Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn

by Douglas R. Brown

  “As you can see,” Logan said, “you have arrived too late.”

  “What if we retreat, go back to Epertase’s front lines and fight them there?”

  King Logan bowed his head. “We would be run down from behind and annihilated. I believe our best course will be an all-out attack which is what I …” He paused, wanting to hide his next words from Lona. Maybe, he thought, if he didn’t finish his sentence, the inevitable would be postponed. But he knew better and took a deep breath. “I have ordered an all-out assault to commence at dawn. We will not wait any longer. You need to take your men and return to Epertase.”

  “Sir, we were sent to help you.”

  “You are better served helping Epertase.”

  “But sir, we are here to support you. We can still do a lot of good. Let us stay and fight.”

  “No. I could not live with your death and the death of your men on my heart. It is bad enough that I may have doomed my own people. You may stay as long as you remain out of the fray. At the first signs of our front lines falling, I order you to retreat.”

  Aidric obviously wasn’t happy with the decision but he was a good soldier and answered that he understood. “But know this,” he added. “We will give you our all until such time.”

  “I know you will, Aidric.”

  Aidric turned to leave but hesitated and turned back. “Logan? Have your spies heard anything of our scout, Paisel?”

  Logan looked to the ground, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, he did not survive.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Dawn approached. Menacing clouds filled the dark, early sky, threatening to turn the ground to mud. Lithia’s western border was thick with twenty-five thousand Lith soldiers ready to defend their land at all costs. They stared across the field at a massive army of black-clad killers. The ground rumbled from the invaders’ machines.

  Aidric sat in a daze upon his horse. They are vile creatures, these Teks. They seem to want nothing but death. The sky even dies above them by their choking smoke.

  Excited flashes of lighted brilliance popped in the distance, leaping from cloud to cloud and followed by a low rumble announcing the coming storm.

  The nervous energy was palpable among Aidric’s soldiers as he rode through his battalion. He reached the front; his men waited for their orders.

  He shouted, “We have been ordered to stay back from the fray while our brothers, the Liths, are led to slaughter.” Sporadic boos met his words. “My friends, I cannot do that.”

  The mood turned and thousands of fists pumped into the air with a roar from his war-thirsty men.

  “Any moment now, the wrath of Lithia is going to reign onto our enemies with fury and destruction and we will be there to join the fight.”

  His men erupted into deafening cheers that must have been heard as far as the enemy lines. Chants of “Ai-dric” resonated throughout making him proud of his decision.

  A single drop of water splashed onto his hand.

  “Men, you must fight for your fellow soldiers. You must fight for Lithia. And you must fight for Epertase.”

  Another roar that could bring down mountains rang out. Aidric pulled his reins and his horse reared up in anticipation.

  Another drop of water landed in his hair. And then another. He looked to the clouds as a drop splashed his cheek. This’ll be sloppy. With that thought, the clouds opened, unleashing a downpour with such fury that it stung his flesh. He slid his metal helmet over his head and the drops peppered it with the sound of gravel onto a tin roof.

  “We will flank the enemy and let the thunder be the music of our attack,” he shouted.

  As if on cue, five thousand Epertasian soldiers began the long, soggy march around the rear of the Lith army.

  Aidric peered at the rider to his right. His longtime friend and top lieutenant, Starne, nodded back.

  The clouds seemed to stall above them, dumping waves of water onto the battlefield. Touches of orange highlighted the undersides of clouds as the dawn suns peeked from the southern horizon.

  The time had arrived.

  Hundreds of Lith catapult arms ricketed back. The battlefield went eerily quiet. A Lith soldier cried out and his cries were repeated from the front lines to the rear.

  The catapults clanked forward, sending balls of fire into the sky to rain down like meteorites. They struck the Tek front lines with fiery explosions of death. The ground around each attack erupted into flames as Lithia’s wrath was unleashed, a wrath that wouldn’t end for much of the day.

  Aidric led his soldiers south of the front lines to the backside of a series of castle-high hills overlooking the battlefield. He ordered scouts to move south to keep watch of their rear. Then he drudged up the slippery grass mounds. The ground tore away below his horse’s hooves, leaving chewed-up chunks of mud and grass behind. At the top of the hill he stared over the battlefield, amazed at the sight before him. Fireball after fireball engulfed Tek soldiers in flames.

