Out of Nowhere

by William Cali

  He glanced at the other box. It was still buried in the dirt, but it was deeper than the sword mold. “If this one is a sword, then what’s that?”

  “Armor, aye.”

  “Armor? Like a suit of armor?”

  Cenk shook his head and pounded on his chest with a closed fist. “Nah, chest. Plate for chest.”

  That was music to his ears. He wouldn’t be decked out head to toe like Gilbrand, but some protection would go a long way.

  “So, you can make armor and weapons for everyone. That’s going to help. I might be jumping the gun a bit, but I think you should get started on this as soon as you can. I think we’ve hit our quota of plates and mugs for the time being.”

  Cenk smiled and gestured towards the sunken-in hole. Together they carried both molds into Cenk’s hut. Pent wished Cenk luck and left the smith to his work.

  * * *

  Walking into the main road, Pent couldn’t help but whistle to himself. He felt like skipping in the street. Things were going much better than he had dared hope. He figured that not even the expected stonewalling from the chief would be able to slow this train down. They had weapons on the way, and, if he could get other hands on deck to help Lemen and Cenk, they could churn out a fair bit of medieval firepower. He hadn’t gotten a look at the armor, but he was envisioning a line of men, shining steel plates on their chests and razor-sharp swords in their hands. Behind them, another line of men and women wielding burning bottles, ready to launch them one after another. Gilbrand wouldn’t see that coming.

  An image flashed in his mind of his battle with Gilbrand, and his heart began to race. It was over so fast. He had come so close to death at that moment. The thought of Gilbrand’s blade cutting his head from his neck made him consider his position. He was no knight, no hero, and now was not the time to paint a false picture of himself. He had no room to get careless or cocky. The stakes were too high for that.

  Still, the thought of sticking it to Gilbrand made him smile. His fortune with the three men, though it took a bit of prodding and convincing, had lifted his spirits. He felt the momentum, and, if he could keep this up, maybe they would be ready by the time their invaders arrived. They just needed to be smart, skilled, and more than a little lucky. And if his recent encounters were any indication, he felt that he had number three working for him. Yeah, I’d say that’s a bit of good luck.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  This is such bad fortune.

  Gilbrand stared at Castle Draemar in the distance. His heart had been pitched down a well of fear at the sight. The castle, made of gray, waxy stone, had several off-balance spires stabbing into the heavens. The tips of the spires seemed pointed to a sharp edge, resembling the talons of a hawk or crow. Windows and slits were cut into the stone, in shapes and sizes that bore no pattern Gilbrand could discern, and that offered no clear tactical advantage. Exterior staircases began and ended, leading to nothing. It was a vertical castle, clawing its way up into the sky, and even the idea of this place confused him. His own castle was made along a much more flat, broad surface. His walls were taller than any man, tall enough to dissuade anyone from climbing, with towers at each corner, but this... this was…

  “Senseless.” It was the only word he could think of. What is the purpose of a castle like this? Who would live here? The location was so remote, and, despite only taking two days to get there, it felt so foreign. He had traveled farther than this distance in many directions before on various expeditions, surveying lands for prospects, but he had never seen anything like this.

  It was not what he expected to see when he arrived. It was certainly not very inviting. There was only a single entrance to the castle he was aware of—a thin, winding walkway that bridged the wide, slow river. As Gilbrand dismounted his horse, he happened to peer down into the brown waters, and he grimaced at the sight, disgust churning in his stomach.

  Hemites. Another foreign oddity. He had heard of these dread creatures before, and their slimy gray bodies repulsed him. The way they twitched and twisted through the water, mastering the currents without the fins or tails of fish, made them seem otherworldly. They were supposedly native only to the ocean. He considered that the river might run all the way to the ocean from here. But it made no sense that they would congregate in this spot unless… What does this say of Lord Yozer? These horrors go against the very flow of nature, just to convene near to him…

  According to the old legends, of which only bits and pieces survived, the hemites had once been Vampire Lords. They had ruled over the Umbro Mountains, a scourge on the people of old. When the Vampires were defeated, they were driven from the mountains to the sea. It was there that they lost all form and became these husks of their former selves.

