by P D Ceanneir
Lars, and about a hundred refugees, had managed to get on board one of the longboats tied along the dockland’s main pier. He saw Shipmaster Sere direct people onto boats and instruct the oarsmen to push off.
As the ship moved further away from the shore, the red sky was now tinged with orange and yellow from the burning town. Somewhere in the flames was the Helbringer, still roaring in anger as it rampaged through the debris.
A strong wind pushed the ship further away and Lars saw others following, about ten he guessed, which was a woefully small number for the size of the fleet. He judged that two thirds of the town were still fleeing Hildbern.
Suddenly the crowd of people on the boat screamed. Lars looked towards the island and saw the Helbringer standing on the headland that was called Rooks Haven Head. The thing was about fifty feet tall by now, and it was watching the ships go by and bellowing loudly in fury, the glow of the burning town behind it, its long grey tail swinging impatiently behind.
It seemed to judder in strange spasms, its large claw-like hands outstretched. Lars could see it pulling naked energy from the ground, extracting it in the form of yellow bursts of lightning that concentrated into balls of white fire in his hands.
Then it threw the strange glowing orbs towards the escaping fleet.
Lars watched as the orbs struck the tail end of the small convoy of ships. Four longboats exploded into tiny splinters before his eyes. The sea roiled up and a nearly engulfed the remaining ships, but if it was not for the skills of the crews, then they would have surely have all drowned. They rode the waves away from the carnage of Hildbern. His last sight of his home was that of a soft orange glow in the distance.
6
Telmar finally drew breath as he took his hands away from the sides of the Loremaster’s head. Lars was crying.
‘Gods, that was terrible,’ said the king. ‘All of those people…’
‘No matter what they did, they could not fight that thing,’ said Jarl Olav sadly. ‘Louth’s unborn child, my great great-grandfather, was the only male heir to survive. Many years later, in his old age, he took three ships back to the island but nothing lived there. Not even a single blade of grass or an ant. It was dead, utterly devoid of life.’
‘Is there a reason you wish to know?’ Lars asked Telmar.
Telmar nodded. ‘I believe the Door is coming to Dulan-Tiss, sometime next year. I needed to look into your memories to see for myself what I must face.’
Even though Olav and his son were brave warriors, fear was evident on their faces at Telmar’s words. ‘Why do you say you will face it? Do you mean on your own?’ asked Cokato.
Telmar looked into the white-hot coals of the fire. The last image of the creature was of it taking something from the ground and using it as a weapon. He knew what that something was - Dragon Lane energy. Or, more exactly, volatile energy still held inside the earth, the same power that churned through his negative emotions. This was what the Helbringer was doing, taking Pyromantic energy back to the Earth Daemon and making Him more powerful, making him grow, giving Him life.
Now he understood. He knew his curse was part of the Earth Daemon.
‘I am, what I must destroy,’ he whispered. He turned to Cokato and answered his question. ‘I’m cursed with a dark power. One that feeds on my sanity, but it is a power that the Helbringer wants, and I am the only one who can stop it from destroying my world.’
The Battle of the Single Survivor
“Hold fast and stand firm!” said Prince Vanduke. “Protect the De Proteous.”
Death on the River Platte, Ode to the De Proteous
by Earl Mervin of the Mount
1
The winter months of 2983 to 2984 YOA were to be cold ones. Unusually, for so far north in the continent, the snows crossed over the natural barrier of the Tattoium Ridge to fall for ten whole days and carpet the ground for miles around in about a foot of snow. It was bitterly cold and the stock holdings of grain, vegetables and meat in Duncattrine were growing short. The king sent patrols into the hills to hunt the many deer and boar that foraged in the foothills or in the forests at the edge of Lake Furran.
Telmar did not let his army relax for the winter. He ordered Count Talien’s engineers to construct siege engines in preparation for an assault on Aquen Town when the thaw came. He sent Lords Sandbrea and Edgemuir north with their light cavalry to scout the lands of Haplann where he would have to take his host through to get to Aquen. The young Count of Haplann had sent his Factor only a few days before to reassert his neutral stance in the war. Telmar acquiesced, but only if he had free access for his troops. Besides, once the king had taken care of the Baron of Aquen then the war was over.