  As he focused on the enemy, he noticed something he couldn’t believe. As their forces absorbed the ferocious beating, they stood their ground. They didn’t retreat, they didn’t attack – they simply endured the onslaught; the Tek leaders were sacrificing their warriors like pawns.

  Lieutenant Starne joined Aidric to overlook the battlefield. “Mothers of gods,” he whispered.

  Aidric grinned at the realization that most of his men, Starne included, had never seen such fury. He turned to his soldiers at the bottom of the hills and shouted, “Join me, men. Line these hilltops and witness offense at its finest.” He turned to Starne. “Spread them out. We will project our strength in numbers. When the enemy sees us at their flank, it will no doubt give them pause.”

  In the battlefield, rivers of rain poured from the clouds, extinguishing the grass fires as quickly as the fireballs ignited them. Aidric studied the enemy through his enlargement specks.

  “Men,” Aidric hollered, his words repeated amongst his ranks. “Pay close attention to the enemy’s armor as it is strong and repels the Lith arrows as though they are made of paper. When the Liths engage, we will flank the enemy. Use your shields wisely and aim your weapons true.”

  “Aidric, why are the invaders not fighting back?” Starne asked, careful not to let his men hear his concern. “What are they waiting for?”

  “I have no idea what kind of military strategy would call for these first battalions of soldiers to idly weather this Lithian storm. Do not worry, Starne. I am quite sure we will see their offense soon enough.” He turned to face his men. “Enjoy the show, soldiers. Be sure to drink plenty of water, shed your heavy gear, and rest, for soon we will drown in Tek blood.”

  Aidric turned back to the battleground. As the morning faded into the afternoon, the boom of Lithia’s assault, so loud and powerful at the start, lost some intensity.

  The rain turned to drizzle, the lightning and thunder all but gone. Aidric mingled and shook hands with his men. He encouraged them, reminded them to watch out for each other while sharing anecdotal stories of his time in the Heathen Wars.

  Some of his men sat quietly as he passed while others engaged in pointless chatter. Some of these men he had known for many years and his gut tore at the thought that many of them would not return home with him if indeed he was fortunate enough to return home himself.

  Aidric made his way to the front, sat on the ground, and rested against his pack.

  By evening the supply of fireballs had been exhausted, leaving only the ineffective arrows as the Lith offense. As the suns disappeared in the north, Lithia’s vaunted assault ground to a stop.

  Aidric’s soldiers rose to their feet, their chatter long ended. Aidric scanned their stoic faces and saw curiosity mixed with fear. He turned back to the enemy and waited. His soldiers waited. The Lith army waited. The Teks waited.

  The moon lurched across the partially clouded sky, yet the Teks did not respond. Some of the men slept though most were unable.

  The next dawn broke t
he darkness of the clear sky.

  Starne approached Aidric at the top of the hill again. “Well?” he whispered. Aidric could only shake his head. He tried to envision what the Tek commanders must be scheming. Did they wait for Lithia to charge? To retreat?

  He didn’t have to wait for answers long as he saw movement toward the back of the enemy, only slight at first, but that movement changed into a coordinated wave within their forces. The wave was followed by horrific metal against metal screeching like someone had awakened a thousand steel dragons. The Tek soldiers began to part, creating pathways as large as carriages throughout their masses.

  “What is happening?” Starne whispered. Aidric didn’t answer. This was where the war began.

  Enormous, snake-like, mechanical cylinders on wheels rolled through the roads formed by the parted men. More of their polluting smoke burped from long pipes that protruded from cylindrical tops. They dragged spaghettis of thick, rubber tubes behind them; there must have been a thousand machines and ten thousand hoses. In perfect concert with one another, they reached their predetermined destinations and stammered to a stop.

  Almost immediately, the Teks poured from their formations in organized chaos, surrounding the strange, rolling containers. They formed lines like they were waiting for their mess. Each soldier took turns hooking the rubber hoses onto their armor with apparent delight. Once finished with their nourishment, each armored man carried the extra hoses and shoved them into the yet-to-move war machines that sat amongst them.

