So much for red being the color of Liongloom Dynasty.
“Is there a chance of Toren being a wine drinking maniac who wrote the book when he had had a little too many cups?”
Diyana smiled, “There are better chances of Sanrick Faerson winning a tourney than of Toren being a drunk maniac. He might be a drunk genius though. There are a lot of those in Silentgarde as well.”
Olver caressed the mane of his horse, as it whinnied nervously. Olver’s looked at the ground, and at the red grains of sand that looked untrampled by humans or animals alike since the beginning of time. He knew a foe like the one Diyana mentioned was beyond the skill of any soldier who rode with him, and an impending sense of doom took hold of his heart.
“If that is the case then we need to prepare for these bats.” Olver advised, and Diyana nodded and then asked, “but how?”
“By galloping away from them like the wind and hoping that they can’t run as fast as a horse,” muttered Olver, staring at the path ahead, “but be careful not to tell anyone else what you told me. It will cause a lot of wet breeches among the men, and I am in no mood to get my blood sucked by bats and to smell piss on the same day.”
“I believe they ought to know. For if what Toren says is true and these creatures are in fact as grotesque as the book says, then their sight will cause the men to stiffen even before they can unsheathe their swords. It is better if they are prepared to face such creatures, at least then, fear will not freeze their muscles into inaction. I would prefer piss stained breeches to paralyzed soldiers any day, your grace,” Diyana reasoned.
Even if the men did wet their breeches, they did not show it, and neither did the smell give it away. But the dread in the air was palpable. Sanrick Faerson had almost puked after Olver had described the creatures while Garen had sat still as a statue, expressionless and emotionless.
The men rode in silence, occasionally turning their heads and glancing back or sideways, imagining eyes peering from behind trees or from bushes. The forest was calm. A kind of calm that you wish would be broken by a noise, because it begins to haunt you. A calm that envelopes you and makes you imagine noises where there were none, a kind of calm that almost makes you wish for the sound of someone screaming, the sound of death. Olver’s hand was on the hilt of his sword, which he had already unsheathed in order to save time in the event of an attack. Diyana had already nocked an arrow to the bowstring, the silver metal head of the arrow glinting menacingly in the sunlight that filtered through the canopy of trees.
But will it kill the creatures of death?
And then Olver saw it.
He saw a black shape, hanging upside down from the branch of a tree, a few strides to his right. Olver looked closely, and the figure looked like a cloaked man who had tied his feet to the branch and had hung himself on his head, his cloak wrapped around him like a second skin. And at that moment Olver’s heart skipped many beats, and a sudden chill slithered down his spine, and yet he started to sweat under his armor. He raised his hand and signaled the riders to halt. He placed a finger on his dry lips and then pointed towards the black figure that hung among the trees like a corpse that had been left for the crows to feed upon. The Aerdonians stopped in their tracks, each pair of eyes on the black figure and each hand on a weapon.
“Let me shoot,” Diyana whispered.
“No,” Olver mouthed, “We keep moving forward.”
The Aerdonians resumed their journey once again, but this time they moved slowly, almost riding at a crawl, their senses heightened by fear, and it was not until the black shape was left behind and was out of sight, did the soldiers remove their eyes from the ominous figure. For several long hours, the Aerdonians marched in silence and did not encounter anything terrible. But all the while, Olver could feel eyes on him, although he did not see them, and the fear of being attacked never left him, and as the sun waned, and the first twinkle of stars became visible among the leaves of the forest, darkness began to creep all around them, and the bathed the woods in an unnerving blackness.
“We rest for a bit, and then we move again.”
No one questioned Olver’s decision, for the dark was all around them and the thought of sitting by the light of a fire, attentively, surveying the forest with their swords in their hands, seemed like a good prospect to the weary soldiers.
And thus, the Aerdonians made camp in a small clearing that hardly justified the word. The fires that the soldiers thought would bring comfort soon turned to be the cause of their misery as the air around them suddenly turned warm and humid, and the red dust beneath their feet began to feel as if it had been exposed to a bright sun throughout the day. Huddled in groups of two or three, the Aerdonians sat quietly, each man and each woman battling thoughts of uncertainty, trying to gaze deep into the darkness that surrounded them, trying to find the enemy they did not yet know existed, while the enemy had been watching them throughout the day, waiting for the night to fall, and their warm blood to become ripe for sucking.
It took a while for anyone to notice them. Small beady eyes, red with black dots, flickering like beacons in a dark valley, gradually starting to appear all around them, surrounding them from every direction.
The bats had finally found them. Death had found them.
It was Diyana who sounded the alarm as she blew the war horn that hung from her neck. Three long shrill blasts woke the Aerdonians, three blasts that meant an attack. The soldiers on guard had already assumed fighting positions, fumbling nervously with their sword belts, unsheathing their swords in two tries, and guarding the parameter of the camp.
Other soldiers heard the call and soon, swordsmen were busy putting on ringmail, and archers were busy notching arrows on their bowstring. The bannermen had already hoisted the banners of the four kingdoms and men-at-arms had already mounted their destriers, and those who were far away from their horses had just huddled together in the center, forming the core of the defense.
