by Kal Spriggs
“Your people seem to trust you,” Christoffer said to the young noblewoman. “More, they love you, and for that alone I think I would believe you.” He stood with her and several others in the trees that overlooked the ancient stone bridge. “I can think of few units that retain anything like the cohesion you have, after the casualties your people took.”
“You are truly raising an army to fight the Usurper?” Lieutenant Steffan asked. Christoffer looked over at the young lieutenant and restrained a sigh at what he saw. He remembered then, the Steffan came from the Duchy of Masov. His parents had fled the Usurper. Christoffer wondered how the Lieutenant's loyalty might swing and what, exactly, one Admiral Tarken, would need to do about it.
“Yes,” Lady Katarina said, her voice tired. “And with what we took from Southwatch, we stand a good chance at it. I just pray we don't have a civil war on our hands. Having seen the Norics and the Armen, I want even less to leave ourselves vulnerable to their raids.”
“Speaking of which...” Christoffer raised his spyglass, and gave a slight nod. “Here they are.” He studied them through his spyglass. “Somewhat less than what you reported, but I imagine they have men scattered all over the hills and they probably brought what they could marshal in a short time.”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Steffan said. “This hill is somewhat close to the front. Perhaps you should withdraw–”
“Evacuate? In our moment of triumph?” Christoffer shook his head.
The Lieutenant sighed and he looked over at Lady Katarina. Before he could open his mouth, the old man, Arren Smith, spoke, “Not worth it, lad. She'll stay here while her people are at risk.”
Christoffer followed her gaze down to where twenty of her people, along with a dozen of his own sailors, formed a line across the end of the bridge. At the center stood her bodyguard, the man she'd called Bulmor. “They are brave men and women,” Christoffer said finally.
“I don't deserve them,” Katarina said softly. “But I will try to be worthy of them... and those who fell.” Something hung unspoken, and from the way that Arren seemed to draw in on himself, some of those who had fallen had meant a great deal to all of them.
Christoffer nodded. He looked up, and saw that the Armen had sped up their pace. “They've seen them. It won't be long now.” The Armen formed up into ranks as they drew nearer, and Christoffer gave a single glance up at the sky.
A moment later, the Armen reached the bridge, and then a volley of arrows from the defenders took down the first ranks. The Armen continued their charge, and their bulk slammed into the thin line of defenders at the bridge. Christoffer saw Lady Katarina bite her lip as men stumbled back from that impact. Yet they fought on. Christoffer saw a bare-chested giant of a man hold one side of the bridge all by himself while the others around him recovered from the impact. But the Armen had a mass of bodies and they forced the defenders back, foot by foot. A moment later, the pace accelerated as the Armen got off the bridge and started to work the edges of the defenders.
The defenders drew back more quickly now and the mass of Armen choked the bridge. They swarmed it and the crush slowed their pace and gave the defenders time to back away and then run for the cover of the trees.
The lead Armen gave a shout. The Admiral saw them charge forward. The Armen formation broke apart in pursuit of their enemy.
Lieutenant Steffan stood up and took aim down his caster. “Miss Eleanor, if you would start things off?”
Christoffer looked over at the diminutive archer and she gave him an almost girlish smile as she raised her bow. Her expression turned blank a moment later as she drew her first arrow and let loose.
The first explosion smashed into the most densely packed part of the bridge. Then, every Marine sharpshooter fired as one. Before the Admiral could even gauge the effect of that, the windship fired from above.
The world seemed to explode and most of the Armen force on the far side of the bridge disappeared in dust and fire. The Admiral winced as bodies and pieces of bodies exploded up out of the cloud, only to tumble back.
He saw dozens of Armen race forward out of the dust and smoke. As they reached the base of the hill, however, the Marines and sailors of his force leaped to their feet and met their charge with a line of steel.
