The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2

by Christian Warren Freed

  Andolus returned shortly, a perplexed look on his face. “We should start heading south. The river isn’t more than two or three leagues ahead. We ought to be able to reach it by sundown, if we set a good pace and there is no outside intervention.”

  “Good,” Aron said. “I am tired of running.”

  Long Shadow crept from a stand of pines. The expression on his face was one of distress.

  “We have to move now,” Andolus warned. He squinted to catch all of Long Shadow’s hand signs. “The darklings are less than a league behind us. Hundreds of them. I am afraid it will take more than what we have to escape this time.”

  A howl shattered the still. Their enemy had discovered their tracks. Now fugitives, they dug their heels into their steeds and ran for dear life. Kilometers flashed by, each moment another stage in the deadly game. The darklings were steadily gaining ground. Andolus led the six of them through a pair of hills, successfully eluding their pursuit. Ominous peaks in the distance jutted into the sky, casting shadow upon the lands.

  Once free of the pass, they saw vast forests of conifers blanketing the valley from the base of the mountains to the closest banks of the river. So long as the darklings were all behind, they didn’t expect to meet much resistance. Andolus edged into the trees, confident in the lead. Some of the trees were so massive, it would take all six of the fugitives to encircle. The rush of the river pounded through the forest. A sense of accomplishment threatened to take them. Each fought it, for this was the most dangerous time.

  Any illusion of hope dashed as the band exited the forest to find there was no bridge across the river in the immediate area. Aron made the call to strike south, knowing that was where the main army was camped. Midnight passed and still they found nothing. The river was too wide and deep for any natural crossing. The elf in the lead, they hurried south in search of an escape route.

  ***

  Five thousand lightly armored warriors stole through the outer picket lines. Dawn was but an hour away, giving them enough time, just, to get in position before the front wave of the darkling army arrived. Dlorn rode at the head of the column. His hard eyes focused on the terrain ahead. This was his true calling. The cold hand of destiny molded into the perfect warrior. Through his sword, would the future be wrought.

  Jou Amn and ten of his men road with the Field Marshal. They chose to leave their golden armor behind, instead wearing lighter, more suitable leather armor for the strike-and-move series of attacks Dlorn had in mind. Sword and battle axe suited for mounted combat filled their hands. Tired of running, the Golden Warriors looked forward to confronting their foes.

  The mounted force found and swarmed over the darkling advance party, hardly slowing as they slaughtered the enemy. Dlorn, after ensuring that none of the darkling escaped through the confusion, decided to claim the area for his ambush sight. Any farther forward and they ran the risk of being smashed by the main darkling force. Dlorn and his commanders went up and down the lines, drawing units in tight and developing the trap. A smile cracked the old man’s face when all was in place.

  “Any suggestions?” Karin asked, as she double checked her quiver. There were less than twenty arrows. Nowhere near enough to face what awaited.

  Over a hundred darklings, and something bigger, more dangerous, guarded the bridge. The small band hadn’t been spotted yet, giving them the option of continuing south or stopping to fight through it.

  “Long Shadow and I will swim across the river. I think we can set the bridge on fire from both ends. This should confuse those devils enough for them to scatter, thus giving you enough time to charge across. By no means are you to stop and engage the grohl. Leave him to us. The measure of your strength combined would not be enough, for they are dark creatures made from twisted magic. My people are well acquainted with them. Worry about the darklings,” Andolus said.

  “You’ll freeze in that water,” Aron countered, ignoring how the elf knew what the monster behind the darklings was. None of them had never heard of such a creature and were loath to confront it.

  Andolus offered a tight shrug, as if to say there was no other way, and both he and Long Shadow shed their cloaks, tightened weapons belts, and handed over their reins. Without waiting, the duo edged through the night to the frozen waters of the Simca River. The others waited in tense anticipation as soon their companions all but disappeared in the water. Hundreds of darklings were drawing closer, forcing the group between rock and anvil.

