Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  More men left the dark recesses, stepping out onto the ice, their spears held at the ready. They eyed the intruders warily, their bare feet immune to the cold. They moved gracefully sure of their footing.

  The party was quickly encircled, any hope of escape cut off. One of the men moved forward, he was dressed as the others only a bronze circlet upon his brow held his dark hair in place.

  His skin was tan and laced with many fine white scars. Thin and yet muscular he stood as if ready to launch an attack. With eyes as green as emeralds he searched the faces of each man, judging them before speaking.

  “You stand within the land of the Mahjie,” He stated with a heavy accent. “Had you truly been Morne you would have been slain upon the outer stair.” He looked at their robes in disgust. “You are fortunate that we choose to observe, rather than attack. It is not wise to enter our lands dressed in the garb of our enemies. Trespassing on this mountain is a dire crime, you must answer for this.”

  Marcos stepped forward to speak but the warrior cut him off with an upraised hand. “I care not to hear your reasons.” He said coldly, a flicker of ire crossing his face. “I am but Ursai Do, guardian of the way. I will lead you to the Se’estra, she alone will determine your fate.”

  At the mention of the Se’estra the Mahjie touched their hearts and spoke as one. “Blessed be the blind, heed her word.”

  A shadow crossed the ice over them. Casius looked upward and saw the largest bird he had ever seen. Forty feet across the massive creature soared off into the distant haze. Its white plumage banded in gray helping it to disappear in the mist.

  “Rukash.” Marcos said softly, looking upward as well. “The Hawks of Vel’Gallum, I had thought them to be long gone from this earth.” Marcos smiled. “It does my heart good to see that the noble kings of the air have endured.”

  “The hour grows late,” The Mahjie warrior advised. “The ice is nowhere to spend the night.” He turned and walked away leading them into a tunnel hidden from view by a large stone. The walls were smooth and the floor level. Behind them the remaining warriors followed.

  The Mahjie turned and faced them in the gloom. “I have not taken your weapons,” He stated. “No treachery will be tolerated here however. Draw steel without leave and you will die.

  “We stand within the shadow of Amil Gallas, the Rock of the south watch. Few are the number of men who are not Mahjie who have ever walked its paths.” He paused as if considering his next words carefully. “None have ever returned this way again.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gaelan joined King Wolhan and lord Hurin upon the battlement atop Timosh’s tower. It did not take him long to see why the alarm had been spread through the massive keep.

  On the western horizon a finger of dark smoke scoured the sky. The watch fire atop Re’lith was burning, and what it signified twisted a knot in his stomach. The army of Sur’kar was approaching, three days until they arrived at best.

  Warriors crowded the walls, eager to see for themselves the signal heralding the coming of war. Although the enemy was well beyond view, many of the men still spent long minutes watching westward.

  “I will lead a patrol along the tower road.” Lord Hurin volunteered. “We need to have news of what is coming.”

  Gaelan shook his head. “Will it change anything?” He asked. “The retreating tower ward will bring word soon enough.”

  “That is if they are able.” King Wolhan said. “The horses of Kesh are swift, even the Morne steeds would be hard pressed to catch them.” Wolhan leaned against the merlon. “It is my place to lead them, and this thing I will do.”

  Gaelan looked into the elder monarchs face, he could see the determination written upon his features. “I have no hold upon you or your men King Wolhan.” He said with a slight bow of his head.

  Wolhan smiled, “Just ensure that the gate is open upon our return. We may need to retreat in haste.”

  “The gate will remain unbarred.” Gaelan assured him.

  Wolhan nodded in parting and descended into the towers heart.

  Gaelan remained atop the tower and watched as a score of Keshian horsemen rode out the small gate with King Wolhan in the lead.

  He watched until the riders faded into the mist that cloaked the forest floor. With Re’lith alight he had duties to perform. Timosh must be made ready, for the call to war had come.

  Turning his gaze westward once more, he wondered what fate had befallen Connell’s party. With those four men rested the fate of the world.

