by Aaron Bunce
“Take up your sword!” one of the pikemen yelled.
As Julian fumbled his way to his knees, two smaller gnarls charged in from behind. While the two pikemen fought off the larger creature, they could not see the others as they approached. The smaller gnarls jumped on the men, biting and raking with complete abandon.
One of the men immediately went to the ground, the smaller gnarl stabbing him repeatedly with a short blade. Julian rallied himself as the other man staggered and managed to knock the gnarl from his back.
The wide-eyed young pikeman swiped his bladed spear before him, frantically trying to hold the three creatures at bay. In his mania, he nearly cut Julian in half as he approached.
“Easy man, I’m with you. I’m with you!” Julian cried, falling out of the way. At the sound of his voice, the man’s eyes focused a bit.
Julian pushed in and stabbed at the closest gnarl. It moved in a strange hopping dance as it fought, and Julian’s sword missed the mark. His blade glanced off the creature’s shoulder, splitting its flesh, but the wound was superficial at best. With a howl, the wounded beast turned. Blood matted the fur around its mouth, and its eyes bulged with a freakish gleam.
Julian opened himself up as he sidestepped the gnarl’s jabbing weapon. Once, twice, three times the creature struck at him before he could get his footing right. With the last jab, he caught the gnarl’s blade with a cross block and rolled his sword over in his hands. The stumbling gnarl recovered its balance and came at him, slashing left and then right. Julian kept his feet moving and his balance center, and fortunately, neither of the attacks landed.
Julian feinted with his sword and kicked out hard with his right foot. The heavy boot connected solidly with the gnarl’s midsection. The gnarl staggered a moment, clearly winded. In that pause, Julian brought his sword down in a savage chop and cleaved through its arm above the elbow. Its clawed hand, still clutching to its rust covered sword, fell to the ground.
The wounded gnarl clutched to its bloody stump and jumped back, snarling threateningly. A short distance away, the hulking black gnarl overwhelmed the pikeman he had been trying to save. His screams filled the air, but then with a sickening crack, he went silent.
With an angry roar, Julian rushed in. The one armed gnarl slashed at him with the claws on its remaining hand, but he ignored the blow. He drove his sword out, catching the beast in the chest and pushed through until they both fell to the ground.
Julian stumbled atop the creature, but it was already dead. He yanked his sword free from its body and the soft ground below. Julian’s sword hung a little lower as weariness set in, and the battle-rage started to fade.
Bodies littered the ground all around him. Some were his comrades, mixed with the corpses of the savage gnarls. They weren’t all dead either. The hulking black monster and its smaller companion had moved on to a group of guards. The overmatched men clung desperately to their round wooden shields as the beasts bore down. The smaller gnarl turned on him as he approached. The creature swung its crude curved blade in one hand, and a steel sword it had wrestled from a guard in the other.
Julian knew he didn’t have much strength left, so he had to make the most of every opportunity. With a compact movement, he swept his sword and knocked the gnarl’s blade aside. With a satisfying crunch, he punched out, connecting solidly with the gnarl’s grisly face. Its head snapped back, sending it stumbling several steps. Julian immediately spun. His sword flashed across, catching the staggering gnarl above its collarbone and cleanly severing its head from its neck.
The headless gnarl’s body fell in a heap, but the monstrous black gnarl was already moving away, leaving a swath of destruction in its wake. Julian followed, scoring several kills in quick order. But for every gnarl he killed another took its place, appearing from the creeping mist.
He stumbled into several skirmishes, helping where he could, but he continued to search for the black monster. He knew that he had to kill it, somehow.
At last, he spotted it. It crashed through a stall, sweeping its large blade from side to side. Men toppled and fell from seemingly every swipe. Julian took a steadying breath and limped forward.
His legs felt like mush, and everything ached. His body screamed at him for rest, but his hatred drove him. The world went suddenly quiet, and his vision narrowed.
His sword arm reared back. He knew his strength was failing. He would have to use momentum and his body to deliver the strike. Julian approached, and luckily, the gnarl’s back was turned.
