scoring iridescent scars in the very air as they burst from the Shadow realm.

  Then, when all had seemed lost, the god-warriors had come. Indomitable in their god blessed armour, the Vigilants smashed aside all resistance, marching to the Portal with purpose. No one ever knew what transpired then. All that was known was the Vigilants had sealed the portal from the other side, and only one of their numbered returned. The Knight looked back over her shoulder, seeing the small chapel that once housed the portal set in the centre of the city, surrounded by the dilapidated Solder. Within those abandoned walls a legend brooded.

  We could use the might of Balar’s finest now, she thought, yet knew that wish was in vain. The Vigilant known as Aurelian had become a recluse, ignorant to the comings and goings of the mining city. Instead, he secreted himself within the chapel, holding his Vigil in solitude, a mighty storm trapped within stone walls, refusing to be released. Kasela regarded his self-imposed exile as a waste of valuable talent; a sword like his would make all the difference in the coming fight.

  “Orders, Kasela?”

  The Knight turned back to Larim. “Hold the walls, at all costs. I have troops organising the evacuation of the city. Citizens are to take shelter in the mines.”

  The elderly soldier chewed his lips. “Fine strategy. What of the Balar blessed?”

  “If Vigilant Aurelian wishes to join us, then that is his choice. I will not wait for him to decide.”

  “Not all of us are blessed with the patience of immortals,” Nasir added.

  Larim nodded. “Aye. The walls then. Let’s hope you’ll still have a city to be Defender of before days end.”

  The sergeant turned and barked to a group of spearmen who moved ponderously. “Look lively you maggots. There’s bloody work coming your way.” He nodded to Kasela. “Best be getting to it. Balar be with you, and may the Forger bless your steel.”

  “And yours, Sergeant.”

  He stomped away, bellowing various orders to soldiers, preparing them for the coming assault. Kasela took a moment to regard her surroundings. Faris-Manzil was a huge city, built atop a flat-topped mountain deep within the Vulchan Peaks. It surrounded a series of deep mines, that burrowed far into the earth, spewing wealth and prosperity to all those that farmed them. The walls themselves were almost one hundred feet high, thick stone reinforced by sheets of dull steel crafted by expert gnome smiths. Fifty-three turrets bristled their length, each round and adorned with murder holes and pots of molten iron. In all it was a formidable fortress, designed to protect the vast wealth nestled within, and capable of withstanding all but the most determined assault.

  And this was a determined assault. Kasela had never bore witness to so many void creatures skittering before her. An endless tide.

  “Bet the chapter house looks attractive right now,” Nasir said.
“Imagine being sat in front of the hearth, with nothing but a book for company.”

  “Not for all the wealth in the Forger’s Hoard.”

  Kasela silently agreed. The Order of the Iron Thorn chapter house was a minute hall hidden deep in the Malachite Plateau to the north of Manzilia. All that resided there was dust and ill memory, and the aging Chapter Mistress, Cassia, who spent her days pouring over endless tomes and ledgers, lost in a quest of pages that she would not talk about. There was no opportunity for glory found there. As such, the Order itself dwindled, with only a dozen or so warriors scattered throughout the realm.

  That had not suited Kasela nor Nasir, and so, after much questing and purpose searching the pair found themselves stationed in Faris-Manzil. As an Exemplar, the task of leading the city guard fell to her. Which was all the better, for the generals of the Manzilian regiments were naught but high-born opportunists, who grew fat in their palaces and knew nothing of the ways of war.

  Under Kasela’s stern tutelage the once lax garrison had been tempered into a well-oiled war machine. Even now amid a surprise attack bombarded with the ceaseless blare of warning horns, order began to establish. The vast battlements were manned by four entire regiments of Manzilian Guard; the Obsidian Blades, The Hounds of Steel, Manzil’s Hammers, and the Forge Born. Rows of spears, swords and halberds shimmered brightly atop the silver walls. Heavy chains clattered, and portholes were hauled open, revealing the sinister barrels of goliath cannons and other war-machines crewed by the city’s engineers. Arquebusiers and crossbowmen lined up in ranks, weapons ready to pour death on the incoming horde. They would defend Faris-Manzil and defend her well.