  The stories he had heard about these creatures made him shiver. Bloodsuckers. They were able to draw the life out of a person if close enough. His every instinct told him to stay away, told him to run far away from the castle. But he also felt himself being drawn to the creatures, being beckoned in some way. It was a comforting thought that he could just drop down into the water and all of his problems would disappear. He could just…

  “NO!” He recoiled in terror. He had gotten so close to the edge of the cliff side. How did that happen? What has come over me?

  He tied his horse, which had been silent and tense, to a tree. “It seems you don’t like them much either.” The path was too narrow to cross on horseback, and once he was out there on his horse, there was no turning around. He would have to do this on foot.

  He took a step onto the walkway. And then another step. He glared down at the roaming hemites, and again he felt them calling out to him. “Bastards, bastards!” He waved his fist at them, trying to scare them off, but they did not move.

  I cannot let them in. I have to block them out, to think of something else.

  Gilbrand tried to focus his mind, to home in on something. He thought of his castle, his family, his people, but nothing seemed to work. And then he thought of the large man who had slighted him so boldly. That bastard. The Bastard of Somerville.

  A mad smile cracked his face, and he began to chant, “Somerville. Bastard. Somerville. Bastard.” Each word was a new step taken.

  He was so consumed with hate that he began to forget the purpose of his quest. He glared over the side of the bridge and into the water. The hungry hemites made him stir, but not as much as they had moments before. He shook off their call, continued his chant, and pressed on.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pent couldn’t stop grinning. With Hanar’s help, they had already made great progress on his plan. He didn’t see how the chief could disagree with him now. “We’ve managed to get most of the village on board. Including most of the people on this table.”

  He studied everyone at the table; Mother Lyle and Faldo stood to his left and right, respectively. Hanar was standing off to the side, back against the wall. Riven was slouched in a chair across from Hanar. And Chief Pohk sat across from Pent, his head hung in his hands.

  Pent continued, “Mother Lyle, Faldo, and Hanar all back this plan. I’ve heard word that you’re in agreement as well, Riven.” Riven nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing on the chief as he agreed. “We’ve got more than half the town backing this plan, chief. The consensus is that we stand and fight.” Pent leaned away from the table, eyes on Chief Pohk.

  “This changes nothing,” the chief responded, slowly raising his head to meet Pent’s eyes. He spread his hands out on the table. “You haven’t changed a thing. We are still doomed if we stay here. We need to flee!” He moved to slam his palms on the table but pulled back at the last second.

  Mother Lyle spoke up. “I think it changes a lot. Hanar and Pent, they did what you asked of them. They have the peoples’ support. You said you would back the will of the people… Now is not the time to turn back from your word.”

  “That was just bluster!” His face had gone scalding red, and he had to wipe sweat from his forehead. “This is all
just bluster, it’s a complete fantasy. What hope do we have of beating Yozer?”

  Faldo slammed his fist onto the table. It came down with a loud, resonating bang, causing the candle flames on the table to jump and the decorative plates on the walls to rattle. “We have all the hope we need. If we band together, come up with some kind of plan, we can win and keep all of our homes. Chief, Somerville wasn’t built on hope.”

  “You’re right, it was built by people!” the chief said. “And you would have me willingly sacrifice everyone for the sake of this man’s plan?”

  Faldo shook his head, glaring at the town’s leader. “There is nothing for you to do if you wish it. If everyone is willing to stand here and fight, they will do it, with or without you.” The weary builder sighed, his tone softened. “Chief, I’ve thought for a long time, ever since the moment Pent insulted Gilbrand. I’ve known a reckoning was coming, we’ve all known this could happen eventually. I don’t want to die, same as you. No one wants to die. We could just scatter into the winds. We could take our chances, live among the beasts of the woods. I’m sure some of us would have no problem with it.” He glanced at Hanar, who shrugged his shoulders. “My grandfather, and your late father as well, chief, they would not scatter as rats do to a torch. They would stand and fight for what they had created, regardless of the danger.”