Or so he thought.
Life in the fort was grim. Although there was food from hunting, and a roof over their heads for most of the army, with tents supplied for the rest. The cold in the silent hours of night took a number of men into the chill of death’s embrace. To make matters worse, hundreds of volunteers came to form militias and join his host, forcing the king to send them to lodgings in outlying villages miles away from Duncattrine.
With the logistical problems of the army a constant headache, his other problem was the Door. Now that he had more information about the Helbringer and his ability to harness the energy for the Dragon Lanes, he started to hypothesise why the creature appeared at the times and dates it did. He knew instinctively that there had to be a link with the planet’s energy fields and the Helbringer appearance.
The other problem he faced was his curse. The Pyromaniac Surges were becoming more frequent and he constantly had to wander into the hills and vent the energy that built up inside him. He knew that the worry and stress of the war was the main reason for these surges, unavoidable as it was.
There is a reference somewhere in a history book by Ringwald the Tolerant, that the king’s host would watch the hills when the Pyromancer unleashed his power. Everyone witnessed a dazzling display of white light that would burn the image of the surrounding peeks into their minds as tall black silhouettes.
One consolation for Telmar was the feeling of safety with his allies around him in such an isolated location. Many local lords offered their support to his cause and several reports from Dulan-Tiss, which were rare due to the passes being closed with the weather, were hopeful with good news. Months ago, after Telmar’s crowning, he had released Lord Gulius, High Lord Admiral of the Vallkyte fleet, from prison after he swore fealty to him on Joaquin Ri’s urging. Gulius had dithered in indecisive torment after King Sallen’s death, but Telmar had worked his charm on him. The Vallkyte Navy would not do as the new king ordered and had relocated to a cove near Dutresi. Therefore, Telmar needed the admiral’s support because he was the only one who could control his captains.
At the turn of the year, the king heard of the Vallkyte Navy’s move to blockade the ports and docks of Sonora as he had instructed Admiral Gulius to do before leaving to take care of Klingspur. Sonora, that haven for the Brethac Ziggurat, had been strangely quiet over the months of Telmar’s monarchy, but he had not forgotten them. Now, due to the blockade, a strong resentment arose from the citizens towards the citadel’s counsellors and nobles. Large riots began in early winter when food ran short. Most of the common folk were in support of King Telmar and they marched in protest to the palace. They believed that the Countess Cinnibar and her retinue were still loyal to the late Sallen. Their leader was an outspoken merchant and nobleman called Sir Mytan of Farness, a minor knight who owned a few hectares of land, and a small trading company. He had no wish to go back the crippling taxation laws of Sallen’s era, yet the countess still imposed some of the unpopular tax laws.
In retaliation against Sir Mytan’s uprising, the Order, under the guise of the Insular Temple, formed a private army called the Havant Guard. Soon, Sonora became embroiled in its own small civil war that would last for six months and would result in the destruction of half the city and the deaths of four thousand people with
in its walls.
The cold months rolled on. Snow clouds gave way to clear blue skies and frosty mornings. The break in the weather lasted for the rest of the winter, and by late Feran 2984 YOA, King Telmar’s army was on the move again, this time northwards.
Their march was so unexpected and quick that it took Aquen Town totally by surprise. Baron Wilburton had not expected Telmar to pursue a winter campaign. This oversight on the baron’s part was to prove his downfall. Already he had committed half of his host to protect the seven Aquen villages constantly tormented by Lords Sandbrea and Edgemuir’s flying columns of light cavalry. Now he realised he was outnumbered and ill equipped to defend against a siege throughout the spring when Telmar’s large host moved their newly constructed catapults into position to pound his south walls.
Telmar had brought twelve catapults, though three had their axles damaged on the trip and had to be cannibalised for spare parts for the other nine. He found a high-level area in front of a forested embankment to camp and allowed Count Talien to conduct the siege, which he started in earnest.