  King Wolhan and his men returned several hours after sunset. Their horses were lathered and bore many bloody scratches upon their flanks. Eighteen men had charged out of the darkness. The gate was quickly opened allowing them entry. While it swung outward upon its oiled hinges Gaelan rushed into the western entry.

  Wolhan slid from his saddle, he was weary and his armor bore dark stains of dried blood. “Seal the gate!” He commanded while pulling off his gauntlets.

  “The towers have fallen,” He said turning to Gaelan. “Only the sentries upon Re’lith were able to send any warning.”

  Gaelan cursed, he was not prepared for this news. “Then we have less than a day before Sur’kar’s forces are at our gate.”

  “Make it two days,” Wolhan guessed. “There are Trolls among the Morne, pulling siege towers tall enough to reach the ramparts upon the curtain wall.” The King shook his head after removing his helm. “It is slow going but the strength of the Rock Trolls is formidable.”

  Gaelan nodded, he had expected to face siege towers in the coming conflict. He was slightly unnerved by the presence of the Trolls however. They were tough to kill and could wreak horrendous damage before they are brought down. “What numbers do we face?”

  The Kings face grew grim. “They are beyond counting Gaelan, a writhing mass of evil that stretches for miles. Above it moves a darkness that blackens the sky and the sun shines upon them not.

  “Patrols of Fell hounds range far ahead of the army, commanded by those Garoul creatures Connell had warned us of. We ran afoul of one such patrol and two of my men fell in the combat that ensued.”

  Dull booms echoed in the chamber. Men wielding heavy hammers drove iron pins into place. Sealing the western gate from their approaching enemy.

  “We should grab what rest we may.” King Wolhan suggested. “There are plenty of sleepless nights ahead of us.”

  Gaelan’s brow wrinkled in thought. “I must review our defensive plans.”

  “As you have said earlier, to what end?” King Wolhan said. “You have planned for an enemy twice our number, if it is four or five times that, what could you do differently.”

  Gaelan shrugged having no response.

  Wolhan nodded at his reply. “Now get some rest, these men will look to you for strength in the dark hours to come. You must remain strong, if they are to do likewise. Remember as King you must never show fear or weakness. This is vital if you are to hold onto this keep.”

  “We cannot fail,” Gaelan replied. “If Timosh should fall the whole of east will be laid bare to the Morne.”

  “Then we will not fail.” Wolhan said with a smile of reassurance. He turned and left Gaelan standing in the entry alone.

  Gaelan could not rest; he wandered the empty halls of the keep for several long hours. Finally he came to his chambers and reluctantly entered them. Maps lay scattered upon every flat surface, the ones upon his bed he swept to the floor. Kicking off his boots he lay down leaning his sword against the wall within easy reach.

  Lord Hurin paced the length of the southern wall, nodding in greeting to the sentries as he passed. His left arm ached and the flesh about the wound had grown hot to the touch. In his chambers lay the arrow that had wounded him. A grim reminder of how close he had come to losing his life.

  One of the sentries leaned out over the merlon shielding his eyes from the torches. Hurin turned his gaze to where the man was looking. He could not see much of the darkened landscape. Broken clouds h
id the moon allowing only feeble patches of light to seep past.

  Lord Hurin could see nothing amiss and was about to look away when a faint movement caught his attention. Something was out there, slowly drawing closer to the walls. Using the stumps for cover the encroaching figure was little more than a shadow in the darkness.

  As the stalker drew closer, Hurin could see it was not a man. A Morne moved out there wrapped in its robes of deepest black. With inhuman patience and skill it crept within the shadows.

  The watch was quietly alerted, all along the walls the men now paid close attention to the land before them.

  A guardsman at Hurin’s side strung his bow and knocked a white fletched shaft. He looked to the Lord for direction. After a brief moments hesitation Lord Hurin nodded his approval.

