Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  Jehnom raised his spear in acknowledgment.

  Burcott retrieved his weapon and left the wood. As he ventured up the slope he could see Tellius gathering a group of men together.

  The young man smiled in relief at the sight of Burcott. “That was a damned stupid thing to do!” he exclaimed. “We can not afford to lose you, next time I will go in your place.”

  Burcott looked back to the forest. “Then you would have died.” He said gruffly. “The Morne are coming,” he said looking at the fires. “I don’t think the woodsmen will hold them back for long.”

  The fire drew closer, racing northward upon a wind of its own making. Incandescent tongues of flame flickered amid the treetops, consuming the green wood in a fury of sparks and thick smoke.

  The walls were manned and the defenses of the keep were at the ready. All that the men could do was await the emergence of the Morne.

  Two hundred men stood outside the curtain wall, the reins of their horses held tightly in their hands. They watched as the flames continued to mount and through the wall of thick smoke they could clearly hear the sounds of combat.

  The first of Jehnom’s people emerged from the forest. Women carrying screaming children and wounded warriors, staggered out from the thick smoke and onto the hillside.

  Burcott swung up into his saddle. “Stand ready!” He watched with pride as they mounted as one, holding their lances aloft. They sat motionless awaiting their commander’s next order.

  The stinging smoke and fear drove the forest people up the slope, towards the positions held by their ancient enemy.

  Burcott waved his men forward, Sweeping down the hill they shouted encouragement to the refugees. Those who were too tired to continue were pulled up onto the horses and taken to the keep.

  The people kept coming; at first it was a few dozen, now hundreds sought the refuge of the keep. They were the very young or old, no one who was in their prime moved out of the forest unless they bore serious wounds which prevented their fighting.

  The sounds of crashing trees and yelling men filled the smoke darkened air. Burcott was nearly unhorsed as a giant crashed through the smoke, swinging a flaming torch, the rock troll struck at his horse but missed.

  Its craggy skin was streaked with sweat and soot. The dog like snout and powerful arms were drenched in gore. At ten feet in height it towered over the mounted man, its single eye fixed upon him. With a murderous roar the troll swung the man sized torch once again.

  Burcott’s horse stepped aside lithely, the crackling brand just missing them. The horse shied about fighting the urge to flee, but its training held true. Rather than throwing its rider and fleeing the horse twisted about evading yet another swing of the massive weapon.

  The flaming head slammed into the earth with a bone-jarring thud. The Troll snarled in rage at its elusive prey, the giant wrenched the torch from the soil and charged.

  Burcott turned the horse’s head and spurred it away from the Troll. The ground shook behind them, but the heavy creature had no chance of catching him. Turning aside for easier prey, it sought to kill some of the fleeing woodsmen.

  Burcott lowered his lance and turned the horse about. His horse charged, its eyes wide with fear. Down the slope they raced, man and beast becoming one, the steel tip of his lance shining bright in the gloom.

  More Trolls burst from the wood, and at their sides ran Fell Hounds. The murderous curs leaping on anything that moved. Several of them leapt for Burcott but his horse was too fast. They missed their target and landed upon the grass in a tangled heap.

  The Troll turned, but it realized its danger too late. The impact shattered Burcott’s lance, ripping the woodened haft from his hand. The force of the blow nearly drove him from his saddle.

  The lances tip ripped through the giant’s thick hide, shattering its ribs and tearing through the Troll’s heart. With a gurgling sigh the giant fell backwards the light of life leaving its eye before it struck the ground.

  Burcott was nearly pulled from his saddle by a Fell Hound. One of his men drove his lance through the beast’s neck knocking it aside at the last possible moment.

  Burcott’s men rallied, and drove the Trolls back into the burning wood. Many of the titans now lay upon the ground dead, among a score or more of the hounds. The feat was costly nearly fifty of his men had fallen as well.

  Burcott led the men back up the slope towards the keep. They passed along the wall taking up new lances from waiting soldiers.