I have only been to Aquen Town on three occasions and I find it small, but charming. It is built on top of three level hills that rise above the marshland, the only high terrain in the area. The town itself has many canals that acted as streets, a queer grid of waterways intersecting and flowing by the rich townhouses. It is by far one of the most unusual towns on the continent. Its outer stone walls are twelve feet thick, with crenulations and watchtowers spaced every hundred feet. Such a defensive structure would prove to be a tough nut to crack.
As the weighty two hundred pound balls of granite battered the walls, chipping away at the limestone brickwork to make huge pockmarks along the length of the more exposed south facing walls, the rest of the host surrounded the town to watch over the other three of the town’s main entrances that faced the points of the compass. Telmar settled himself in for a lengthy siege. As it was by the normal laws of fate, it would have been a long wait had it not been for a stroke of luck that finally saw the fall of Aquen.
2
It happened one early morning a month into the siege as dawn’s light split through the steel grey sky. Dense mist shrouded the forests around Aquen, conveniently concealing Cokato’s Berserkers, about two hundred in all, as they watched the drove road that went west to Haplann and north to Kerness and Sonora.
As his men roused themselves and stretched their cold limbs, a scout came in from the east and reported to Cokato that the north gate of the town was opening to let a small cavalry troop out.
Cokato had to act fast. His company were the closest to the gate and, if his men could cross the distance to it quickly and hold the gate open, then he may have a chance of ending the siege earlier than thought. He gave orders to his men to assemble, sending one of them to the king in the south to inform him of his plan and another messenger he sent east along the drove road to find his father, who was in command of a further five hundred of the Bear Clan, and ask him to come to his aid. Then they ran silently towards the north gate, skimming quickly over the ground like silent Marshwraiths.
The mist covered them until they were clear of the woodland and out over the uneven moors that hugged the road. Cokato saw that the gate still lay open and a sizeable cavalry squadron had assembled by the entrance. Clearly the baron wanted a message sent to Sonora and was attempting to break through the king’s ring of steel, hoping that the mist would cover their exit; this proved that his position in Aquen was hopeless without assistance. Over the course of the past month the baron had attempted similar breakouts, but none managed to slip past Lord Withermorne’s heavy horse that guarded the northern route to Sonora.
Cokato had surprise on his side. Before they knew what hit them, three of the horsemen were struck by the Berserkers’ hunting bows and then his men were inside the town gate swinging axes and hamstringing horses to bring the riders down.
Jarl Olav arrived half an hour later, by that time twenty of Cokato’s men had died in the attack from the archers on the walls. Now, at the sight of fresh men, the archers fled. By the time Telmar, arrived the sun was burning the mist away and the gate was well and truly in his control thanks to the quick thinking to Cokato. The north quadrant of the town had fallen to the Berserkers and Baron Wilburton’s men had pulled back across the Spirant Bridge, one of three short bridges that spanned the river to the main island of the town. His soldiers demolished their end of the bridge to hamper Telmar’s crossing.
The king vented his anger at Wilburton’s defiance and unleashed Pyromantic fire into the houses along the far bank. The buildings on Spirant hill burnt for the rest of the day and well into the night.
Cokato and his father had taken the second bridge to the south of the city and managed to open the main gates. Count Talien’s host swarmed into Aquen and the king turned a blind eye as his army sacked and plundered the buildings along the river’s south bank while Baron Wilburton and his remaining men hid in the town’s tall square keep.
According to rumour, the Berserkers slaughtered half of the town’s inhabitants before the baron surrendered. This was the story that my father and I heard, and the rest of the kingdom also. In truth, only a small proportion of the town guards died because they resisted, but the sacking of Aquen tarnished Telmar’s reputation even further. We also heard that on the young baron’s surrender Telmar had him, and his officers, hung from the highest walls of his keep without trial. I found out much later that an armed guard transported the baron in chains to a Dulan prison along with six of his highest-ranking officers, and they were all released within the year. That episode taught me never to trust rumour.