  Aron resisted the urge to pace his nervousness. He hated not being in control, especially in a life and death situation. Time slowed the longer they waited. To keep his mind fresh, he went through various battle drills and potential scenarios they were about to encounter once the signal was given. If given. The waters were so cold and moving fast enough to drown a man in mere moments. He didn’t think the elf stood much chance of success.

  The high-pitched cry slashing the night from across the river startled him. Aron rode forward to the forest edge and frowned. Darklings, having discovered the subterfuge, were hurrying to the far side of the bridge. There were no flames.

  “Come on. If we don’t try now, we’re not going to make it,” Aron commanded. He drew his sword.

  The others gave concerned looks, but none objected. With the darkling force barreling down from behind, this was their only chance. Extra horses tethered to their own, Aron led them down the gentle slope of the bank and into chaos before they had time to rethink the situation. The princess was his main concern. She was their weakest link. Though trained in battle, Elsyn had never been tested. Much to his surprise, she’d already drawn her short sword.

  Conclusions of personal courage yet undiscovered, Elsyn found herself speeding toward maddening death alongside the others. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to break and run, but Aron had led her this far. She had full confidence that he could get her the rest of the way. She briefly thought of those days when he rode with her. The warmth of body heat they shared was … inspiring. Now that the Druinna Calar had healed his horse, she was left alone. And heading for a massing of creatures desperate to kill her.

  The time for speculation ended when Aron’s horse set foot on the bridge.

  They emerged from the frozen waters, skin turned pale shades of blue. Teeth chattered as Andolus pushed his clinging hair away from his face. His sharp eyes blinked rapidly to clear away the small ice crystals formed in the lashes. A quick look showed the immediate area clear. He and Long Shadow drew their weapons, the weight almost too much in their frozen hands, and crept through the snow and ice. Fragile branches snapped underfoot.

  The killers eased into light underbrush with hearts pounding as they always did in those precious moments when anticipation dominated the senses. The unseen squad of darklings hiding in the bushes startled them. Long Shadow’s reactions proved quickest. Three darklings were dead before either they or Andolus fully registered what was happening.

  A cry went up from the bridge. It was brutal, and high-pitched. The grohl. Andolus plunged his sword into the last darkling’s chest and looked to Long Shadow. To his credit, the silent killer didn’t hesitate. He charged toward the advancing grohl. Andolus was hard pressed to keep up.

  His nerves blanched upon seeing the monster for the first time. Almost as large as a troll, it had no equal. The grohl stood seven feet and was packed with bulging muscles. Long, silver hair ran down its back, giving the look of a killer. Black, lidless, eyes stared down on them. Andolus sensed that the grohl had been created to kill elves.

  Flexing those massive shoulders, the beast roared so deep, the very ground trembled. Long Shadow snarled, for he was born for such a challenge. He thrust a hand out, beckoning the beast. The challenge was accepted. The grohl charged. Predator versus predator, they circled each other. Darklings fell back to give them room. They cheered their champion. Andolus balked. Even should Long Shadow manage to kill the grohl, there were still far too many darklings to defeat.

  Long
Shadow swung hard, opting for a single sword rather than both. The grohl easily deflected the blow, nearly knocking him to the ground in the process. Swift and decisive movements were exhibited by both. Claws raked flesh. Five small tears opened across Long Shadow’s chest. The grohl laughed.

  Anger sparked in Long Shadow and his discipline nearly broke. He stepped back, took a calming breath, and raised his sword. When all looked as if he were destined to fail, an arrow whistled through the fractured night and pierced the monster in the throat. Blue-black blood spurted from entry and exit wounds. The grohl reeled in disbelief, one clawed hand reaching futilely to staunch the blood flow. Long Shadow attacked. His heavy sword struck the grohl’s head with a single swipe.

