Resurrection (Book 1: The Chronicles of Chaos)

by Graham Carmichael

  Chapter 22

  There was an eerie silence across the mainland that night. People stayed indoors tending to their families. The inns and taverns were deserted leaving weary landlords to close early. The animals were silent, there was no wind. Everything was dead quiet. There were two people in the land for whom things were not quiet; at least in their own minds. For James and Anna, although they were separated by more than two days travel, the same thoughts ran through their heads. Both contemplated their missed rendezvous. Anna had left the city of Thorvale in a great hurry, commanding a messenger to take a letter to her husband to be. She wondered if the letter had reached James. She wondered if he would be able to forgive the fact that she had ran off without being able to say goodbye. The biggest fear that ran through Anna’s mind was that she didn’t know James very well. She did not know how he would react to being treated in such a fashion. Anna had always possessed a good instinct. In her heart, she felt that things would be alright. In this age of uncertainty, however, things did not seem so clear.

  James had different fears. It had totally slipped his mind that he had arranged to meet Anna. The trauma of the fateful night Bhryll had killed most of his fellow guards had affected him. He had struggled to remember anything of any importance. His head was full of horrific images. James could not get over the sheer horror of what happened. In his mind he relived the moment when his colleagues were felled by that dark cloud. Now, though, he remembered the meeting. He had not turned up and had not sent word. Everything had happened so quickly. He had departed the night before he was due to meet Anna to see to his newly acquired army. What he didn’t know was that Anna could not attend the meeting and that she had sent him a message. James figured that he would not see Anna again. This thought stirred up profound feelings of sadness within his heart. Everything felt so right. He had seen women of greater physical beauty but for him, there was nobody who even came close to Anna. She was the complete package. She was perfect. Others may disagree but as far as James was concerned, that was their opinion and it didn’t matter a damn to him. The final thought that crossed his mind was that if he survived the imminent attack, he would find Anna, sweep her off her feet in a whirl of romance before marrying her. An image passed through his head as he drifted into a daydream. Anna and he were sitting on the porch of a small wooden house. They were watching a couple of children, one boy and one girl, playing in the cornfield that began only a few feet from the porch but stretched for miles. This was their house, their field and their children. The little darlings looked very happy he thought. They were playing catch. The boy was slightly older than the girl and was evading the futile lunges of his sister. James turned to Anna and reached out to take her hand. They looked into each others eyes before looking out at their children again.

  “We have done well.” James said softly. They both stood up from their chairs and gave each other a loving hug.

  The image faded.

  James was brought back to reality by the faint sound of a horn echoing across the fields.

  “It begins” He said to himself.

  The lookouts on the shore had just sounded the alarm. In a watchtower only twenty minutes walk from Thorvale, two men stood. One had a telescope and was looking out. The other was furiously sounding a large horn that was pointing in the direction of Thorvale. The man with the telescope was frozen with fear at what he could see. From out of the black of the night, many ghostly white masts had appeared on the horizon. As the seconds passed, the sails grew bigger and bigger. More and more came, crowding the sea. Soon, the lookout could see the hulls of the ships. The realisation that they were actual ghost ships made the feelings of fear in his body turn to terror. It was difficult to judge exactly how many ships there were. At first, the lookout guessed that there could be no more than fifty. As more time passed and the ships were drawing nearer he realised that there were far more than that. He guessed at one hundred and fifty. The horn blower tapped him on the shoulder.

  “What do you see now?” He asked.

  There was no reply. The lookout hadn’t even heard the horn blower. Another tap landed on his shoulder; still no response. The horn blower had to resort to violence. He thumped the lookout hard on the arm.

  “What is it?” The lookout snapped.

  “What do you see?” The horn blower replied.

  “Doom” The lookout replied flatly as if the lookout’s spirit was already broken. “There are so many. How can we hope to defeat this?”

  The horn blower snatched the telescope from his hand and raised it to his eye. As he looked out, a loud gasp came from his mouth. He looked at the approaching ships for a few moments before slamming the telescope to the ground; shattering it into pieces.

  “The King needs to be told about this.” He said scrambling down the ladder.

  “He knows they are coming.” The lookout replied slouching to the floor, burying his head in his hands.

  “I would be willing to bet my life on the fact he does not know how many approach.”

  The lookout thought about it for a few seconds, looked up and nodded his agreement.

  “Anyway,” the horn blower continued, “if we are in Thorvale when the fighting starts, we will live a little longer.”