The creature remained occupied with the few men still brave enough to face it. He moved as quickly as he could. He was yards away, and then a matter of paces. He coiled for the strike, wishing with every fiber of his being to send the horrible creature violently from this world, but then he was staggering.
With a crash, he collided with the giant gnarl. It felt like he ran into a wall of stone. His misfortune turned to luck as his weight and momentum were just enough to knock the creature off its feet.
They rolled to the ground. The gnarl’s sword was gone, but it still had its claws. Julian wrestled atop it and tried to use his weight to pin it down, but its strength was staggering.
The gnarl wrenched him to the ground and straddled him, a large bubble of blood forming from its nostril. A half dozen broken arrow shafts protruded from its torso, each buried deep, yet it still fought.
Julian tried to raise his sword, but the blade was pinned to the ground. The gnarl’s claws slashed down; first it’s left and then right. Julian brought his hands up to his face, but the brutish force knocked his arms aside. The second attack snapped his head violently to the side, the sharp claws grating against his face.
Pain erupted everywhere, overriding thought and feeling. Surely half of his face had been pulled clean off as blood spattered his eyes and mouth. He struck out at the creature, but his arms felt weak. Julian barely managed to get his hands back over his face as the gnarl slashed at him again. Claws snagged in the fabric of his arming jacket, and his arm wrenched aside. His armor was failing him.
The gnarl continued to batter him. Julian knew that he wouldn’t last much longer. A heavy blow knocked his hands back into his face, and he felt something crunch.
His hand went instinctively to his chest plate and wrapped around the ebony handled dagger his father had gifted him, and with a desperate pull the blade came free. He had completely forgotten it.
The gnarl’s claws sank into his shoulders as it tore at him. At that moment, he almost lost his grip on the weapon. Julian managed to stab towards the beast, and despite his weakness, the blade bit. The dagger sank deep, cutting right through cartilage and muscle.
The gnarl froze, its arms hanging in midair, poised for another strike. Yellow-rimmed, bloodshot eyes dropped to the dagger, its peculiar look of pain quickly flashing to anger. Its claws reared up to descend upon him again. In desperation, Julian pulled the dagger free and thrust it upwards. The beast came forward, its arms slashing, and the dagger struck just under the jaw. The gnarl’s eyes rolled back, and with a raspy, gurgling breath, slumped down over him.
Julian’s hand, still clutching the handle of his dagger, was pinned between them. The pungent odor of the dead creature was overpowering, and its weight staggering. Its arms alone pressed down upon him like fallen tree trunks. Finally, after shifting and pushing, Julian managed to tip the dead creature over and slide free.
He crawled up on his hands and knees, but everything was fuzzy. Julian groped along the ground, his arms and legs shaking wildly. Blood dripped down into his eyes and off of his nose and chin.
Julian crawled to his sword. The weapon felt like a brick in his hand as he forced himself up onto his knees. Several men appeared above him. They were talking, yet he couldn’t seem to hear what they were saying. Together, they pulled Julian to his feet.
He swayed for a moment, but before Julian could even mutter his thanks, the men were gone. He shambled forward a few steps, unsure of what direction he wa
s moving, but nevertheless compelled to move.
Reinforcements now streamed past him from the old city. The tides had finally turned. A defensive line of spearmen with shields pushed the remaining gnarls back, past the rows of broken market stalls, and away from the city. Any creature foolish enough to linger was surrounded quickly and taken down.
Julian moved against the flow of men, hobbling in what he hoped was a safe direction. He saw the clerics, their tunics like bright beacons as they worked to drag wounded men to safety. Unfortunately, there were few of them and many in need of their services.
The eerie horn sounded out of the mist and for a moment man and beast froze. The remaining gnarls all turned their heads in the direction of the sound, and slowly backed away. The soldiers became entranced. Not a spear was thrown, or arrow loosed as the invaders disappeared back into the mist.