  “What are they doing, Aidric?”

  “I do not know.” Suddenly, a sense of urgency filled him like he was taken by a grand thought. “But this is the time,” he said with increased intensity in his voice. “King Logan needs to attack now. They need to launch the catapults again.” He screamed toward the Lith army, “Move forward, this is your chance. Attack!”

  But his voice was not strong enough to cover the distance between them. He turned toward his men and shouted, “We need to engage. This is it. Lieutenant, get your men ready now.”

  Though his men likely had never seen such anxiety in him, he didn’t try to hide it. “Let us attack,” he screamed.

  Aidric jumped to his steed. “Forward …” but his enthusiasm was interrupted from behind.

  “Sir?” a nervous voice shouted.

  He spun toward the voice. “What is it?” he shouted back.

  The nervous soldier shouted again, “One of your scouts returns with urgent words.”

  Aidric looked past the man to the base of the hill. The scout’s horse struggled in the mud so Aidric raced down to meet him. The scout screamed something but was too far to be heard. As he screamed, the men around him spun to their rear, confused and uneasy. Aidric descended the hill, his horse careful with each step.

  The scout’s voice cracked with excitement. Terror stained his face.

  “What is it?” Aidric hollered as he neared.

  The scout slowed; his breaths were rapid. “More, sir,” he screamed between gasps.

  “More what? Calm yourself.”

  “Sir, more invaders approach from our south. Coming fast.”

  “More? How many?”

  “I don’t know. Thousands. They will be here within moments.”

  At that moment Aidric realized his fatal mistake. He felt the blood drain from his cheeks. I have doomed us.

  He addressed the uneasy soldiers who surrounded him. “Men, the fight moves to our rear. We have the elevation advantage.” He galloped through his forces. They were caught off guard; he saw it in their wide eyes. He twirled his horse toward the valleys. My gods. He froze, momentarily. “Hold your ground, men. Be ready to strike on my mark.” He struggled to keep his voice confident though it wanted to crack. One look at his soldiers told him that they realized his error and it broke his heart.

  Aidric raised his sword above his head and cried out, “It is not over, men. We can win this battle.”

  From behind and beyond the hills, the Lithian battlefield erupted into deafening explosions, ten-fold louder than any created by the Lith’s assault. The hills shook beneath Aidric’s feet. Some of his men slowed to nervously glance over their shoulders.

  Aidric snapped them back to attention, “The fight is in front of us, men. Do not be concerned with what you cannot control.”

  The Teks approached the base of the hills. Aidric’s horse slipped but somehow kept his footing. He crept down the hill with the howls of his soldiers chasing him.

  Ka-boom!

  Mud and Epertasian body parts flew past his head. He didn’t slow. A whistle whined above him followed by another bone-jarring concussion to his rear. Death-screams echoed from his men but he continued his descent. What manner of weapon can do such?

  Ka-boom!

  Ka-boom!

  The explosions decimated the hillside along with his men. Hot bursts of air and blood slammed against him with each blast. He couldn’t turn back though he wanted to regroup. His soldiers’ dying screams were more than he could stand.

  Starne rode alongside him like the loyal companion he’d always been. He yelled, “We’re being destroyed by those wheeled machines before we even get the chance to fight.”

  “Just keep moving,” Aidric yelled back. “Endure! Endure!”

  As he neared the base of the hill, the front line of Tek soldiers lifted strange, iron tubes and pointed them at him and his men. Smoke puffed from the ends of their instruments like they were filled with japsy weed.

  Rat-tat-tat-tat! Hundreds of Aidric’s men crumbled to the ground, their shields peppered with pebble-sized holes. They were being massacred and he didn’t know how to stop it. “Keep coming, men,” he shouted with every ounce of air in his lungs.

  The front line of Teks dropped their weapons and withdrew swords from their sides. Aidric lifted his own sword again into the air.

  His horse leaped into the wall of readied Tek soldiers. Clattering metal against metal erupted from behind as his soldiers collided with the enemy as well. Aidric swung his sword like a madman with each of his blows sending sparks into the air.

