“What the fuk is taking you so long?” he roared suddenly and far back at the blockade, he heard some laughter. Excellent. That would stave off the darkness for another few hours at least.
He only referred to each man as “warrior” and they appeared to appreciate it. He hadn’t learned everyone’s name so it worked out well. The aroma of so many bodies close together along the line reminded Erroh of the camp of his father’s army, and it felt homely. Walking along the top of the barricade was precarious but it soon became second nature. He did his own sentry duty in the hope of leading by example. Most of his brothers were older but as Erroh grew more into the role of general, his voice became deeper, older, as though going through a young cub’s change all over again. He no longer simply spoke. He snarled, roared and barked orders, observations and jests and they listened, obeyed, and laughed. It was better to appear in control than give in to temptation to grab the nearest soldier and scream in his face “I haven’t a real clue about what I’m doing.” He doubted that would go down well with morale. Instead, he donned his warrior’s skin and worked towards becoming the warmonger they so badly wanted.
Every morning after they released their sweet embrace for perhaps the last time, Lea would take her place to watch over the world. When they witnessed her ability with her bow, her standing increased tenfold. They never assumed there would be two elite warriors to fight by their side. It wasn’t enough to warrant a false dawn that a victory could be attained; they frequently reminded themselves of their ominous future. They mock sparred and practised techniques and Erroh wondered how well they might have fared with a few hundred of these desperate men to call upon. As it was they were worthy to be called Rangers, and his father would have gladly accepted any into his outfit. These proud warriors deserved more from the world than they were going to receive and he hinted as much to the gods who he didn’t believe in.
The Quig recovered his sense of humour and with it his popularity. In an inspired moment, he set a wager that he would kill more than any other before he was felled himself. Lea of course had been first to accept the challenge, she mused that her only real competition would be the flashing blades of Aireys. Soon enough the warriors threw their own predictions into the ring and all of a sudden, the fear of not killing enough before stepping from the world became a serious topic between the warriors. Some bets on who would die with fewest kills were made and nobody wanted the odds on that. When Quig appeared atop the barricade with a massive battle scythe and a fresh boast about becoming the new champion of Keri, the warriors nearly lost the run of themselves. The antique weapon’s blade stretched out longer than any sword, and hung as nothing more than a decoration in his parents’ household. When wielded by massive powerful arms, devastation would follow in its wake. Erroh made a show of arguing that it wasn’t a fair bet anymore. His argument that “it wouldn’t be fair to their attackers either” was well received by his army. Magnus had told him of the strong bond between fighters at the worst of times and it struck back the clanging of the madness.
The depression returned when the two bedraggled figures of Fabien and Hale appeared from the wastes. They had word of the attackers and the defenders began to light a few fires.
Jeremiah pleaded with each man to stay, but they’d lost any taste for war when their friend was butchered in front of their eyes. They shared the look of terrified mounts that were readying themselves to bolt and Erroh dismissed them from duty lest their misery infect the rest. They briefed what they could, took on a few provisions, and departed the town within the hour. They never looked back and nobody saw them off on their journey. Their eyes were on the bottom of the slope.
The additional intelligence didn’t really help morale. They simply confirmed well over a thousand on foot and at least a hundred Riders. It was fivefold the tracks Erroh and Lea had followed for so many weeks. Were they hiring mercenaries and bandits? What type of lunatic would command an army of outcastes and rogues anyway? Erroh’s heart sank at this fresh intelligence but when speaking with his warriors, he feigned delight that there was simply “more blood to spill.” With the alternative to Erroh’s merriment being complete and utter panic, the warriors joined in with his humour. Fresh bets were made. Lea was now considered the dark horse.
He leapt from atop the massive barricade once more and stepped through the long spikes towards the tree line. On a spike at the bottom of the slope of doom, he hung a crudely painted sign. He wrapped the sign with rope and secured it tightly. The words “Welcome” would be the first thing the brutes saw when they charged in. The warriors thought this was the greatest act ever. Even in death, the town of Keri would remain courteous. When one had nothing else, it was still nice to keep some values.
Erroh and Lea had taken a bedroom to themselves near the town centre and every morning they woke wrapped in each other arms, free from the constraints of clothing. “Don’t change out of that outfit my love,” he said watching her naked form as she slipped out of the warm bed sheets in search of her passionately strewn garments.
“Am I to be an interesting tactic to shock the enemy,” she laughed posing in mock seduction.
“It will raise morale too my beo,” he said yawning as he looked out the window at the clear morning sky. A fine day to die, he mused. She turned back to swipe at his brazenness but the first shouts of alarm distracted her. They grew in number and so too did another sound. A low groan which he recognised from a long time ago near a rock. Their eyes met and he fought the dread. He thought her stunning and wanted more time with her. Enough time to grow old together. She was terrified and beautiful and he leapt from the sheets as she struggled to dress herself.
“One more kiss,” he said embracing her.
“There isn’t time,” she cried and kissed him regardless. He thought she was shaking but it was his own body.