Many in Ban Turin scoffed at the idea that Craymore was a haunted city, cursed by the nearby swamplands. Now, as he looked out over the market, mockery and laughter were the furthest things from his mind. The dark swamplands of the Black Moors took on a whole new meaning to him.
They insisted that nothing could live in the swamps, save for trolls. The mist was toxic. Julian watched the horde of murderous gnarls disappear into the brimstone fog and could only wonder what other surprises lay in wait.
Gnarls were supposed to be timid, skittish creatures, afraid of people. But they had charged boldly into the city, savaging everyone in their way. The ground around him ran red with the spilled lives of men just like him. It was a horrifying reminder of what was at stake.
Julian looked down at his sword and wiped away the blood and grime from the blade with his glove. The steel beneath was nicked and scarred, much as he was. He slid the sword back into its scabbard at his hip. The deep notches in the metal scraped against the wood.
His right leg had gone numb, like much of his face. It seemed preferable to the pain. Julian limped over to a figure sprawled on the ground. The older man’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. With a groan, he knelt down next to him and looked into his eyes.
Julian saw fear staring back at him. The man searched Julian’s face desperately for signs of hope. Slowly, Julian covered the man’s hand with his own. Dark blood bubbled out from the covered wound. It ran down his pale skin, soaking the grass beneath.
Julian scanned the crowd, looking for a bright tunic. He wanted to give the dying man the one thing in the world he needed at that moment, a chance. He couldn’t save the others, and it ate away at him. But none of the healers was close. And with all of the confusion, he knew he could never hope to get their attention in time.
Julian looked back down into the man’s face. His eyes drifted up toward the blue sky, his skin turning as pale as bleached parchment. Julian knew the truth of it; the man was already dead. There was nothing he could do to help him.
“You fought valiantly today, friend. They will tell stories of your bravery,” Julian said, grimacing through the pain. Although he could only feel half of his face, he tried to smile. A tear broke from the dying soldier’s eye and slid down his cheek. He nodded slowly, looking back to the clouds.
The old soldier pulled his hands from his wounded belly and took Julian’s in his. Julian held the man’s hand as he convulsed, sharing in his fear and pain. He continued to clutch the man’s hand even after he died, having neither the spirit nor the energy to let go. Julian couldn’t stop the tears that flooded his eyes, stinging every cut as they ran down, mixing with blood and dirt.
Before Julian left, he crossed the man’s arms over his chest and laid his shield before him. He didn’t remember the walk from the market, only that he passed a mottled gnarl crawling in the dirt. He remembered it because one of the creature’s arms was severed at the shoulder, and a steel axe was still embedded in its spine.
He didn’t even reach for his sword as he ambled by the pathetic creature. He shuffled out of the way as an angry group of townsfolk rushed past. They nearly knocked Julian off of his feet as then enveloped the creature, beating it with whatever they had with them, walking sticks, garden tools, or hatchets.
“Mani herself!” Julian heard someone shout and looked up in time to see Sky running towards him.
“Ama’lik, did you hear what happened...” he started to say but froze as he took in Julian’s condition.
“You…you messed up your hair!” he finally recovered, eliciting a grimace and smile. Sky rushed up and threw Julian’s arm over his shoulder to help him along.
“Clerics are set up, they’re tending to the badly wounded men in the courtyard just inside the old gate, upper city,” Sky grunted. Julian could only nod in response.
“What happened? There was no alarm. I was sleeping, and there was no alarm, nothing!” Sky asked. His armor looked hastily donned, and his hair looked disheveled from sleep. Julian could only shake his head. He felt every ache and pain intimately. It was all he could do to keep from toppling over.
“The screams…I can still hear them. They hacked at us like they were chopping wood. Men, flesh and blood. How can anything kill so savagely?” Julian said breathlessly.
Sky had no fitting reply. He wore the concern for his good friend openly. The uncertainty seemed to truly bother him. Without the words to console him, Sky simply gave Julian a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder as they limped up the lane and through the gates.