  That was all the persuading the lookout required. He got up and climbed down from the tower. Both mounted their horses that had been tied up to the bottom of the watch tower and rode off. On horse, it took them only a matter of minutes to reach the walls of the city. They were ushered through the gates with haste. Within seconds they were taken before the King. Anyone who witnessed the expression on the King’s face after he had received the news would not have held out much hope of victory against the approaching evil.

  Along the shores of the mainland, archers and artillery men were preparing. Flaming arrows were lit, cannons were loaded. As the ships drew almost within firing range, a cold wind picked up. This was not the standard sea breeze. There had not been so much as a breath of wind all night. As the ships drew ever closer, the wind picked up even more. The fires that had been lit to allow the archers to light their arrows were starting to flicker in a northerly direction. At first, they leaned only a little. Soon they were in danger of being blown out completely.

  A call was bellowed by one of the commanders.

  “Take aim.”

  The archers all cocked their bows; the artillery men loaded the cannon balls into the barrels of their large cannons and the catapults were drawn back and loaded with large boulders. There was a brief pause. It was if every man who lined the shores of Thorntonvale had inhaled a large breath in anticipation.

  “Fire” The commander shouted.

  A snake-like hiss could be heard as the flaming arrows were loosed to light up the night sky. This was followed by the crackling of the cannon fuses.

  “Reload” The commander ordered.

  “Fire”

  Another volley of arrows shot off into the night. This time the hissing was followed by the large booming thuds of the cannons firing. Lookouts with telescopes assessed the damage and informed the commanders.

  “No damage sir; the cannon balls passed right through the ship.” The lookout shouted.

  “What of the arrows?” The commander bellowed.

  “A number of creatures have been hit. Only those on deck are vulnerable and we are not hitting that many”.

  “We shall continue the assault.” The commander replied to his lookout. As he looked again at the approaching ships, a terrible sense of desperation filled him.

  “Double your efforts,” he screamed at his troops, “fire at will.”

  The arrows continued to fly, the cannons repeatedly fired. Even the catapults were having no success. The commander continued to bark orders but the lookouts continued to tell him bad news. The ships were now very close to the shore. It was time for the commander to sound the retreat; he didn’t. Determined to sink at least a couple of ships from this close range, he continued to order t
he barrage. Then the first ship landed. From this vessel, hundreds of vicious and frenzied Orcs stormed the shores.

  “Sound the retreat.” One of the commander’s assistants shouted.

  Whistles blew all along the shore. The neat and orderly retreat planned was no longer possible. As more ships landed, Orcs, trolls, goblins, wraiths, skeletons and a small selection of other creatures, poured onto the shore. They charged towards the humans with a ferocity that demonstrated their absolute hatred of mankind. The archers and artillery men were armed with basic short swords. These were not enough to stop or even slow the horde. The creatures wore full body armour and wielded large, brutal weapons of the like nobody had seen before. Some of the archers had no choice but to stand and fight. They had been charged too quickly and were surrounded. They fell almost instantly; the creatures were too fast, too powerful and too many. The story was the same all along the shore. Hiding in the foliage of the Coastal Forest, almost twenty miles west, the barbarians watched the same story being played out. They had the uncontrollable urge to break their cover and help out but to do that would take away their advantage and destroy their plans. They had no choice but to sit and watch as the humans were systematically slaughtered. Groups close to the small villages along the coast managed to retreat to relative safety. Those who were miles from anywhere died quickly; not having the pace to outrun the evil creatures.

  A small group of archers were running for the cover of the forest closely followed by a group of large Trolls.

  “Take cover.” Rhyll commanded the men. He had taken over command of the barbarians with Degg’s blessing, due to his now superior knowledge of the enemy. “Wait until the enemy get a good distance into the wood. This will enable us to take them out without being seen by those invading the shore. I will give the signal; do not move until I do.”

  The barbarians scattered into the foliage and waited. This was Rhyll’s first action as commander of the barbarians. He knew his title was only borrowed and that he would be back to being a regular tribesman when the war was over but he could feel the excitement building within him. He was in charge, he had the power. This was a power that he would use wisely. Above anything else, Rhyll wanted to live up to his forefathers. His family were well respected as being great warriors. Rhyll desired the same respect. The archers came charging through the trees. Some fell in their panic and were cut down by their pursuers before they could get up again. The barbarians waited but quickly realised that they would have to move before they had planned. Rhyll gave it just a few more seconds. The Trolls were desperately close to the fleeing archers. There was no more time.