“Remember what you promised me,” he said and released her. He composed himself and donned his warrior’s skin and then his clothes and then his armour. It was time for bravado and brutality. He imagined his fears and eternal doubts locked away in a cage, never to be freed again. Only Lea was allowed to see his hands shake or hear his heart skip beats, while everyone else would see a brute with a taste for savagery, just like his father.
They walked in silence down towards the gap. He had so much to say but no words came. Eventually they parted ways. She climbed up the mountain and he took his place on the peak of their fortification.
He passed a makeshift table with a few plates of dried salted meat for the warriors to chew on. Though he had little desire, he took a piece and chewed heartily as he climbed out on top. The dry salty flavour turned in his sick stomach but he forced the food down. It was better to have reserves of energy if the fighting was relentless. Besides, there was nothing worse than being stabbed in the stomach when you’re already hungry. He licked his lips and a dismal thought occurred to him. Such a piece of meat was a terrible last meal.
“I really would love some boar,” he muttered taking hold of a jutting wooden piece of debris and leaning out over the edge. All to earn a slightly better view of the approaching army through the deep green and to appear as calm and collected as his warriors needed.
“I’ll ask the lads to hold off attacking while we get you some sir,” Quig jested from behind him. Beside him, Aireys dressed in her combat armour laughed heartily.
Erroh smiled dangerously. “Ah, no need. We’ve been waiting long enough as it is,” he said and his voice travelled across the blockade. He heard jests and a few bouts of laughter and Erroh thought that as long as Quig stayed alive there would be few problems with morale. It was the little things.
“Nobody leaves this barricade until Lea makes the signal,” he reminded them as he pulled himself back to solid ground. The constant rumble was still growing but still too far into the woods to be seen. Jeremiah walked past them and knelt towards the sound. He held a white sheet of cloth on a small wooden pole. The holy man would not be swayed in search fo
r peace and Erroh thought his nerve was impressive. He was dressed in full black and he carried no blade. Perhaps he was deadly with his little flag.
“They will kill you,” said Erroh.
“Aye, that seems probable my good friend,” he said sadly.
“So why bother try?”
“Because I have to try for every man here,” he replied.
“Do you expect your god to keep you safe?” Erroh asked, hiding his frustration. Every man was worth his weight in ranks this thin, and he was certain Jeremiah was needlessly throwing away his life.
“I expect my god has little control over the next period of my life but I’m sure he watches with interest. He knows I do this to avoid bloodshed,” replied Jeremiah, wiping away a bead of sweat that was rolling down his face. He took a breath and his face turned a little paler as though he knew the futility of his action. “I hope to die well. I hope my lord is waiting for me in the darkness with a candle and a nice bottle of wine.”
It wasn’t a bead of sweat, it was a tear.
“I will ask the absent gods to send on a second bottle,” said Aireys gently as she watched the first flickers of movement through the trees.
They heard heavy hooves breaking through canopy and leathered boots marching over uneven ground but most of all they heard the heavy roll of large wooden wheels rumbling towards them.
“I will save a seat for you in the darkness beyond,” said Jeremiah smiling. He patted Erroh on the back and sighed. “But send them all to hell if I do not return,” he said before slipping down the barricade.
Lea could see everything. Like little scurrying creatures wild with a scent they scrambled through the forest. The land was brushed aside collectively and she tasted fear on her tongue.
There were so many.
She ground her teeth and shifted a little closer to the edge. She could feel the warmth from the flaming metal barrel as its flame thrashed madly against the sharp wind. “Not yet,” she whispered and watched them draw closer. Though she was fearful, she took heart in their appearance. Aye, they were terrifying in barbaric armour of animal skin and fur with terrifying banners of black and red, but it was evident these killers’ favoured close quarters over long distance warfare. She had feared facing a garrison of longbow archers but those few with quivers along their waists carried crude crossbows on their backs. She smiled to herself and ran her finger along Baby’s grip. She and her boys would rain great devastation upon them before they found their range. At the rear of the approaching convoy massive carts rolled, pulled by a half dozen mounts. As the leading army drew to a halt behind the thick cover of the trees, the massive carts were rolled to a stop near an opening in the woods along the river’s edge and the world swiftly fell silent as a stillness fell over their foe.
She looked down at the pathetic numbers that would stand against this ocean of black and she felt proud to stand with them. She eyed her anxious little group of comrades sitting rigidly beside her and across the gap and she suddenly thought about her older brothers. What would they think of her in this moment? What would they think of her mate? Her line would not die along with her today but it was a small comfort. It probably shouldn’t have been.
Jeremiah walked slowly down through the long spikes and over the uneven ground carrying the large white flag of peace. He stopped and waited half way down the slope at the last line of spikes where Lea had suggested he be safe from a stray arrow. The flag fell to his side and blew gently in the wind. He stood motionless but for his lips which whispered comforting nothings, to himself and perhaps to something above. His mind was calm and his face was serene; he would have no fear. There was no movement. There were barely any whispers from the trees but there were sets of eyes and they watched and waited.
Lea thought of them as little ants, needing to be burned away. She watched a runner no older then a cub charge back through the undergrowth with word of a lone figure with a flag. She followed his route through the woods until he emerged down by the river where she lost sight of him amid the chaotic unloading of a marching army. Somewhere among the unpacking of tents and supplies and the herding of travelling beasts the unseen generals were briefed on their path ahead. The world held its breath and time seemed to slow to an agonising crawl and the holy man waited for movement.