A parade followed them. Some were dead, and some soon to follow. It was a scene that chilled Julian’s blood. To a man, the fallen progressed in honor, covered in a linen shroud marked with the horse head standard of Craymore. Julian looked away as they passed by. It was too raw of a reminder for him to handle.
They found a group of clerics. The young men and women, all adorned in their fire-red tunics floated between the injured. Some bent low, praying for healing while others wrapped bandages and splints over wounds too severe to attend to right away.
“Here, you sit. I will find someone to tend to you,” Sky said and dashed off between the wounded.
Julian eased himself down upon the low stone wall. He watched the clerics work, their graceful movements and coordinated motions lulled him into a trance, and he suddenly realized that he was very tired.
His limbs felt very heavy, and his eyes drifted closed. He knew that if he leaned back and closed his eyes, he would surely fall asleep.
Maybe for just a few moments, he thought to himself. The idea of sleep was comforting, to find peace, even if just for a few moments. Julian let his head slump forward and closed his eyes.
Just for a few moments, he decided. It was peaceful. It was quiet. He felt weightless.
Chapter 7
To lose, and love
“Ama’lik! Someone shouted, but it sounded far off in the distance.
“Ama’lik!” This time, it was closer and a little louder.
“Ama’lik!” His head snapped up. Only one of his eyes would open. He was on the ground. Sky stood above him, shaking him and screaming.
Strong hands gripped him under his arms and pulled him back up so he could sit. His head swam, and he had a hard time focusing.
“So tired,” Julian mumbled as he brought his hand up to rub his eyes, but someone caught him by the wrist.
“Sleep!” Sky laughed. “You fell over! We thought you dropped dead on us. Scared me half to death, Ama’lik! I mean you were sitting here,” he said motioning to the wall behind them, “then you just dropped. I thought you croaked.”
“What about the…” Julian started to ask.
“Don’t worry about it. Everything is safe now, let us worry about you,” Sky interrupted. Someone knelt down next to him. They were unceremoniously poking and prodding him all over. They tugged on his armor, pulled on his arm and crammed something painfully into the crease in his thigh.
“These wounds are bad. You’re lucky. You should probably be dead,” he heard a woman say next to him.
Julian had to turn his head. He couldn’t see
out of his right eye, and he had to squint just to see out his left. He was surprised to see a pretty young woman in clerical robes hovering over him.
“Bad…” he groaned. The more he thought about it, the more he started to feel every cut, ache, and bruise.
I’m not hurt that bad, he told himself.
Julian tried to pull his arm free from the cleric’s grip, but she was surprisingly strong. He tried to stand up. There were things he could be doing to help.
“Ama’lik…wait. Stop!” Sky yelled, putting his hands on Julian’s shoulder to stop him.
“I’m no good to anyone sitting around, when others lay dead or dying,” Julian spat defiantly, growing irritable. With surprising force, the cleric pulled him back down and held firm to his arms.
“You need to stay here. I am here to help you, or you will become the dead and dying,” the young woman said, and although her voice was not loud, it was quite strong. Julian had no argument.
She took his face in her hands. He looked up into her eyes as she examined him. The sunlight cascaded down through her auburn hair and seemed to glow. She had large hazel eyes, a straight nose, and soft lips, she was, Julian thought, very pretty.
A booming voice echoed through the courtyard from behind Sky. A burly man in well-worn banded armor loomed over them. The red plume on his helm and matching cape adorned to his left shoulder distinguished him apart from all of the other soldiers.
“Ama’lik!” the captain said drawing up. He rested one of his large paw-like hands on the handle of his sword while the other hung loosely at his side.
“Captain Jiqou,” Julian started and tried feebly to stand, but the young cleric pushed him back down again. Humbled, Julian saluted with his right fist to his sternum, the customary sign of fealty.
“I hear your name everywhere I turn down here,” Jiqou said, his brow creased as he looked Julian over.
“I wasn’t fast enough, Sir. Could have saved more people, had I been faster to respond,” Julian replied, his cheeks flushing. It felt natural to accept the blame.