Olver had not yet fallen asleep, and he was already giving orders as he rode in circles, rousing the soldiers and overseeing the preparations to face the attack.
But why don’t they attack? What are they waiting for?
“Pikes in the front, followed by swordsmen and then the archers. Diyana, do you think your warriors can give us a shield wall?” Olver shouted amidst the sound of clamoring armor and neighing horses.
“Not enough warriors for a three-fold shield wall, or even two, but I can still give you a shield wall with a single line of warriors.”
“That will do. Garen, I want Calypsian mounted archers on the sides, they will have a better angle from there.”
“I will face the attack along with the pikes; it would be better if you stay with the foot soldiers in the middle,” Garen shouted back.
“You need to be in the middle, Garen. You need to survive.” Olver protested.
“I need to kill someone,” and with that, the Calypsian shouted for his men-at-arms to follow him to the front of the defense, along with the warriors of Maeryn, who had already finished forming a shield wall. Icy cold and mortally dangerous tips of spears and swords which poked out from between the little gaps in the shield wall waited for the attack of whatever was hiding in the dark of the forest. Elsa and Sanrick surrounded themselves with soldiers of their own kingdom in the middle of the circle, and the fat face of the boy-king of Harduin looked ghostly white, and like a pigeon, his face kept twitching and jerking, and horror-stricken eyes kept darting from one pair of red eyes to the other.
Elsa Faerson looked as if she was made of stone. Her face did not give away anything.
And then they waited.
Olver stared hard into the dark, and suddenly he began noticing shapes and outlines. The red eyes were floating above a human-like body, and after staring for a while, Olver started to make out the faint outlines of legs, long, hairy and black, reminding him of the pillars that held the roof of the Black Hall back home.
Suddenly the wind picked up speed, and the
massive trees swayed for the first time since they entered the Endless Forest. It was an astonishing sight, as Olver had never seen trees so thick and mighty, standing tall like holdfasts and watchtowers, moving about like giants of his childhood tales dancing on the peaks of Zaeyos. The tallest of them stood directly before Olver, its thick trunk and sprawling roots creating a web on the forest floor, and from behind this stocky trunk emerged the first creature. All black from head to toe, and with the face of a bat, or a hideously deformed rat, the ancient creature stepped in the light of the torches and spread its wings.
Ever since Diyana had told Olver about the human-bats of the Endless Forest, he had tried imagining how they would look in his head, but what stood before him was far viler and horrifying than anything he had pictured in his head.
Standing on two feet, with wings that had dagger-like claws at its end, and a mouth lined with yellow pointy teeth, and a long sticky tongue that hung a few inches from its snarling face; the human-bat stood taller than any soldier that accompanied Olver. The creature was breathing heavily, and the red eyes with black slits were staring straight into the brown ones of Olver.
Olver stared right back, unflinching and unmoving.
The ancient magic of the wizards stands right before me. The creatures sent to end the race of men. And death never looked so ugly. What are you waiting for, you bastards, come and attack me!
The creature opened its mouth and let out a long screech, and Olver could hear the beating hearts of the men behind him. And soon enough, he also heard the rustling of the leaves and the sound of wings flapping as more human-bats emerged out of the darkness and surrounded the Aerdonians.
The rush of the battle took hold of Olver, and he felt blood raging through his body.
“Archers!” shouted Olver, “DRAW!.”
Olver did not need to look back, as the sound of bowstrings being pulled back confirmed that more than fifty arrows were now pointing towards the sky, ready to rain hell on the creatures of death.
The moment the human-bat stopped its screeching, the other creatures stopped advancing, and for a moment, nothing moved except the trees that were now swaying wildly in the wind that roared all around the Aerdonians. And then finally, when Olver thought the wind would uproot a tree and send it crashing into the creatures, the wind dropped its ferocity and almost completely stopped blowing. The banners of the four kingdoms ceased fluttering, and the human-bat in front of Olver started to run towards him, screeching and wheezing, teeth snapping and wings flapping, and behind it, the other creatures started to sprint as well.
“LOOSE!”
Arrows flew into the sky, curved and fell among the sprinting creatures. One went through the chest of a tall human-bat, and one pierced the red eye of a shorter one that kept running with the arrow still lodged in its eye socket. Many fell without hitting a target, but it wouldn’t have mattered as the bats did not seem to get affected by them. Hairy legs, and feet with long sharp claws were bearing the monsters closer to the Aerdonians, and to Olver, whose fingers twitched on the hilt of his sword, ready to plunge the steel tip into the heart of the first human-bat that came close enough, if they even had a heart.
And then like crows upon a rotting corpse, the bats fell upon the Aerdonians, screeching and howling, biting and snapping. Olver raised his sword and slashed at the bat who had managed to outrun every other monster and was the first to be greeted by Olver’s blade. The bat leaped in the air as it neared Olver and came flapping down on top of him, but before it could land on Olver’s head and tear it apart from his body, Olver’s longsword took a leap of its own and sliced through the neck of the bat, and the head dropped to the floor beside the headless body that was flopping on the ground like a fish out of water. No blood was spilled, and the blade of Olver’s sword was as clean as it had been before the battle had begun. It took a few heartbeats for the headless body to stop flopping, and for the wings to stop flapping, and when it did, the body began inching its way towards the head. Olver looked at the hideous face of the bat and saw the mouth still snapping and the eyes, red as before, staring hauntingly at him, as if the bat was waiting to be whole again, so that it could finish what it started.