The new Vallkyte king heralded the success of the siege as a great victory and he planned a triumphant move back to Dulan-Tiss, but the mobilisation of the Rogun army to the west concerned him when reports flooded in from his scouts and pathfinders. To make matters worse Lord Kelpo, that doughty old fighter and firm supporter of Telmar, finally succumbed to the cold and sickness that had afflicted him the previous year. He fell into a fever and died within two days.
Telmar’s sadness was profound. He shut himself off from his followers for several days to meditate away the negative emotions building within him and put his analytical mind into finding a way to defeat the Helbringer.
3
The taking of Aquen Town happened so fast that the smoke from the burning buildings had blotted the horizon for ten days before we found out about it. My grandfather was so angry at the stories of the sacking of the town that he sent word to my father, ordering him to go and speak to Telmar.
My father and I were enjoying our sojourn in the Eternal Forest, where the warmth from the ground was absorbed by the huge ash and oak trees like some ethereal sponge, kept the forest at a pleasant ambient temperature all year round so that their leaves never browned and didn’t fall in the autumn; hence the reason the natives called it the Eternal Forest.
The “dispute” between the Falesti and the Dwarves would be too harsh a title to use. It was more of an amicable discussion, which my father gladly facilitated over the whole proceedings as mediator.
Over fifty years ago the ruling Atyd in the Eldom of Treil to the south of the forest’s capital, Ten Mountain, invited the dwarves of Plysarus to stay. He wanted the dwarves to make swords and armour, a skill in which they had no equal. Unfortunately, they had to feed their forges and they soon felled trees for wood to burn into charcoal. The Falesti revered trees and saw this as blasphemy. The locals held their grudges and animosity towards these short, yet very friendly, people in check for fifty years until the Falesti Queen and Lord Soneros decided to bring the disputes out into the open. On the day we were to receive the message from grandfather the negotiations were over, and we now discussed finalising a resettlement move for the dwarves to the Isle of Zent, just off the coast of Sonora, where lumber and sheltered mountains were plentiful.
We all sat at a long oval table in the Royal Garden of Ten Mountain Palace
, the seat of the current Falesti monarch, Queen Nieve, who sat at its head with Lord Soneros beside her as her Consul. Across from my father and I sat the Dwarven Kerf, or chief, Herken, who was a thin old dwarf with ruddy cheeks, and greying hair which was finely plaited under a black cap called a Dhoil, or a chief’s cap. Unusually for a dwarf he shaved his chin but had a white moustache that covered his mouth and drooped down past his chin. Even though we could not see him smile he was constantly happy. With dwarves, happiness and amusement always showed in their light blue eyes. We were told he did not speak our language, though this proved to be a falsehood when Soneros Ri explained that the Kerf understood us quite well, he just hated to sully his tongue with our words. My experience of the Dwarves language is limited, and is one of the most difficult to learn and understand.
His interpreter was his oldest son, the Master Smith Gunach, who in later years would befriend my son, Havoc, fashion the Sword that Rules with him, and become one of his famous Paladins. Nevertheless, all that lay in the future.
Gunach looked much like his father; though he was broad shouldered and stocky like most dwarves. However, unlike the Kerf, he had a beard, which he liked to keep plaited with beads of emeralds wound through the twists and his mop of brown hair also.
Gunach was holding my sword, Tragenn, which means Dragon Fire. The sunlight that dappled through the branches of the high canopy cast a light sheen across the long blade, which shone back swirls of yellows and reds.
‘Lord Borran is by far the greatest Sword Smith you Rawns ever had,’ he said with a slight nod. ‘I would recognise his work anywhere. It is an honour to hold such a weapon again.’
‘You have held it before?’ I asked him. He nodded and handed the sword back to me.
‘I watched him make it, and offered a few tips of my own,’ he said humbly.
‘But that was over forty years ago!’ I said, surprised. Gunach did not look any older than I did.
