Devyn could see the look of anger, the glower lessen on Idun’s face as he came the realization that all of this was not a nightmare, and he was not being awoken from the comfort of his bed.
“Devyn, what is it?”
“Something is happening. Listen.” Devyn said, looking in no direction in particular.
Idun followed his lead and stiffly rose from the ground as he listened intently. “Its quieter than I remember.” He finally spoke with an unasked question in his voice.
“When I woke I thought I heard the sounds of fighting.”
“Fighting?” Idun looked confused even with the light making his face barely visible.
Devyn only shook his head. He had no explanation for what was happening, or why the encampment had suddenly taken on a new air of alarm. Myrin, Idun’s son, rose as well, though not quite as stiffly as the other two men. They all laughed as Idun made a nervous joke about young bones. As the unfunny joke eased the tension that was rising in the air allowing the men to laugh for a brief moment, a sound outside caught all of their attention.
“Who goes there?” A voice from the guard who was stationed outside their tent shouted. The sound of steel being drawn was unmistakable and the cry of pain that followed even more so. In the silence, Devyn could clearly hear the slicing of thick leather and the bite of the weapon into flesh. Devyn moved closer to the opening of the tent while holding his hand out to Idun to remain still.
“Finish him off!” Came a gruff voice from outside as the guard, who had kept Devyn and his companions trapped for so many hours, stumbled into the tent with blood oozing from his side and a thick knife protruding from the side of his leg. He limped in no direction in particular as death slowly took over his body. Devyn could see three men outside when the tent flap opened, one of which began to follow the dying man. Devyn knew it was time, time to allow the burning urge that had started within him many hours ago to take over. For so many years he had suppressed the violence and anger that raged within every warrior. It made him a quiet man, a simple man, but it also made him a happy man to forget the atrocities and the death he had invoked on the world. In the beginning it had been a challenge, to not take a simple joke or a friendly punch as a test of his manhood that needed to be defended. Over fifteen years of living this simple life, he constantly battled with those emotions that bubbled up, but he never let loose the warrior he was. He could no longer be that simple and happy man, he had to become the killer he once was if he was to save his family and survive. Devyn knew this, and he also knew it meant the end of his life here in Northspire. In the brief moments he had to reflect on this, he was sad, but knew he could not dwell on such a thing and he must let go and embrace it.
As their former guard limped into the tent, Devyn knew they would be the next victims of the small group of men outside. Devyn waited until the moment was perfect and the injured man was within reach, he could just make out the wicked smirk of the attacker entering the tent when he tore the knife out of the injured guard and buried it deep into the attacker’s neck. A guttural yelp came out of his mouth as he died and fell to the ground. Devyn could immediately hear questioning sounds coming from outside the tent. The guard, who the attackers injured, fell to his knees behind Devyn and then quickly collapsed to the ground with the breath being pushed out of him from the impact, perhaps the last breath his body would ever hold. Silence held the room, and with only seconds to spare, Devyn grabbed the man’s sword and searched his body for anything else that could be useful. He found a small sword which he tossed to Idun. Devyn also found a throwing ax, rope, and a small bag of coins. Given that Devyn was only wearing a thick shirt and light pants he had thrown on during the raid of his house, he had no way of carrying it all.
Everyone within the tent held their breath awaiting the onslaught that was inevitably going to erupt. They did not have to wait long as two men screamed into the tent with their weapons held high. Time seemed to slow for Devyn as men burst into the tent, he watched as Idun and his son jumped into action. Devyn slashed at one man who entered the tent, but his thick furs and chain armor underneath easily deflected the blow and Devyn was rushed. One burly man bowled into him and knocked him to the ground, Devyn held his weapons securely as they both pounced on him at once. A blade plunged into the earth as Devyn rolled to dodge it then he rolled back over the blunt side of the blade, tearing it from the man’s hands. With his left hand, Devyn swung the knife and cut deeply into the unprotected knee of the now disarmed man. A scream went up as the warrior fell to one knee clutching the wound. A kick from the second man caught Devyn hard in the ribs, sending him rolling on the ground away from the battle but leaving him with very little wind left in his lungs. He rose quickly, just barely deflecting an attack from his one active enemy. They squared off with one another, within the tight quarters of the tent beginning a battle of evasion and parries. His adversary made a misstep and put too much weight on his forward foot. Devyn quickly capitalized on this mistake and drove the edge of his blade behind the man’s ankle and then quickly dispatched him with a vicious stab from his left hand into the man’s neck with his knife.