  The Exemplar raised her arm, signalling the engineer commanders. “Prepare first volley,” she called to them. A soot-stained gnome lifted a closed fist, confirming he received the order. The stunted engineer turned to his crew.

  Nasir grinned fanatically. “Time to cover your ears.”

  Kasela barely had time to do so as the full complement of artillery fired. Cannon balls of steel, bullets of reinforced lead and barbed crossbow bolts slammed into the ar’kan herds. Mortar shells erupted in a flurry of molten hot steel, shredding all those around into strings of flesh. Rockets sizzled and zigzagged overhead, slamming into the oncoming horde to explode with clouds of crimson flame. It was fire, steel and death.

  Yet the ar’kans kept coming, hundreds upon hundreds pouring from the forests and slopes on the horizon. They roared in unison. A taunt.

  “Looks like they are resolved to die today.” Nasir had strung his weapon and waited eagerly. “Seem a shame to leave them wanting.”

  Kasela drew her blade. “Indeed. Let us grant them their wish.”

  The herds slammed into the walls, an uncountable mass of bodies hurling themselves forward. The beasts charged the city aimlessly, chanting, cawing, snorting. Crude siege engines unleashed a volley of stone boulders that shattered against the shimmering metal walls, tearing iron, steel and stone alike. Kasela staggered as one boulder struck the vicinity to her left, carving a crater on the parapet. A curt bellow from a master engineer and the artillery responded with another volley. Their shots fell true, reducing many of the opposing war-machines to splinters.

  The snap of arquebuses and the twang of crossbow strings mingled with the meaty howls of the dying ar’kans. Raw fumes of gunpowder, dust and blood assailed all mortal beings. Rank after rank of Manzilian’s fired their weapons, yet still the void beasts came on. Ladders were raised, ar’kan sappers cawing loudly. The giant had made it to the walls, thick snorting rasps rumbling from a behemoth maw. His massive muscled arms rose, bringing the trunk of an uprooted bronze tree upon the gate. A flight of crow-feathered arrows launched, darkening the purple sky and falling upon the defenders. Defenders screamed, dying. Kasela pointed her blade at the skulking un’kans who were already notching another volley.

  “End them,” she bellowed, and a rank of crossbows thrummed, bolts ripping the un’kans to shreds.

  Nasir added his own weapon to the fray. His skill was unparalleled, and he fired bolt after bolt without pause, claiming the lives of many. He laughed heartily as he shot. “This is fine hunting.”

  “You’re about to have a lot more game,” Kasela rasped as the chanting growls of the Void beasts grew louder.

  Thick, twisted claws clamped down on the crenellations as the first wave mounted the walls. An ar’kan champion, its skin coated with runic charms that glowed with shadow magic, held onto the apex of the ladder and launched itself forward as the ladder hit home. Kasela readied her sword, adopting a fighting stance as the ar’kan charged her. The canine-like beast snorted sinisterly, an axe and shield waving barbarically. Kasela took a step back, sword held before her. She swatted the first blow aside, a clumsy swipe at her gut and used the creature’s momentum to shove it aside. The champion recovered expertly, raining blows upon Kasela.

  The Exemplar caught each heavy chop on her blade, moving swiftly in her armour, accustomed to its weight. “Balar take you,” Kasela cursed as her foe continued its endless, untiring assault.

  With a jolt the ar’kan bellowed, a bolt piercing its shoulder. The sudden pause offered Kasela the opening she needed. She spun to its flank and sliced her sword diagonally, opening the beasts face from eye to jaw. It groaned meekly, shuddered to its knees, and died.

  Kasela turned to Nasir. “That one counts as mine,” she said.

  There was no time to receive any response. The Void beasts were spilling onto the walls, clambering up the ladders like gem-ants over a mound of jewels. Kasela caught the spear shaft of a plucky un’kan and pulled it towards her. It fell into the waiting blade of a halberdier, but Kasela was already meeting the next threat as foe after foe appeared from below.