A moment later, the first of the war golems stomped forward out of the trees. Its stocky legs pumped it forwards into a clump of Armen. The two long blades held in each arm swung in murderous arcs. Each blow cut through weapons, armor, and men with terrible ease. The second golem trundled forward, its massive arms bore studded clubs that brutally smashed any of the Armen who came within reach.
The Marines and sailors advanced behind the two golems, followed by Lady Katarina's soldiers. The Armen who stumbled out of the smoke and fire from the windship's casters hit that wall of steel and shattered like glass.
They tried to run, but flankers turned them back towards the center. Admiral Tarken shook his head as the Armen broke. Left with no other choice, the panicked men fled back across the bridge, right into the fire from the windship's casters.
The Admiral saw the windship come almost directly overhead as it fired the heavy casters from its underslung turrets. He was close enough that he could see the air distorted by the passage of energy from each shot. The noise and chaos continued unabated for several minutes, before the heavy casters above ceased their fire.
Wails of terror and screams of pain echoed in that silence. Admiral Christoffer Tarken turned to the Marine Lieutenant, “Lieutenant Steffan, if you would ready the sally force, I think we can safely say we have destroyed the Armen.”
***
Aerion Swordbreaker
The trees had changed, as Aerion ran further down the valley. Oak and walnut had replaced the familiar pines, and the game trail he followed had become something more like a road, though he didn't know where it might lead or who would use it. He had stayed ahead of the Norics, though sometimes only just out of a long bow shot. The valley seemed to grow narrower, though, and Aerion felt certain that the time would soon come where he would find some place to make his final stand.
As he raced up a short switchback in the trail, he crested a small rise and saw the valley neck down ahead of him. Two large hills rose to block off the valley, with only a narrow ravine in the middle. Beyond the ravine, he saw only green trees, an end to the mountains. He felt a broad grin stretch his face as he saw his trail lead straight for that narrow area.
He paced himself, as he ran for that spot. It would not due to arrive there winded and unable to properly greet his pursuers. Soon enough, he reached the narrowest part, and he turned to face back down his trail.
He saw the Norics crest the hill. A dozen of them led the others, many of them covered in sweat, some stripped to loincloths and nothing else.
Aerion pulled his bow off his back and strung it with a grunt. He drew out his first arrow and took aim at the lead Noric. He could tell they hadn't seen him yet, for they still ran forward in a straight line. He released and drew another arrow, even as he saw the first Noric stumble and fall.
The others continued their run, unaware of his fire until his third arrow took one man in the foot and his scream alerted them to the fact that their companions had not fallen to exhaustion.
They slowed their pace and he saw their heads turn as they searched for him.
Aerion pulled the Horn from over his shoulder. He watched as more and more Norics stacked up on the area ahead of him and behind them Armen began to come over the rise. Good, he thought, that meant some of them, at least, followed me and less for Lady Katarina to worry over.
Aerion brought the Horn up to his lips and when he blew it this time, he put all of his emotion into a blast of defiance. Where before the Horn's note was a harsh one, this one sounded clear and beautiful. The note seemed to tremor in the air, long after Aerion released it. He felt revitalized, energized, and he felt strength return to his tired arms and legs. The ache of exhaustion seemed to lift and his det
ermination seemed to solidify into something like Bulmor's iron will.
He saw the Norics and the Armen behind them seemed to hesitate, as if shocked by his note. He saw some of them look around, as if suddenly uncertain.
Aerion looped the horn on his belt and threw his bow over his shoulder. Aerion pulled out his broken runic sword and drew his wooden shield on over his right arm. “Norics and Armen, cowards, savages, and thieves, hear me!” He called. “You have come to this land to die! You have chased me for nothing, for Lady Katarina has escaped you! I am tired of running, come to me and die!”
One of the Noric demons burst over the hillside. It raced through the ranks of the stunned Norics and Armen. Aerion watched it come and he tensed as it raced closer. The creature looked like a man, save that he saw the glitter of scales covered its skin and as it drew nearer, he saw its hands ended in talons.