Before Olver could cut the headless body into pieces, another bat was upon him, and this time he blocked the assault just in time, before ducking and barely escaping another slash from a bat that swooped in from above. He heard the fury in the screams of men around him as they cut and slashed, ducked and thrust at the creatures that were slowly surrounding them. The screams slowly began turning into those of pain and death, as no matter what the Aerdonians did, the bats would rise and continue their onslaught as if nothing had happened.
And nothing was happening.
All around Olver, bats with arrows sticking out from their face, body, and wings, bats without legs and with eyes gauged out were still fighting, while the bodies of Aerdonians remained headless and lifeless.
“ARCHERS! AIM FOR THE EYES!” Olver heard Garen shout as an arrow whizzed past his ear and took out the right eye of the bat who had already spread its wings and was about to charge at Olver. And then, he realized why Garen had asked them to aim for the eyes.
It slows them down.
It causes them pain.
It makes them mortal.
The bat in front of Olver let out an ear-splitting screech, as the Human-bats around him froze for a few seconds. It flapped its wings in what appeared to be a combination of agony and ire, as Olver made use of the brief window of opportunity and stabbed the other eye as well with the long stiff blade of his rondel dagger and twisted it until it’s tip pierced through the hairy back of the bat’s head. The howl that followed was deafening, and the bat went into a frenzy as it whirled about, slashing and biting at nothing and everything, before dropping to the floor, motionless.
Olver turned around and saw that it was Elsa who had loosed the arrow. But he saw something else as well.
Filled with hope, the men of Aerdon began to fight with renewed fervor, and for a moment, Olver could see a happy ending to this bloody battle. He saw the Maeryn shield wall hold well against a horse of bats who were trying to break through, he saw the Calypsian crossbowmen loose quarrels at a speed he had never seen before, and he saw his own men hack and slash like men possessed, fighting for the glory of Indius and its king.
Olver ducked and rolled away from a bat who tried to swoop in on him from above and threw his Rondel with one hand, as it cut through the air and struck the bat right between its eye. But just as the tides were turning, a new swarm of Human-bats emerged from the shadows like demons from the black abyss of hell, and as they drew closer and Olver saw them clearly in the light of the torches, all hope left him, and he shook his head in dismay. The bats who had just joined the fight were not just bigger than the previous ones, but their eyes had already been gouged out from their sockets, and blood trickled down in thick steams from where their eyes had been. Olver’s pulse quickened, and he felt paralyzed with fear as he realized who could have done this to such powerful creatures.
Traznug will soon be upon us. He is toying with us, waiting in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to step out and end this charade once and for all.
The fighting had now reached a crescendo, and Aerdonians were being killed all around him.
This is turning into a massacre.
The fighting had driven the Aerdonians to the edge of the clearing, and that is where, lying on the red floor that had turned a shade darker due to the puddles of blood everywhere, he saw Sanrick Faerson, with a bat on top of him.
“ELSA!” Olver shouted, but the sounds of battle drowned his voice. He started to run towards the bat and the boy sprawled beneath it. However, he could only cover half the distance before a fountain of blood erupted from where Sanrick’s hand used to be, and he saw the mouth of the bat turn crimson as he ripped the meaty hand of the boy king from its socket, and the scream that left Sanrick’s mouth was enough to rise over the din of
battle and reach Elsa, who did not have to turn around to see what had happened.
The bat tossed the hand away and bent down once again to suck the blood that was flowing like a river from the hole that had been left behind. It could only take in a mouthful before two successive arrows took out its eyes and left it howling in pain.
Elsa Faerson dismounted her horse, caught the bat by the ear as it continued howling and snapping its teeth in an attempt to bite off something before perishing. However, Elsa had already unsheathed her dagger, and in one quick motion, she scooped the eyeballs out of the creature’s eye socket and stabbed it repeatedly until all she was left with was red gooey pulp in her palms.
Olver wanted to rush towards the brother and sister, he wanted to comfort Elsa as she wept hysterically, cradling Sanrick in her arms as he lost consciousness, but Diyana’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“We have lost half of our soldiers, and I cannot find Garen,” blood trickled down from her hair and into her eye, but Diyana did not bother wiping it away, “his men have lost faith. They think he ran away.”
“I think the king of Harduin just lost his arm,” Olver said as he saw Elsa trying to hoist Sanrick on her horse, “we cannot hope to survive like this. We no longer have enough archers left to aim for the eyes of these bastards, and not enough soldiers skilled enough to stab their eyes in one on one combat,” Olver said as he threw his dagger and saved the life of a Harduinian soldier who was about to become a cripple.
“Let’s flee. We still have a few horses, and I am certain we can outride these bats. Garen seems to have already run away, so why not us?”
“And leave men behind?” Olver spat back.
The Passage of Kings Page 11