  As his men rearmed warriors from the forest emerged from the smoke, coughing and bleeding from many wounds. A few of the men were burned terribly and fought against the pain as they strove to defend their homeland.

  Jehnom stood among them, a deep cut across his chest seeping blood. With a shout in his odd sounding language he led the surviving warriors towards the keep.

  Burcott was dismayed to see how few of them survived. Perhaps three hundred warriors at best, and many of them were beyond fighting.

  From the thick smoke the Trolls charged, their senseless rage overpowering their fear of the mounted warriors. Thirteen of the giants raced forward with heavy lumbering steps, shaking the ground with their fury.

  Burcott’s men charged past the forest warriors and headlong into the Trolls.

  Burcott’s lance pierced the neck of one of the brutes. It’s steel head shattering the thick spine as it tore through. The Troll swung its tree trunk cudgel striking Burcott’s horse in the head.

  With a sickening thud the skull of the brave mount was shattered, throwing gore far and wide. The steed’s legs folded and the once fleet stallion slid lifeless upon the grass.

  Burcott leapt from his mount as it went down. He landed on his back, the wind driven from him by the impact. His ears rang and he rolled onto his stomach and fought to get to his feet. The grass was slick with blood and he fell forward. Hands gripped his chain hauberk and pulled him upright.

  Horses thundered past him, their rider’s were blood spattered and grim faced. The chaos of combat swirled about him. A vortex of pain and death with him locked in its center. The hands upon his shoulders pushed him up the slope, driving him towards the safety of the keep. His sense of balance returned and the cobwebs left his mind. He twisted about and stood facing Jehnom. The forest warrior was spotted with blood; some of it was his own.

  At the curtain wall stood Tellius, one of the young messengers standing nervously at his side watching the combat with fear filled eyes.

  “Sound the recall!” Burcott ordered, concerned for his men fighting for their very lives.

  The messenger raised his polished horn to his lips. With shaking hands he sounded the two sharp notes. The call rang out echoing from the keeps walls.

  The mounted warriors wheeled as one, and raced back for the keep. The few stragglers from the forest were lifted up and born through the gateway.

  Burcott waited until the last man had passed. He followed through the gateway and ordered the opening barricaded.

  The Trolls followed, charging up the hill they came within range of the bowmen. The giants retreated leaving many dead behind. Their thick hides warded them from the arrows but their necks and heads were vulnerable. The men along the wall learned quickly, and years of practice had made them fearsome archers whose skill was renowned throughout the east.

  Barricades of fallen logs, bristling with sharpened stakes were drug across the gate opening. They were secured into place by stakes pounded into the hard earth beneath upraised flagstones. Large stones were levered into place behind the barricade. The men worked quickly filling the opening with a wall of rubble behind a hedgerow of sharpened poles.

  The people of the forest crowded the southern wall and from the weathered ramparts they watched as their home burned. It was a grisly scene, as far as they could see the trees were ablaze, the heavy smoke of their destruction blackening the sky for miles.

  Burcott went with Jehnom to the rampart. The forest warrior’s back stiffened at the sight. He b
egan to sing and all those who stood along the wall joined his voice. The words were meaningless to the warriors from Trondhiem but the sense of loss and grief was plainly conveyed.

  Burcott waited for their lament to end. “I want to thank you for saving my skin back there.” He said to Jehnom.

  Jehnom wiped moisture from his eyes. “Lord Burcott you are unlike the outlanders we have learned to loathe. You and your men have risked your lives to save my people. For that we are in your debt.”

  “I did nothing more than any other man of honor would do were he here in my place.” Burcott looked to the forest; even he felt a sense of sad loss watching the dying trees. “Only a small portion of the great forest is razed. The wind has driven the fire to the edge rather than the wood’s heart.”

  Jehnom said nothing for several moments, he watched intently as the outermost band of trees erupted into flames. “The loss of even one tree is a cause of sorrow among my kith. Stewards of the forest we called ourselves in our foolish pride.” He said in a voice filled with anger. “We have failed in our obligations and now the wood writhes in pain because of our weakness.”