Aerion waited until it was almost on him before he did what he knew was stupid, he stepped into its charge and thrust his sword at its chest.
The impact drove him backwards and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Yet the metal on metal shriek that came from the beast showed he had wounded it. Aerion kicked it off of him and rolled to his feet. He saw the demon curled around the wound from his blade and how that hole in its chest spurted black blood. Aerion's blade began to glow and wisps of steam came off it where the demon's blood boiled.
Aerion watched the demon twitch and then he stepped forward and chopped down on the back of its neck. Its hairless head seemed to leap off its shoulders and Aerion kicked it in the direction of the watching Norics and Armen. “That for you, you demon worshiping bastards!”
The Norics let loose animalistic howls and they rushed forward.
A bigger man led them in and Aerion ducked under his first wild swing and opened his stomach with a slash. He stepped inside the next man's swing and hacked downward, into his thigh. Aerion stepped back and caught a blow from a club on his shield. He trapped the club out of the way and thrust at the wielder's throat and then stepped back as another Noric took his place.
Aerion caught a sword slash on his scale mail and barely felt the impact as he punched with the edge of his shield into the face of another attacker. The world became a blur of blood and edged weapons. Sometimes Aerion advanced to drive the Norics back and other times he retreated as they brought numbers to bear against him.
He felt some blows get through and blood dripped from cuts on his arms and legs, where the scale mail didn't protect him. The first Armen warrior came against him and his hatchet splintered Aerion's shield. Aerion killed him a moment later, but without his shield, more blows got through to his armor.
He backed deeper into the ravine and cut down another Armen as he stumbled over the bodies that choked the entrance. Aerion had a moment of rest as his enemies tried to stumble after him and he pulled the Horn from where it hung from his belt.
He filled his lungs and sounded it again, this time to taunt the men who chased him across the mountains only to lose so many of their own when they finally caught him. Aerion blew it again and then a third time before he let it drop back to his belt as the next wave came in. They may kill me, but I will take as many of them as I can with me, I will not allow them to harm Katarina, he thought.
One of them thrust with a spear at his face and Aerion ducked to the side and caught the shaft of the spear. He pulled the spear man close and stabbed him twice with his sword, even as he used the body to protect him from attacks on his right side.
He hacked at an Armen, the warrior's eyes wide with either drugs or possession by some spirit. The man refused to go down, however, and stabbed at Aerion over and over with a pair of knives until Aerion finally cut the man's head from his shoulders with a two handed blow.
Aerion grunted in anguish as a sword thrust from his right went into his thigh. He swung blindly and felt his sword bite into his attacker, even as he stumbled backwards. His leg collapsed on him and a spear man’s thrust caught him in his right arm.
Aerion swung his sword up from one knee and caught the spear man in the upper thigh. The spray of blood blinded him for a moment, long enough for a club to catch him a glancing blow on the head and to send him onto his back.
He saw one of the Armen, better dressed than the others, move over him and raise his ax in a two-handed strike.
Aerion raised his broken blade and gave a last shout of defiance.
***
King Simonel Greeneye
Near the borders of the Eastwood
New Cycle Day, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Simonel Greeneye had led the small force of his People towards the border for most of the morning. They made excellent time, driven by both curiosity and the knowledge that Medis Sakveri might soon be theirs.
They had drawn almost to the very edge of the Eastwood, when the Horn sounded again. This time, Simonel felt his eyes well with tears as the single perfect note came not just to his mind... but to his ears as well. It was the sound of a man who had tired of running, the sound of someone who knew that he would die, but refused to give up. In that note, Simonel heard a man who took joy in life, but who had seen much sorrow.
In short, it made Simonel's very spirit resonate. Without even thinking about it, Simonel burst into a sprint. He heard the others follow and he saw Nanamak race along side him, the elder's face transformed by excitement and energy. The two of them ran, neck in neck. The Horn sounded three more times, from just ahead of them, it seemed. These were the sounds of the end, Simonel realized. He heard the defiance, but also the acknowledgment. The warrior who sounded the Horn knew that his death was at hand.