  The Guard pulled the string taught and sighted along the shaft. Without warning he let fly the arrow. A soft thock sounded in the darkness and the stalker stiffened, rolling onto his side and lay still, the arrow protruding from his back.

  Three more shadows rose from the ground and raced for the tree line, only one managed to escape the wall’s bowmen.

  “So begins the war,” Hurin muttered. He was impressed with the archer’s skill and knew that the Morne would think twice before drawing so close to the keep.

  The Sun rose on a bitterly cold day. The great keep remained nestled in shadow, hidden from the golden rays by the mountain’s stone above them.

  Lord Hurin blinked in the growing light. He was tired. He had been fighting sleep for several hours now. He looked over the wall to the three bodies along the slope. In the light they were easily seen. The Black garbed reptiles were unarmed, scouts for the approaching force. Looking across the convoluted landscape he could see no sign of an approaching horde. Only a strange dark smear hung in the air to the west. Barely above the treetops it seemed to drift slowly towards them.

  At first he had thought it to be an approaching storm, but it moved against the wind roiling and changing shape as it progressed. Judging by the speed it moved he knew it would be upon them before noon. At his command messengers were dispatched to summon the kings to the wall.

  “I’ll be damned if I know what it is.” King Wolhan stated once he had laid eyes on the roiling black mass. “It is neither cloud nor smoke.”

  “If it comes from the west I doubt it bodes well for us.” Gaelan added just as perplexed by what he was seeing.

  A soft humming reached their ears, the faint drone of a million beating wings.

  “Insects!” Wolhan exclaimed.

  The swarm broke upon the walls of the keep. Wasps and bees of every kind dove at the men, stinging in a mad frenzy.

  The men upon the walls ran for the cover of the halls below them. The bees had little effect on their armor but the persistent insects worked their way through the protection and stung the unprotected flesh beneath.

  Gaelan wrapped his cloak about his face and swatted the insects from his clothing. “Light torches soaked in oil!” He shouted. “The smoke will drive them off.”

  The men along the walls moved at once, lighting anything that would burn, filling the comb with sooty smoke that stung the eyes and made breathing difficult. But it had the desired effect the insects broke off the attack and fled the hollow leaving behind several thousand badly stung men.

  As the insects thinned, horns were sounded within the keep and the warriors rushed to their posts. The walls filled with grim faced men, many of them bearing painful welts on their arms and faces.

  “Here they come,” Wolhan announced pointing westward.

  Drums sounded in the mists and a sea of black clad warriors strode forth from the gloom. They crossed the ground in well-ordered ranks stopping a hundred yards from the walls. The drums continued to sound as Morne by the thousands filled the cleared land before the forest.

  Gaelan had been warned, but he was still shocked to see such numbers. He held his breath as the reality of what he was seeing sunk in. By the tens of thousands the Morne had come, a force that he knew they could not withstand.

  The powerful drums stopped and from the wood could be heard the snapping of trees and the heavy footfalls of trolls.

  A lone rider rode through the orderly ranks, his black steed trotted across the open ground proudly. Stopping just beyond bow range he threw back his hood and stared up at the defenders with his strange golden eyes. The scaly hide of his face was deeply tattooed with geometric designs. Opening his toothy maw in a semblance of a grin the Morne hissed a challenge loudly in their harsh tongue. The army cheered as he rode back among them.

  “Did anyone understand that?” Gaelan asked.

  “If any among us did,” Wolhan answered softly. “I would cut the man’s heart from his chest. That was the tongue of Tarok nor, no honorable man would soil his mouth with it.”

  Gaelan shook his head and leaned upon the cold stone of the rampart.

  Wolhan looked upon the new king with pity, he knew him to be strong but he was also young. The trials of the last few months had hardened him, but perhaps not enough.

  “Only the bones of the dead are without fear in times such as this.” Wolhan said. “We have only to hold against these Morne, not win. That task falls to those who have gone into the west.” The old king looked along the length of the wall and was gladdened to see the looks of fierce defiance upon the faces of the men. “One brave man fighting for his home and family is worth a dozen of those murderous lizards.”