  “Those were Rock Trolls, Jehnom.” Burcott said drawing the man’s attention away from the blaze. “They are not easily slain.”

  “Three score plus seven lie dead beyond the fire.” Jehnom replied. “Less than a score reached the forest edge.

  “The giants are only a small part of the danger we share.” Jehnom continued. “A massive host of the reptiles follows the fires. The Morne as you call them come on foot slaying all before them.”

  “How many?” Burcott asked. He needed to know what they would soon be facing.

  “As many as ten thousand at most remain.” Jehnom answered. “They dared to bring ax and flame into the wood. Two times that number we slew on the first day. Driving them back, then the Trolls came upon us. Out of the darkness wielding flaming brands they set the trees aflame.” He looked at the assembled forest people who were gathering in the courtyard unable to watch the trees burning. “Once the fires have died the Morne will come.” He said the name with disgust. “I must see to my people now, we will be ready when they arrive. They will find the taking of this fortress a dire undertaking.”

  “If there is anything your people require my men will see that you have it if it is in our power to grant.”

  With a nod of gratitude Jehnom left the rampart and took his place among the battered refugees.

  Burcott spent the next few hours reviewing their defenses. Bolstering the areas he thought to be weakest. The sun sank low into the sky and as darkness fell the fires along the forest edge sank into smoldering coals in a sea of ash. All that remained of the forest edge were a few fire-blackened stumps where the grand trees had once stood.

  The air grew chill and Burcott stepped near a small fire the men upon the wall had lit. The forest people avoided even looking at the blaze. The sight of burning wood offended them deeply. Disregarding the cold they continued on as if the winter chill had no hold upon them. Their children they placed within the ruin of the tower, under the watchful care of the few elders who had survived the attack. Once they had seen to their safety they manned the walls taking up places among the warriors of Trondhiem. Men and women alike armed with long bladed spears.

  The night grew still, and a deep quiet settled upon the keep. The acrid stench of burnt wood assaulted their senses. The hours passed slowly, the anticipation of impending combat weighing heavily on their minds.

  An hour before midnight the whispered call to arms was passed along the ramparts. One of the sharper-eyed sentries was pointing to the darkness where the forest edge had once stood. The blackness about the burned ground seemed to be growing. Black robed Morne by the thousands were creeping forward in silence. Long minutes passed as the Morne crept ever closer on their bellies, behind the walls, the keep’s defenders prepared in silence.

  Burcott stood on the parapet overlooking the gate. “Release!” He shouted when the Morne were within range. Along the walls two hundred bowstrings thrummed. The arrows took flight into the darkness, disappearing as soon as they were released.

  The Morne heard the shout but they had no time to react. The steel tipped shafts fell among them, piercing chain and flesh alike. Screams of the wounded filled the air, casting aside the silence of the evening. The Morne who had survived the initial onslaught unscathed charged for the keep, their battle cries echoing from the ruined stone.

  Arrows continued to fall down upon them, wreaking terrible havoc among their disorganized ranks. In the darkness a terrible drum sounded. Three earth quaking booms that shook the very foundations of the wall. The Morne halted and retreated back into the darkness, out of the archers range.

  The defenders along the wall cheered, even a few of the woodsmen joined in.

  “You have not enough arrows for what is coming.” Jehnom said critically.

  “Aye,” Burcott said in agreement. “But their numbers will be significantly reduced by the time the last arrow is loosed.” It was then that Burcott noticed the forest warriors carried only spears and long knives. “Do you not use bows?”

  Jehnom flashed him a sharp look of anger, it was as if he had been insulted. “The Taur Di will use no weapon that leaves the hand.”

  “Even when you hunt?”

  “Especially then,” Jehnom relaxed, choosing to ignore the unintentional insult Burcott had levied against him. “A warrior must respect that which he faces. We respect the balance of nature, and in keeping that balance sometimes the prey wins. To do otherwise is to invite the wrath of angered spirits upon your household.”