  Chief Pohk seemed dazed, but he argued on. “My father wanted to preserve the people of Somerville above all else. This is just a place. It holds no real meaning.” The old man rubbed his eyes, which were beginning to well up with tears. Pent pitied the elder a little, despite all of his protests. He’s an ornery old grouch, but he really cares about the people here. The chief continued, “It is as you say. If this is the will of our people, it is their will. I cannot move against them.”

  At that, those gathered around the table breathed a sigh of relief. Pent saw smiles on Hanar and Faldo’s faces. Mother Lyle nodded her approval to the chief, while the silent Riven looked away, a pensive expression on his face. He began to tap his fingers on the table.

  Chief Pohk glanced towards Pent, unable to meet his gaze, his eyes settling on the table in front of him instead. “You’ve laid out a convincing story to the villagers here, you and Hanar both. I want to say I’m surprised, but that’s not true. The people here are a stubborn lot. The idea of them uprooting and leaving, even in the face of certain death… I couldn’t picture that.” He glanced up at Pent then. “Tell us what you know of Yozer.”

  “I’ve heard he’s the ‘true king’ of this land, an ageless man who rules over all,” Pent said, “But it’s been some time since he’s had to lift a finger to oppose his ‘loyal’ subjects. He mostly rules through propping up local leaders, those who can subjugate the masses in his name. This is how things work here in Somerville, and I imagine it works the same throughout the rest of the country.”

  Chief Pohk nodded. “To my knowledge, all of that is true. Hanar, I have mocked you many times, but now I believe that some praise is due. What is the nature of your trips to the forest? From what means did you attain this information?”

  Hanar’s face took a grim form. Pent had spoken to him earlier, and he was still rattled by the wizard’s refusal to join their fight. He cleared his throat before speaking. “His name is Gordenthorpe. He is the most powerful sorcerer this world has ever seen. Or perhaps it would be better to call him the second most powerful, right after Yozer himself. He has been alive for many, many years, as long as Somerville has existed. And for as long as he’s been around, so has Yozer. He taught Gordenthorpe everything, or most, of what he knows.”

  Chief Pohk was stroking his whitened beard. “A sorcerer, someone like that on our side could tip the scales significantly. He should be here with you all.”

  Pent hesitated, but then firmly stated, “It’s like Hanar said earlier, he won’t be joining us. He has his reasons. For this, it looks like we’re on our own.”

  “I presume he is not interested in joining a fight he has no stake in. What you’ve said confirms my own knowledge. Lord Yozer is the most powerful man alive in this world. Few in number have seen him without his consent. I’ve heard he lives forever, can control the weather, and has command over all the elements. I’ve heard it said that he can even control the dead. Not a soul has dared to stand against him. His rule is absolute.” The words were solemn, and they hung heavily in the air. Lyle shifted nervously in her seat. Faldo stared at Pent. Riven’s fingers were tapping even more quickly now.

  Pent pointed a finger in Chief Pohk’s direction. “You’re right about one thing. The one thing you said there, that I want everyone here to think about,” his finger swept around the room as he spoke, “is that no one has ever opposed him. That can be a scary thought, but that’s also why we can win. No one has ever tried to fight him before. That’s our greatest advantage.”

  Lyle nodded her head, picking up the thread of Pent’s thought. “You said that much the last time we met. That he’s unopposed, but that doesn’t make him unstoppable.” She seemed to be speaking more to Riven and Faldo than the others. The two men mumbled to each other.