  “Attack” Rhyll screamed as he jumped from behind the tree where he was hiding. Rhyll used his bastard sword to slice through the torso of one Troll. Another stopped and watched his comrade fall, stunned at the sudden attack; he fell just as quickly. The Trolls had been caught unaware but they already had their weapons at the ready. The rest of the barbarians joined the fray; some circling around to cut off escape routes. A couple of barbarians went to the edge of the forest to keep an eye on the progress of the invasion and to make sure that the noise of the ambush did not arouse suspicion.

  The Trolls acted in a surprisingly coordinated way. Seeing the overwhelming numbers against them, they had formed a circle using the trees and each other to avert any attempts to outflank them. Their large spiked clubs were being swung ferociously to keep their attackers at a distance. Despite their strength, the barbarians could not compete with the sheer strength of the Trolls; they were forced to hold their ground. Then the barbarians had a stroke of good fortune. The archers they had helped returned. They formed lines and fired arrows into the Trolls. Quickly the tide of the battle turned the way of the barbarians. As soon as they could get in behind the Trolls, the creatures of evil were quickly destroyed.

  The two barbarian lookouts had noticed a commotion amongst the hordes. The party of Trolls who were fighting the Barbarians in the forest were part of a larger group. This group had noticed the absence of their companions and were heading towards the forest to find out where they had gone.

  “Hurry, more Trolls approach.” Shouted one of the lookouts.

  “How many are there?” Rhyll asked.

  “I would guess at least sixty to seventy.”

  “It will take too long to destroy them now.” Rhyll said to the lookout. He then turned to the rest of the tribe. “Hide the bodies and climb into the trees.” A mad scramble ensued. Bodies were buried under leaves or tossed into the trees to be taken higher and out of sight. The last man had just pulled his feet up as the Trolls entered the woods. At the front of the group was a larger than normal Troll wearing a helmet made from numerous skulls, spliced together. It started sniffing the air.

  “A battle has just taken place here. The smell of blood lingers.” The leader said to the others. Slowly the Trolls searched the woods. They sniffed the trees and the ground. The humans in the trees were trying not to breath. To each of them it seemed as though their heart was beating fifteen times louder than normal. It was a tense few minutes. One of the Trolls started to cause a commotion below.

  “I’ve found a body.” It shouted time and time again. The leader walked over to this Troll and pushed it aside. The leader looked down on the body.

  “One of our own.” It said. “Hunt down and kill those that did this. They can’t be far.”

  The trolls started sniffing again. As the leader was searching the ground, it felt a drip land on its head. Reaching up, the leader fingered this drip. Looking at it closely, the leader of the Troll party realised that it was blood; Troll blood.

  “They are in the trees.”

  The leader’s call sent the Trolls into a rage-fuelled frenzy. They began hammering the trees with their clubs. The force of this felled some of the smaller trees and was rapidly splintering the larger ones. Rhyll had no choice. He had to command his men to fight.

  “Kill ‘em boys and make it quick.” He shouted wildly as he dropped out of the tree and squashed an unsuspecting Troll. This time the Barbarians and the Trolls were mixed in amongst each other. A slug fest ensued; tactics gone by the wayside. A great deal of barbarians fell. Even Rhyll had found the Trolls incredibly tough to beat. His bastard sword and war hammer were working in overdrive. Both were two handed weapons but Rhyll used one in each hand. The Trolls fell slowly but after ten minutes of intense fighting, the Barbarians triumphed.

  “What is the damage?” Rhyll demanded after the last Troll fell.

  “Nearly thirty dead.” came the reply. This was bad news. Not all of the barbarians had embraced the war so eagerly. As a result, the barbarian tribe that numbered nearly five hundred men was now down to just two hundred. That number had just fallen again.

  “We are going to need to persuade the rest of our tribe to join this war. This is no longer just the war of the civilised world. Our people will die too.” Rhyll said to his men. With that the Barbarians changed their plans. They would now travel the day long journey back to the foot of the Sacred Hills to unite their clan in battle. This turned out to be a simple task. Degg listened to Rhyll’s account of what was happening and instantly ordered the rest of the barbarians to prepare for war. Once they were united, they made their way to where James and his army stood. This is where the humans and barbarians and all free people would make their stand.

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