  Darklings wailed at the loss but were set upon from behind unexpectedly. Four humans broke through their ranks, spreading fire and death. Several in the back ranks burst into flame from carefully hidden torches. The grohl’s body fell atop a handful of darklings too stunned to move, crushing them. Andolus and Long Shadow seized the opportunity and made a mad dash for their friends and horses. Bodies dropped as they passed, hacked down. The darkling mass waivered before breaking altogether. By the time they regained composure, the six riders were already across the bridge and heading toward the safety of the army ahead. Flames licked higher as the bridge caught.

  Duoth N’nclogbar stepped away from the bridge in dismay. The riders were gone, lost to the night. He had failed. He looked hatefully at the fallen grohl and the host of his dead. The darkling, wisely, feared the consequences of when the Black discovered what had transpired.

  “How did this happen?” he asked the nearest warrior.

  The darkling shifted, uncomfortable with being noticed. “Surprise! Many on horse!”

  Duoth drew the short-blackened blade from his belt and stabbed the warrior in the heart. “They were handful.”

  The king of the darklings stalked away from the others and stared into the waning night with the knowledge that his enemies would soon be safe among a considerably larger force. Getting the Staff became infinitely more difficult.

  SIX

  Reunion

  Aron drank long from the flask of cold ale. Bitter to the tongue, the golden liquid burned going down his throat. Even as harsh as it tasted, the ale reminded him of better days in the barracks. He tried hard to forget that he was one of the senior commanders in the midst of a winter warzone. To forget that tens of thousands of grotesque creatures, rumored to be legend until last fall, marched toward him under a traitor’s banner. He wondered what Sevron and the rest of the men back in Saverin were doing. Were they prepared?

  He paused when Karin entered the tent. She offered a knowing smile and sat down. They’d arrived at the main Galdean army camp two days past and were still trying to recover. Andolus and Long Shadow both sustained multiple wounds during their ill-advised battle with the darklings. Fortunately, none were severe enough to garner medical attention. They, like the others, were worn down and sore for so many days of hard riding.

  Aron passed her the flask, which she greedily accepted, and said, “A year ago, if you would have told me that I’d be here in the deep winter, I would have thought you mad and walked off laughing.”

  “And now?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not so sure.”

  She propped her boots up on the table but said nothing. She chose to finish the flask and hand it back with a wry grin.

  “Any news from Dlorn or the others?” he asked, tucking the flask away.

  “Not yet. His commanders say they should be back some time this afternoon. Unless they’ve been overrun,” she answered.

  “Five thousand men couldn’t be destroyed in a handful of day. He’ll be back. The only way he couldn’t make it is if the Black was involved, but I don’t see that happening.”

  “Why not?” she asked, confused.

  “He wants Meisthelm, more importantly, the Staff. The Black won’t commit himself and risk the chance of being killed without reassurances that he’s going to get what he wants.”

  A messenger entered. The anxious look on his face made Aron’s stomach clench. “Field Marshal Dlorn has returned, my lord.”

  Aron could have slapped the man for taking too long to deliver the word. Both he and Karin were on their feet, headed out the door before the messenger finished speaking. Matters were already starting to look better. The prowess and time proven skill of Dlorn brought him and most of his strike force back in one piece, a feat many of those assembled hadn’t thought possible, even if they were reluctant to admit so.

  Aron found the haggard marshal slumped on a bench near the hospital tents. A field medic bandaged a nasty slash on Dlorn’s left arm. Loss of blood and near fatigue made Dlorn look much older than his seventy odd years. He was flushed and out of breath. Only when he spied Elsyn, approaching from the opposite direction of Aron, did he perk up.

  “Ah, Princess! Gods, but I’m glad to see you safe,” he said, as she all but crashed into his embrace. “We feared the worst when news of your father reached me.”

  Thought of her father choked her up, but Elsyn managed to overcome any emotional outbreak by introducing her companions and reacquainting Dlorn with those he knew. It did his old heart good to see the elf again. There was an odd reassurance in finding both Andolus and Long Shadow guarding Elsyn. He felt as if the kingdom had hope.