  Pent knocked on the table. “That’s right. Remember two things. And this is what we’ve got to drill into the minds of the villagers.” He stuck out two fingers. “One, he hasn’t had a reason to rise out of his dusty throne for decades. He’s rusty, he’s out of practice. And two, there’s not a chance he’ll see this coming. He thinks he’s got the whole world scared, and he’s right. But you can’t just lead by fear and no action. He won’t expect an organized defense, and that’s what he’s going to get. I meant it when I said it before. He’ll get the fight of his life.”

  Faldo raised a boisterous cheer, “Hear! Hear!”

  Mother Lyle clapped her hands together. “Well spoken, Pent. You make it sound not only possible, but likely.” Hanar made his way to the table, placed his hand on Pent’s shoulder, and nodded. Riven was staring at the chief, waiting for him to respond.

  The chief rubbed his forehead. “The fight of his life. And how are we going to manage that?”

  “Let me run what I’ve got by you…”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gilbrand was shaking. He had been afraid before—he was human, it was human nature to fear things—but now, for the first time in his life, he felt shaken by an all-encompassing fear. This is just nerves. Be calm, Gilbrand, be calm.

  But after giving himself time to regain his composure, he still couldn’t calm down. After crossing the narrow walkway to the entrance of the castle, he had found the interior to be just as unwelcoming as the hemite-filled river. The entrance was simple enough; large crafted wooden doors anchored to a frame of dark stone. A crank on the wall opened the doors, filling the chasm with the creaking of the aged wood. After a few minutes of effort, he had access to the castle.

  The entrance to the castle was like a cave. Gilbrand had expected a cozy foyer to invite comfort for its guests. Instead, the space was dark and musty, a single torch on the wall adjacent from him. The room was so dimly lit that he considered leaving the doors wide open to bring more light in. The prospect of offending Lord Yozer, however, convinced him to close them instead.

  “Hello?” he beckoned into the cold darkness. Receiving no reply, he marched on down the long hall. Walking, walking, and walking further until he reached a door, with ornate letters carved into it. What script is this? Some kind of ancient language? He pressed his hand to the door; it felt soft to the touch. Firm, but soft. Almost like a hide. Or… like flesh. The handle was of finely crafted ivory that matched the refined pattern of the lettering. He opened the door and found himself in another, similar hallway. Gilbrand wiped at the beads of sweat that were accumulating on his neck. Each room was as humid as a swamp, and even the walls were slick with dampness. He pressed onward.

  The castle was dark, unfurnished, and had a ghastly air to it. He came to an eerie conclusion. “There is no one in this castle besides myself.” No life as far as he could
see. He stopped a few times and called out into that never-ending series of drab hallways, but his call was never answered. Only the sound of his metallic footsteps ringing down the halls kept him company, along with the soft crackle of the torches on his path.

  Despite feeling so desperately alone, Gilbrand could not shake the sensation that something was watching him. You are just nervous, that is all. But that wasn’t it, was it? He swore on his life, on the lives of his family, that he heard whispers from the other end of each hall. But there was no one else here, and the only voice he heard was his own. He studied the torches, which were the only adornment of the castle walls, the only thing to focus on. They seemed as if they had never been touched like they had been born aflame. Who is lighting these torches? I cannot be the only person here.

  The hallways began to wind back and forth, more like natural tunnels than crafted halls. He came to a fork; one path was lit up by torches, the other as dark as night. He took the lit path. He again came to a fork, this time with three paths, and again took the lit one.

  He was led on and on in this manner until he came to a staircase. The stairs, no more ornate than the halls preceding them, spiraled upwards endlessly into the heavens. Gilbrand again yelled out and again was met with no reply. He contemplated removing his armor as the idea of climbing a countless number of stairs with a full suit of steel hanging from his body was not appealing. But he brushed the thought aside and began his climb.

  The knight climbed for what seemed like an eternity. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and yet somehow, he was able to keep climbing. His body seemed to take on a will of its own and carried him up the stairs step by step. He felt as if whatever was at the top of the stairs was calling out to him. He shivered for a moment, remembering the call of the hemites below, but this draw was even stronger.