  “Hold them,” she bellowed over the din. “Keep them from the city. For the Balar and the Forger!”

  “Balar and the Maker!” The cry was carried along the wall.

  Beasts of all hues assailed her. Ar’kans stomped forward with canine like lopes, fanged maws splitting open in horrific bites. Kasela drove a dozen or more of the foul creatures back, only to have two dozen take their place. A mor’kan scrambled over the walls, tearing a chunk of stone under its bulk. A mighty axe swung out, shattering the armour and bone of any Manzilian who came near.

  “Bring it down,” Kasela barked. “Bring the bastard down.”

  Nasir obeyed and shot at the brute. Despite his expert marksman ship, the bolts failed to achieve anything save enraging the beast. It stomped towards him, swirling its heavy blade.

  “Nasir,” Kasela called in warning.

  Nasir dodged nimbly, but barrelled into the chest of an ar’kan chieftain, who raked at him with talon-like hands. The Knight’s armour offered protection from the worst of the assault, yet blood began to run from his face, where iron claws tore at his skull.

  Kasela pushed towards him, blocked by a trio of un’kan, who raised shields and jabbed at her with crude spiked spears. She called out to Nasir in warning as the mor’kan raised its axe for the killing blow.

  A sudden fury of blood and fur saw the mor’kan bowled over. From the vast stairs leading to the wall, Selvar and Nasir’s steed Fumina sprang forth. The panthras battered the Void beasts aside, paws, claws and fangs carving a meaty path. Fumina gouged at the mor’kan until nothing remained but gory ruin. A cheer rose from the Manzilians as the ar’kans faltered in the face of such feral onslaught. Fumina coiled herself around Nasir, shielding him from further attack.

  Selvar approached and Kasela patted his neck. “Well done,” she praised and the panthra purred contently, then growled and pounced on a charging ar’kan. Selvar’s steel claws made short work of the hunched beast thing. Kasela mounted her steed, its bulk taking up most of the narrow parapet. Together, sword and claw made short work of the invading horde.

  “Hold them here,” she bellowed. “They go no further!”

  She chopped down at the nearest ar’kan ending its life. The battle rag
ed on, Kasela directing her troops and laying about her in the vicious dance of melee.

  “We kill them here,” she cried. “We do not falter.” Looking out at the seemingly endless trail of invaders frothing on the horizon, Kasela prayed to Balar and to Goannus that her words would be true.

  6

  “By the gods that slumber girl, let me past,” Eresor grumbled.

  “The city is under attack, gnome. Can’t you see that?”

  Eresor was arguing with a particularly young, and by all accounts inexperienced guard. The woman had been stationed at the sky-docks, in the northern half of the city, where the walls gave way to the sheer vertical slopes of the vast mountains above. The guard was alone, barring the bronze walkway that led upward to the docks and the ships arrayed there. Eresor’s ship, The Firedawn, was the only vessel of sky-gnome design harboured there. The rest were human airships, pale imitations of gnomish craftsmanship and used only to ferry goods at low altitude from one end of the city to the other. The guard was a stubborn lass and seemed to consider herself the unequivocal master of her position. A polearm was held aggressively outward, blade pointed just above the gnome’s head. Far behind him, to the walls that surrounded the city, the boom of cannon and howl of battle sounded. It did not bother Eresor. This was not his fight after all.

  He said as much to the guard, and she simply shook her head. “When the hordes are running through these streets, we’ll need every blade we can to defend the people. Including yours.”

  “Your walls will continue to hold without me. And if they don’t, so be it, but I plan on being far across the horizon before dusk.”

  “I am under strict instructions to let no one access the docks.” She levelled the blade further, shaking.

  `“You’re wasting my time,” Eresor grumbled. “I have a highly capable crew in that airship, and if you don’t let me through, I will signal to them. Let’s see how you’d like thirty pistols and a dozen carbines pointed at your thick skull.”