The man Devyn had cut earlier regained his footing and charged Devyn, hitting him like a bull. Devyn sprawled out onto the ground losing both of his weapons in the hit. Quickly, his opponent pounced on him pressing his weapons towards Devyn. The sour smell of the man’s breath rushed into Devyn’s face as the gleam of the razor sharp ax edge pushed ever closer towards his throat.
“Die, slave! Die!” The man whispered to him as the ax edge inched close to Devyn’s neck. Devyn stared into wicked eyes and blackened teeth with only his forearm between him and death. He knew he could not hold this forever as the man’s weight inched the blade ever closer to him. With his free hand he searched frantically for his sword or knife on the cold earth. With his impending death, his search became even more frantic as he could feel the edge gently caressing his skin. The hilt of his knife touched his fingers and he strained to reach it. A bead of blood bloomed where the ax caressed his neck just as Devyn wrapped his fingers around the knife at his side. He arced his arm and plunged the knife deep into his assailant’s buttocks. The man howled, Devyn took advantage of this opportunity, ripping the man off of him and slinging him to the ground. Devyn leapt on top of his attacker and struck downward with the knife, as the man reached up with both hands to stop his demise. The struggle did not last long as Devyn pushed as hard as he could, plunging the knife into the chest of the ever weakening man below him.
Devyn hated himself at that moment, for the joy he felt at ending the life of another human being. He looked up just in time to hear a screaming, not a scream of physical pain, a scream of pain that only comes from your emotional heart being torn from your body. From all that you love in the world being destroyed in one instant. A spearhead protruded from the chest of Myrin as Devyn turned his gaze to the scream. Idun’s face was a deep blood red and his eyes were feral as he wildly attacked one of the two remaining adversaries in the tent. Idun’s opponent was unprepared for the wild strikes that ensued and he could do nothing but back away. Devyn raced to recover his sword and, in one swift motion, he swung and removed the head of the man who had slain Myrin before he could remove the spear from the boy’s back.
Devyn felt a lump in the pit of his stomach as he turned to assist Idun with the man he was engaged with. Idun continued to strike at the bloody corpse of his opponent as the blade that bit deeply into his gut stole his life from him. Idun was propped up by the sword in the hand of the dead man and ceased his raging attacks to look over at his fallen son. Tears welled in his eyes as a trickle of blood fell from his lips. His eyes slowly glazed over staring at the hell of losing his son.
Devyn took in the horrible scene surrounding him. The guard who held them prisoner, his two tent companions, and five men who assaulted them all lay dead on the ground while Devyn stood with a bloody sword and knife in his hands, panting and trying to catch his breath. Devyn of No
rthspire would stare in horror at this, but he had many moments ago let go of that man. He had embraced Devyn the warrior, and Devyn the warrior was happy to be alive.