Simonel recognized the border of the Eastwood, the two hills and the Pilgrim's Path which led down out of the Ryft Peaks. As he ran forward, he saw a throng of Armen and Norics, and on the ground before them, a man, bloodied and beaten, yet he held his broken sword raised in defiance. Simonel saw an Armen chieftain, ax raised to strike two handed and he felt sudden despair, he could not reach them in time.
A blur whipped past him, then, and Simonel saw Ceratul's spear catch the Armen in the chest. Simonel let out a war shout and charged in, his hunters on his heels.
He spared one glance at the fallen man, sword still raised, a look of confusion on his face. Simonel gave him a salute as he passed and then leaped forward, his sword out to claim the life of the nearest enemy.
***
Epilogue
Commander Kerrel Flamehair
The Lonely Keep, The Lonely Isle, Duchy of Masov
First of Pargan (Pargan's Feast), Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Kerrel Flamehair tucked the blankets around her as she stood from Hector's bed. “You know, there's no future with us.”
Lord Hector looked up from his maps and responded with a snort, “I know. Sooner or later your ideals will get you killed. Hopefully I won't have to be the one to do it.” His voice was dry, but she could hear the underlying sorrow in it. Hector was a man who envied people like her... for he had little faith or hope.
“You realize calling a mercenary idealistic makes you seem rather callus in comparison, right?” Kerrel said. She took a seat across from him at his map table. “Now why don't you tell me why you ordered me to come here in the north? Our relationship, such as it is, is not the reason.”
Hector gave a dark smile, “While I did miss you, I think you've seen the enormity of the threat here in the north... and that will let you understand my orders better, especially with what has just happened in the south.”
“What changed?” Kerrel asked
“The southern nobility seem to have found their balls after all,” Hector said. He pushed one map in front of her. “The Baron of Nine Peaks has raised an army, in the name of 'Lady Katarina' of course.”
“She made it safely to him?” Kerrel asked. She personally did not care much about the girl, but if she had survived, she remained an important symbol.
“I think the imposter that someone put to work in the
Tucola Forest is still active. I very much doubt that Lord Theodore is behind her, he's too straightforward for that, but the Earl of Olzstyn... him I would expect such things from, especially given his own family's ties and the agreements he had in place with Duke Peter,” Hector spat, “The price I paid him to keep him neutral during the assassination no doubt has gone a long way towards raising an army against me.”
“So what are you going to do?” Kerrel asked.
“I'm sending you south to assist Covle Darkbit,” Hector said. “You've proven yourself here, which will carry a great deal of weight in the south. And even the most ignorant will realize that I have made you my right hand. You dealt with the various threats here in the North, and I expect you to do as well in the south.”
“I won't be your executioner, nor your assassin,” Kerrel said. She felt her cheeks flush with sudden anger, and her eyes narrowed at the implications.
“You are my emissary and I'll give you the authority to speak for me,” Hector answered. “Rasev Ironhelm and Covle Darkbit, for all their strengths, are too focused on the tactics and strategy, rather than the politics. Making Grel my Hound was probably a mistake, he's too much of a blunt instrument, with no ability or desire to solve issues. I need you to find out what players have involved themselves and if I must shed some gold to save blood, I will do so. I will even...” Hector paused and a look of distaste crossed his face, “I will even authorize you to discuss potential inheritance and grants of authority to the nobility, which will give them greater autonomy and power.”
Kerrel's eyebrows raised in surprise, “What next, accepting Lady Katarina as your heir?” She kept her voice level, but she couldn't help the spark of hope in her heart. If she could bring peace between the two somehow...
Hector shook his head, “No, the impostor must be revealed as a fake. That will be a term of any peace agreement. She's too powerful a symbol, otherwise, and too dangerous a ploy to allow them to use.”