  Aron cut through the niceties. Even though they’d reached the safety of the army, he still had the problem the Staff of Life created. “Marshal, how long do we have before the army arrives?”

  The old man sagged. “Not much longer. We made contact with the darklings’ advance body only a half day across the river. We emplaced and waited. Their scout units ran into us and we managed to kill most of them. They don’t fight very well, once you understand their tactics and take the offensive.”

  He paused to rub his lower jaw. “The main body surged into us shortly before dawn. I think they were as surprised as we were. They could have, should have used the cover of night to mask their movements and flank us but they didn’t. Once they managed to disengage, the darklings waited for sunrise. I’d ordered a withdrawal to a secondary location. The darklings took offense and charged. It’s hard to say how many we slew, thousands at least.”

  The medic cinched down the bandage, drawing a foul look.

  “I didn’t become distressed until cresting a rise where I could view the vast strength of their army. It was… a dark wave stretching for leagues, possibly back to Galdarath. Never once, in decades of service, have I known fear so strong. Not even as a new private in my first engagement. I wonder how men might hold back the dark tide approaching.”

  He drank deep from a canteen. “How fares the city?”

  “We don’t know. Aron and the Golden Warriors left after… my father died. We’ve had no contact with Galdarath since,” she said.

  “It stands to reason the enemy will continue putting pressure on Galdea until the Black gets what he wants,” Aron added.

  “Jent Tariens is more than capable. The city is in good hands with him as steward,” Elsyn offered.

  “Tariens is still a boy,” Dlorn snapped. “He knows as much as I do about running a kingdom. My lady, if Galdea is to survive, I must take the army back.”

  “How do you propose to get there?” Aron asked. “Ride right through the darkling lines? You must know that they have already secured the bridges north of here. We barely forced our way through. If the enemy is as strong as you suggest, your army will be slaughtered.”

  “Shall I sit here while our city burns? While my family is murdered by monsters who shouldn’t exist?” The fire raged within. It was an old hate he used to prepare for battle.

  Aron squared on him. “Galdarath is in no immediate jeopardy. I assure you.”

  “False promises of a self-proclaimed prophet! You blind yourself with illusions. I’m willing to guess that none of our problems would have happened if not for the arrival of you and that damne
d Black wizard.”

  “How dare you say such a thing?” Elsyn cried out. Aron had saved her life too many times in the last week to allow Dlorn the opportunity to besmirch his honor.

  Dlorn rose with swiftness an old man shouldn’t possess. “Open your eyes, girl! Magicians created the devils of the world, this one and his High Council. The Hierarchy is to blame for all our troubles. When I finish with the darklings, I march on Meisthelm!”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Aron calmly said.

  “But I do. I know exactly what I say. My king is dead, kingdom in turmoil. My city is under siege and my army stands on the brink of annihilation. You and your meddlesome bigots created all of this and you have the nerve to try and tell me I don’t know of what I speak?” Dlorn spat.

  Aron ground his teeth, lest he speak unwisely. “I tell you again, Galdarath is in minimal danger. The real danger stands before you.”

  Dlorn froze. His eyes narrowed dangerously thin. “What do you mean?”

  Aron brought forth what Dlorn had assumed was a mere walking stick. “This is the Staff of Life, created by wizards long before our forefathers were born. This is what the Black seeks and so long as I have it, he will come for me.”

  “We all die for a piece of wood?”

  Aron offered a smile. “I don’t control the flow of events. The Staff was hidden beneath Galdarath. It has fallen to me to find a way to destroy the Black and end this war. Like you, I am a mere puppet.”

  “Now that you have this stick, what do you intend to do with it? Can it unlock the mysteries of life? Save us all from those beasts?” Dlorn’s anger threatened to erupt.

  Good question. I don’t know what it does or how to use it. Logic told him he had but one option. “I need to get the Staff to Meisthelm. The High Council will know what to do with it.”

  “Can you trust them? The Black has already turned. What’s to say the others won’t follow him?” Dlorn asked, plans already formed.