Devyn eyed Idun sadly as his blank empty eyes remained locked on his son laying face down in the dirt. It only made him yearn to feel the soft skin of his wife, Rana, and the laughter of his daughters Lil and Frida. He shook the echoing sound of Idun’s heart wrenching scream out of his head and knew he must put this event behind him and move on if he was ever to see his family again. He pulled a fur tunic and leg wraps from one of the bodies that lay around him. He knew if he ran out exposed to the cold he would freeze to death before long. He was sure he was fairly close to that already as he laid in the tent earlier. If it were not for the attack he would have most likely passed on quietly into the darkness. Devyn secured the thick warm furs to his legs with strips of leather he pulled from the dead men and pulled a roughly sewn together fur tunic over his head. Feeling warmth flood over him for the first time in many hours Devyn was satisfied he was not going to freeze to death. He searched the room one last time and found a thick belt and a throwing ax on one of the men. Devyn had no idea what he was walking into when he exited the tent, but he assumed it would be similar if not worse than his experience in the tent. He wrapped the belt around his fur tunic and pushed the throwing ax into place. With a deep breath and a sigh Devyn exited the tent and was amazed how much the tent insulated him from the noise outside, what started as a quiet raid had become a pitched battle towards the direction of Northspire. The warrior within could hear the music of steel on steel and the glorious cries of battle while the dock worker only feared for his family getting caught in the middle of these two war parties fighting over a reason they’ve probably both forgotten. Men raced from around the tents and towards the battle with few giving him more than a glance as he stepped from tent to tent for cover.
It became obvious these men, all of them, belonged to a Northern warlord as a man rounded a tent screaming and wildly swung at Devyn’s head. Southern lords would train their men better than these clumsy oafs. Devyn thought. He easily side stepped the wide and careless attack causing his assailant to tumble past him into a tangled mess of rope. Not waiting for the man to rise, Devyn lunged forward, with balance and precision, finding a weak point in the man’s crudely made chain armor. The man let out a cry as Devyn’s blade bit deep into his flesh. Devyn ignored the death wails of the man behind him and continued his trek through a never ending sea of tents. The battle still seemed to rage far in front of him towards Northspire as he ducked from tent to tent. Twice, men who decided that he was an enemy entered his path and both times Devyn dispatched them with ease. He hadn’t run long but Devyn was beginning to feel the effects of a night with very little sleep and combat around every corner. The dizziness took him suddenly, he couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or something else, but he had to place a hand on one of the taught ropes that held a tent securely to the ground. He closed his eyes tightly and granted himself a quick second to relax and rest.
Chapter V
Graen continued to watch as the chaotic event below unfolded. He knew it was only a matter of time before any of those below him would cease their mindless slaughter and take in the awe that was about to envelope their home. He did not know what that would be, he could only guess that the event that he could feel inching ever closer would bring about major change. Graen methodically packed his meager camp site and attached it to the light backpack he would be bringing with him on this journey. Aelaar rarely slept, but with the unknown events to come Graen thought it would be wise to rest as much as possible. He was unsure of the next time he would have any chance to feel the peace of sleep. While it was not required, sleep was one thing the Aelaar held as a cherished memory from when they were once mortal beings. As the battle continued below he could feel the slight tremor beginning. The view from his camp site on the hill above the town gave him a fantastic vantage point over the Isindril and the country side around. Deep on the horizon a thick mist could be seen forming just as the quake began. Graen finished packing his camp and hoisted his backpack over his shoulder. As the ground began to shake stronger and stronger, Graen knelt to the ground meditating over the events to come.
Still. Calm. Ready. His sword stood within its sheath with the point resting against the earth as the quake continued. It amazed Graen as he could still hear the raging battle below him in light of the tremors. “The blood lust of humans is endless.” Graen thought. He remained as still as possible as the power radiating from the Isindril washed over him and the ground beneath him quaked and rolled. Although he tried to maintain a calmness while meditating, he could not withstand the urge to raise his gaze to the Isindril. The mist which stood so far on the horizon only moments ago was getting closer. Whatever it was that approached he was sure that it would very soon careen into Northspire causing panic and devastation. The mission must continue regardless of the happenings of this small town and he hardened his heart to focus on his task at hand.