Eventually after a few hours, there was movement.
Three figures with raised swords broke from the green. Behind them followed two heavyset mounts with Riders atop.
Erroh held his breath and hoped. He may even have prayed. He wasn’t alone among the many silent whisperings from all standing atop the barricade of Keri.
“Nobody is to attack regardless of what happens,” he hissed.
The Rider began a charge on the holy man. He heard the Quig on his right mutter something under his breath. To his left Aireys stared coldly in acceptance. The rest of the line watched on in silence and then in horror.
The Rider pulled his axe free and completed his charge. The holy man accepted his own demise like a leader should. He did not recoil as the large beast filled his last ever vision. The axe screamed in the air as the killer swung and hit its mark across the holy man’s neck. Jeremiah’s last thought were of a candle in the darkness, a few more steps, and then a fine vintage.
The blade struck and embedded itself in bone, muscle, and flesh. The body fell to its knees, supported by the grip from the Rider. With a grunt, the killer placed his foot on the dead man’s shoulders and pulled the battle-axe free. He swung again and cut Jeremiah’s head free. As both parts fell messily onto the ground, the killer began to roar in triumph.
As far as mental assaults go, this was devastation and it winded every warrior behind the blockade. In one fell swoop, every man doubted themselves and each other. Erroh felt no differently as a few warriors fell to their knees in anguish. The killer roared crude undistinguishable words but Erroh suspected taunts. Someone needed to shut that fuker up.
“That was savage,” whispered Quig weakly. He gripped his weapon but stood proudly. He too could see the terrible effect on morale.
“Nobody is to do anything,” Erroh shouted loudly.
Nobody did anything. They just listened to the taunting war cries and lamented their comrade.
Then somebody did something.
Erroh dropped the few feet onto the ground below. He didn’t let himself think. He just did it. It was in his blood.
He sprinted alone down through the battlements. A lone figure dressed in black with flowing cloak trailing out behind him as if he was just out for a run, looking for a fight. His warriors needed to see something incredible. They needed to see him in all his Alphaline glory. They needed the line of Magnus to lead them. He heard himself roar an impressive challenge of his own, as he pulled Revenge and Mercy from their scabbards. It was five armed combatants against one little cub?
The odds were hardly fair.
The killer watched curiously as the solitary young man came running towards him screaming his little head off. He grabbed hold of the reigns in one hand, in the other gripped the bloodied axe, and met the advance. The order was to kill the one with the flag and no more. The full attack would begin with the horns, as was the way, but the Woodin man would approve of this reckless challenge. He would see it all and he would reward those that pleased him.
Running.
All Erroh could hear was the racing wind in his ear as he picked up speed. That and the manic war cry he let loose. A few feet from his quarry, he suddenly changed direction from the rider’s right to his left. In a blur, he slipped under the first cavalry spikes and leapt at the taller foe on his weaker side with Vengeance raised. The Rider struggled with the choice of swinging from the wrong angle, or swapping his hand holding the axe. It was no consolation that whatever decision he made would have been wrong. There was a dull wet sound as the sword was thrust in and swiftly drawn away and Erroh continued his run without breaking stride. The Rider grabbed out weakly on instinct before slumping back in the sad
dle. After a breath he fell and by the time his corpse hit the ground, Erroh was already beneath the second Rider deflecting a careless strike and knocking him from his perch. The winded brute tried to rise but Erroh fell upon him and stabbed violently through his chest. His leather armour was easy enough to penetrate. It was lined with fur for the cold but not for a vengeful general. Turning and twisting the blade in the wound, he tormented the brute until his anguished shrieks echoed loudly against the valley walls and suddenly fell silent.
The three remaining attackers moved in around him. They roared in that strange foreign tongue and Erroh withdrew from his victim with both blades raised. The two armies watched as they attempted to surround him. Two brutes attacked from either side while the third attacked from behind but Erroh spun with both blades and met every stroke as if it were no small matter at all.
“So that’s why he twirls his blades when he fights,” said Quig in a low tone. A cold reassuring thought occurred to the big man. In all the skirmishes they’d shared, Erroh had never come close to revealing his full ability. What delicious ruination was he capable of inflicting?
He put on a show for that is what they needed to see. His comrades needed confidence and his enemy needed a cause for concern. He spun his wrists in magnificent, frightening arcs and parried blow after blow while allowing himself to draw only thin slits of blood from each of his attackers. Let them know their folly and let them know their doom long before their felling. Let every one of them see the consequence for spilling Keri blood.
They relied on rudimentary strength and speed to attain victory and they never had a chance. When he realised the show had lasted as long as needed, he ended it swiftly. He invited an attack with the suggestion of a break in his guard and when the closest took up the offer, Erroh swiped away the attack and rammed “Mercy” through her neck. She seemed frustrated with herself as she fell to the ground holding her throat. The female’s long hair fell from her helmet and Erroh stepped back in shock. She gasped for air and tried to stop the bleeding with her gloves and Erroh struck her again.
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