  “With these odds he would have to be worth twice that.” Gaelan answered sharply. The sight of the first siege tower lumbering through the trees stilled his voice.

  The massive construct wobbled as it was pulled through the forest. The upper level was easily higher than the wall. The outer skin was constructed of thick bark and crudely hewn lumber, proof against the arrows of the defenders.

  Its progress was slow but steady in its wake they could see that another tower was drawing near, and behind that came yet another. The Rock trolls could be seen through the trees laboring mightily to keep the towers moving. They were huge, beings of tremendous strength and malevolence. They tore the trees from the ground with sheer brute force clearing the way for other trolls whom drug the towers forward by pulling on thick hawsers of crudely woven rope.

  Gaelan gripped his swords hilt tightly; cries of shock and dismay came from the men about him. Connell had warned them that these beings once again walked in the open, but that knowledge did little to lesson the fear that such monsters instilled in his heart.

  King Wolhan could see that the men along the wall were losing heart. Their determination was sorely battered by the appearance of the Trolls. He turned on his heel and walked quickly into the tower.

  The Morne army shifted position until they encompassed the entire length of the wall. When they attacked, no portion of the keep would be spared its force.

  Fell hounds emerged from the trees, racing about the ranks their long canines dripping with saliva. They howled viscously eager to be set loose upon the men within the keep.

  “What are they waiting for?” Gaelan wondered aloud.

  “Nightfall.” Lord Hurin answered. There are creatures at Sur’kar’s command that shun the light of day.”

  King Wolhan appeared at the battlement atop the tower. In his hands he held a thick-limbed long bow fashioned from dark wood. A quiver full of arrows hung from his hip. He knocked an arrow and pulled the string tight.

  Gaelan looked back to the assembled enemy, there was nothing within range for the King to shoot at.

  The string thrummed and one of the Rock Trolls screamed in torment the arrow piercing its throat. The giant pulled at the shaft to no avail. Falling forward onto his face he twitched for a few moments before laying still.

  The men along the walls cheered in disbelief. No one could shoot an arrow that far, but Wolhan had done it. Pulling off an impossible shot he had slain one of the Trolls with ease.

  The enemies’ front rippled as the leading
elements sought to put more range between themselves and the archers.

  King Wolhan drew back his bow once more and let fly another arrow. The shaft sped through the air and drove deep into one of the Fell hounds dropping the beast where it stood. A third shaft took another Troll in its eye knocking the giant from its feet.

  Wolhan knocked a fourth arrow; he held his hand, the Morne having retreated another fifty yards out of the range of his weapon.

  He jumped onto the merlon and stood in plain view his bow held aloft for all to see. “Beware Gren’dour, demon spawn!” He shouted. “The bow of Keshian Kings wards Timosh!”

  “If only we had a thousand such bows.” Gaelan lamented.

  King Wolhan stepped down from the Merlon and several minutes later he stood on the wall beside Gaelan.

  “Well done,” Gaelan complimented him. “How many more such weapons did you bring?”

  “There is only one of its kind. It was discovered in a hidden storeroom within the Spire long ago. Of what wood it is fashioned or by whom we have no knowledge, but it has served my house well for over a hundred years.”

  “Your actions have instilled renewed strength in the men and proven that the enemy could be killed.”

  “That was my intent,” Wolhan answered. “It is not the strength of our men’s arms that concerns me. It is the strength of their hearts.”

  “Aye,” Gaelan agreed. “If that fails the battle is lost.”

  Activity from the host before the gates drew their attention. The formations were breaking up, the Morne moving about the forest edge.

  “They’re making camp.” Wolhan surmised.

  “They’ll await the coming of night to strike.” Gaelan said watching as fires began to be lit in the distance. “We have a few hours yet until our defenses are to be tested.”

  “It will be in the early morning hours when sleep dulls the senses of the sentries and most of the keep is asleep.” Wolhan said. “Have the men stand down and rest.”