  He whirled with all of his might. Another Tek was at his rear. He knew even before his weapon struck that it wouldn’t penetrate the Tek’s helmet but hoped the blow would send his foe into unconsciousness. It did. A wave of Teks leaped onto Aidric and his horse, blanketing him, causing his steed’s front legs to buckle.

  Aidric thrashed against seemingly a thousand armored hands as they grabbed and tugged at him. One of the hands clutched his wrist while another crashed against his forearm, knocking his sword to the ground. As he was dragged from his saddle, his eyes locked onto those of one of the Teks. The Tek turned his head away in what Aidric could only imagine was guilt. Then he strained and pulled Aidric free of his now-murdered horse.

  The Tek’s armor hissed and spat moist air from vents along his neck. Before Aidric disappeared beneath their sea of black, he reached for a small, glistening hose that ran from the Tek’s shoulder and into his helmet. The Tek pulled back. Aidric clenched his fist around the hose and ripped it away from the armor. Bitter black liquid splashed like a severed artery onto Aidric’s helmet and into his eyes and mouth.

  The Tek soldier’s head jerked to the side, as if he were unable to control his body. He pushed away from Aidric and retreated.

  Aidric strained against the others. That’s when he heard the most sickening clunk at his lower flank. It was a sound he had heard many times before, the sound of a sword piercing armor, but he usually did the piercing. He didn’t need the cold sting of the steel that followed to know his battle was over. He grunted and bit his tongue. The many armored hands released, apparently convinced of his pending death. He struggled to his knees.

  Aidric looked to Starne who fought valiantly not far away. Starne’s helmet had been removed and his armor was stained with blood but he fought heroically. He paused when he saw Aidric. The two men made eye contact but only briefly. He shouted something but the clashing metals d
rowned out his words. Aidric read his lips. “I’m coming,” Starne screamed.

  Aidric tried to push to his feet, to help his overwhelmed friend as Teks raced past, ignoring him like he was inconsequential, like they knew he was already dead.

  He watched, helplessly, as a Tek soldier approached Starne’s rear. Aidric reached out to try and warn his friend but no words filled his mouth, only blood. The Tek heaved his sword forward. Aidric flinched. When the Tek yanked his weapon free, Aidric dropped his shoulders in failure. He’d lost. They’d lost. He watched his friend collapse to his knees. Starne’s eyes glazed over before he wobbled and then fell to his face.

  Another Tek stopped in front of Aidric with a war hammer raised into the air. Aidric no longer cared and stared to the ground. He hated himself for what he had done to his men. He deserved this. The Tek drew back. Aidric thought of Starne’s wife and family and wondered …

  Clunk!

  CHAPTER 34

  DEADLIER WITH AGE

  The Tek commander, Zaffka, overlooked the carnage of the Lithia battlefield from his transport’s window with pride. His soldiers had performed well, as always, and the civilization known as Lithia didn’t stand a chance. He cracked his door and called for his wheeled transport to meet him at the bottom of his mechanical castle-like fortress. His sparkling, jet-black suit of armor rested on his command table and he rubbed his fingers proudly along the red stripes painted on the neckpiece.

  He wore only his undergarments as he slid his legs into the boots; the soft insulation was warm against his flesh. The next sections of his armor clamped around his knees, thighs, and groin, fitting like a puzzle against each other. Then he lowered the chestpiece over his head and onto his shoulders, meticulous to fasten every clamp and leave no gaps. He took a step; his legs hissed, his arms hissed. He smiled, satisfied, and lowered his helmet onto his head. The tubes from his chestpiece clicked into his helmet and the vascular system of black blood was complete.

  Zaffka turned to his prized possession – a magnificent work of art encased in glass. He unlocked the case’s gold clasp. He opened the lid, coiled his metal-coated fingers around the hilt of his masterpiece, and lifted it from its cushion. The first time he held the weapon, he knew it was unlike any sword ever made. The blade was thin, not brittle, and weighed less than a sparrow. It cast a faint blue glow and was said to cut through anything made by man. At least that was what its previous owner had bragged before Zaffka removed his head. Legends said the sword was created by two parts man and one part witchcraft. Zaffka didn’t care how it was made, only that he now possessed it.