Deyvn had only rested for a brief moment but in that span he became very vulnerable. Like a predator to a sick animal, the scent of weakness must have pervaded the area. His senses reeled quickly as he felt a man approaching from behind. The soft crunch of snow betrayed the man and Devyn sprung into action. Devyn danced around the blade of the man who tried to catch him unaware. The first attack grazed along the thick furs and made Devyn happy for more than their warmth. The cut would have not been mortal but would have sheered his skin. Now prepared, he brushed the second aimless attack of his opponent aside and plunged his stolen steel deep into the chest of the lightly armored foe. The man died with a scowl and a whimper and slid into a gory mess at Devyn’s feet.
It was only then that Devyn felt it for the first time, a subtle quake of the ground beneath his feet. Accompanying the quaking was a subtle sound so soft that it barely touched Devyn’s ears. The noise was barely audible over the chaos that ensued all around him in the camp and spreading into the town. He had hoped his daughters and wife would never know such a sound, a sound that rose like a great beast as men fought and died. As he raced through the city of tents that was so quickly raised up around him he saw the sorry silhouette of Northspire in front of him.
The small expanse of land between Bola’s encampment and the town was not a long distance, but it was in chaos. Men clashed with sword and ax against one another, while many men writhing on the ground tried pitifully to hold their life’s blood and organs within. Devyn eyed the scene blankly having seen enough death today to dull such a gory scene from his senses, it was only an obstacle in the way of reaching his family. He knew there was no way around the battle before him and fighting through it was the only way to his loved ones. Just beyond the cries and sounds of steel on steel Devyn could still hear a sound like a giant mill stone grinding. It was growing louder and the shaking beneath his feet was growing stronger. For the first time, concern over this strange event had started to blossom in his mind but the pull to get to his family was still too strong. Devyn began to stumble as the ground beneath his feet began to quake with more intensity. He sat for a long moment as he planned his approach to the town with the ever growing fear of the neverending quaking and the noise coming from the north, it was coming from the Isindril.
He watched the battlefield unfold, taking in the actions of the two sides. It became obvious to him that the army that attacked two nights ago had returned to try to catch Bola’s army unaware. Their surprise attack seemed to have succeeded for a short time, but the surprise was now over and the armies met in pitched combat on the field between the tent encampment and the town. He could see the two battle lines pushing against one another, completely ignoring the noise and subtle shaking beneath. Devyn lowered his gaze, the blood lust of men knows no bounds when the very ground could be quaking beneath their feet and the thrill of battle makes a man blind to it.
Hrodny, the warrior who defeated Devyn in the town, could clearly been see
n standing taller then the other men on the field. Devyn watched as he ferociously cleaved his way through swaths of men before him. He was unlike other warriors Devyn had faced who were clumsy and untalented, this man was a true warrior. Devyn suddenly felt no shame in losing to him as he watched his furious grace. The roar of battle was not far from Devyn, he did not wish to get pulled into the fray, he knew that he must wait for an opportunity to sneak by.
Hunkered down behind a tent he watched as the two lines waxed and waned their way across the field. Bola’s men were obviously better equipped, but the other army had caught them unaware and only half of the men on the field wore their full suit of furs and armor. The ground was littered with the dying and the dead, some of whom Devyn could see trying to rise and continue to fight or trying to limp away from the battle which trampled them. After many moments, Devyn watched Hrodny rally the men to push the army back and Devyn knew this was his opportunity.
Hunched low among the fallen bodies and weapons Devyn moved as silently as he could across the crimson splattered snowy field. An occasional hand grasped out towards him pleading but heartlessly Devyn moved on. One man, with strength still in his arm grasped hold of Devyn’s leg with his fingers curling around the leather straps of his fur leggings. Devyn halted and let out a frustrated grunt. A small fray of battle moved in his direction as he tried to untangled himself with the dying man. Devyn yanked his leg but now the man’s hand was entangled in his leggings. Frustrated, Devyn pulled his leg, feeling the fingers snap but still it did not give. The group of men had noticed Devyn now and anger flared inside of him and he brought his knife blade hard on the arm of the now screaming man. The arm left its former owner easily and Devyn flung it aside preparing for the combat about the ensue.
Within the Ice Page 5