  Burcott nodded, even though he did not understand. The forest warriors were a strange people in many ways.

  “We live in the place that nature has provided for us. To use such a weapon would put us above all that we cherish. We are not the masters of the great wood, we are its children.” Jehnom looked down upon the dead and dying Morne in disgust. “Beings such as this seek mastery over that which they cannot control, And in so doing they threaten the world. For who among them can raise a tree from the soil? And yet they burned many without hesitation, taking from the world a thing of peaceful beauty.”

  The deep drumming began again, and from out of the darkness they came. The Morne charged into a lethal rainstorm of shafts falling from the sky. In the thousands they came breaking into two fronts one heading for the blocked gate the other racing for the western wall where the largest breech had been filled.

  “The first attack was a probe. They have found our weakest points and now the fight begins in earnest,” Burcott said drawing his sword.

  Jehnom leaned upon his spear; he could see that even though the Morne were taking terrible losses they would gain the gate. “My people are of little use here, we will ward the openings from below.”

  Burcott ordered his archers to concentrate on the front ranks hoping to slow the advance.

  Jehnom shouted and the Taur Di left the wall taking up positions by the gate and western wall. Their long spears glinting in the torchlight waiting to slay any who might make it past the barricades.

  The Morne dropped by the hundreds but still they pressed on. Trampling their wounded beneath their iron tipped boots. Gaining the gateway the Morne tore at the barricade seeking to clear the opening. Arrows and large stones fell from the parapet above. Bodies piled high and the grass grew red with blood. Through openings in the barricade the spears of the Taur Di flashed, forcing the Morne back into the rain of death from above.

  Once more the drum sounded and the Morne retreated into the darkness leaving behind thousands of dead in their wake.

  Burcott shook his head; he could not believe the cost in lives the Morne were willing to pay to gain the keep. He knew that not a single defender had died during the two assaults.

  “Another test?” Tellius asked breathing hard with excitement.

  “They know our mettle now,” Burcott answered. “The next wave will be better prepared t
o counter our defenses.”

  “Why not simply starve us out?” Tellius wondered.

  “They do not have the luxury of time.” Burcott replied. “Only a small portion of the forest is gone. The longer they’re delayed the more likely it is that Jehnom’s people will rally and attack them from the south, trapping them against the walls.

  “They could simply pass us by, leaving enough of their number behind to keep us bottled up. They have come in force to invade Trondhiem, they cannot spare the warriors, nor can we be simply passed by. Our forces would harass them all the way to Rodderdam.”

  No new attacks came that night, but Burcott was not heartened by this. As the evening passed more warriors marched in from the southwest swelling the enemies’ ranks.

  “My god,” Burcott mumbled as the first light of dawn reached them. Within the shadows he could see the size of the force facing them, and his slim hope of success was dashed upon the sharp rocks of reality. More than ten thousand Morne stood in loose ranks along the burn line. Behind them stood a hundred men caparisoned in strange emerald colored plate armor. The helms upon their heads fashioned to resemble terrifying animal faces. Attached to their backs rose long poles from which fluttered pennants of amber with strange runic lettering that none of the defenders could read. In their hands they gripped heavy iron hammers that seemed to glow with an inner light.

  Tellius whistled softly, lowering his viewing tube. He knew better than to offer the device to Lord Burcott. “I have never seen the likes of those armored men, if men they truly are.”

  “Nor I,” Burcott said. “They must be from one of the distant western lands that we know nothing of.” Burcott glanced at the viewing tube and considered using it. He quickly put the thought aside. “What arms do they bear?”

  “Round shields and hammers,” Tellius confirmed placing the tube to his eye once more. “Odd looking things, they seem to glow as if they were in a forge.” Tellius scanned the Morne ranks. “Archers!” He exclaimed seeing the ranks of reptiles armed with short steel bows. “At least two thousand.”