At the wall’s center were a pair of wooden gates and a rush of armed barbarians poured from them. Many were on foot and held spears or bows, but some were atop polar bears. Upon the wall archers began to align themselves and the warriors with clubs and spears formed up ranks before the gates.
As the last of the barbarians formed up, seven final riders upon massive polar bears rode out. The rider in the lead was dressed unlike any of the others. He had a sash of beads draped over his shoulders and a headdress made of a bear skull. His beard was also plaited and studded with beads and he carried a broad axe in his hand. He was flanked on either side by riders whose faces were painted with black stripes. They too carried great axes, and cruel looking clubs dangled at their sides.
“That’s the Koren.” said Tarquin, slowing his pace. “He is known as the Ice Bear King.”
“What are the boulders for?” asked Umbrial.
Tarquin sneered. “They know about the Dark Star Knights and have fought against us in the past. They know that the boulders are too heavy for us to lift and they disrupt our auras. It prevents us from taking the wall down in one fell swoop like I did with their outpost.”
“So then what’s the plan?” asked Umbrial.
Tarquin gripped his sword tight. “They know to expect swords of fire or electricity, but they’ve never seen a sword like Whisper.”
“Is it rare amongst your order?” asked Umbrial.
“It’s one of a kind.” said Tarquin. “It took the Jinn many years and many tries to make the crystal that powers this weapon. They’ve yet to make a duplicate.”
“So how’d you get it?” asked Arric.
Tarquin smiled. “Fortune favors those who are willing to get their hands dirty, and the Council of Duroton can be quite generous.”
Umbrial huffed a laugh as he jogged behind Tarquin. “So, are we just taking them out like we did at the outpost?”
“Yes, but let me address the Koren first.” said Tarquin. “That way we can all get close. With all these boulders I won’t be effective until I get beyond their wall. When I give the signal, start taking them out. Don’t worry about the archers. They won’t fire with their Koren in the way. Just move in on him and his guards and don’t hesitate.”
“What’s the signal?” asked Arric.
“You’ll know.” said Tarquin. He slowed his pace to a walk and gestured for the Saints to fall in line with him. He sheathed his sword and told the others to do the same.
All atop the wall the archers stood in a line, their arrows ready, many of them with flames waving in the wind. Tarquin held his right hand high and stopped within shouting distance of the wall. “I bear a message from the King of Duroton. I wish to speak to Koren Arcten Baern.”
The Koren held his right hand high and spurred his great bear forward a pace, followed by his small entourage of guards upon their own bears.
“One pace means you may approach slowly,” said Tarquin softly. “Take my lead and do not act until I give the signal.”
Tarquin proceeded with measured strides, all the while keeping his right hand raised. They passed a couple great boulders, and when they were within twenty-feet of the Koren, Tarquin lowered his hand and stopped.
The Koren looked upon them, his face hard, his eyes cold. Nuriel saw his eyes fall upon her and the other Saints, and briefly his expression changed to one of curiosity. Then, a sudden glimmer of understanding touched his eyes and his expression changed to one of disgust. His lips furled into a snarl and he growled, “You have attacked our lands and people.” The Koren’s voice was deep and guttural. “Our laws dictate that your blood too must now be spilled.”
Tarquin nodded his head slowly. He looked the Koren directly in the eyes. “We have come to end the Ageless Accords with your people.”
The Koren scowled.
“We will not pay your people any longer.”
The Koren snarled. “Is this the will of your Koren?”
Tarquin nodded.
“Your Koren is dishonorable.” The Koren looked at Nuriel and the other Saints. Nuriel didn’t think it possible, but his expression darkened even more. “These are warriors of the south. You dishonor us further with their presence.”
Tarquin looked at the Koren. “Yes, I supposed we do. Now, there is the matter of that blood.” Without warning Tarquin dashed forward, his aura suddenly sweeping up a disc of snow that broke upon the scattered boulders. He ripped his sword from its sheath. The Koren’s guards spurred their bears forward as the Koren himself raised his axe. In the blink of an eye Tarquin disappeared.
“I guess that was the signal,” said Umbrial, exchanging a quick look with the others. They all drew their weapons and bolted forward toward the Koren and his guards. Blood sprayed as the bears fell, toppling their riders. Before the riders could be dealt with there was a terrible cracking sound. Nuriel looked ahead and the wooden gate and the wall began to tear apart as if it had been hit by a tornado. As giant chunks of the wall were torn and thrown away, the archers who had been standing upon it were caught up and flung asunder. As the wall came fully apart Lord Tarquin could be seen, his disc of whirling death around him.
Beyond the toppled wall Nuriel could see hundreds of scattered tents and buildings made of whale bone that were roofed and walled with a patchwork of seal skins. Tarquin yelled out, his barking orders barely audible to Nuriel. With a wave of his sword he was gone and reappeared amongst the warriors, his aura swirling violently, tearing them down in droves. There was massive confusion amongst the warriors, having been taken thus from behind. Tarquin used his sword to appear here and there, never letting a moment pass without changing his whereabouts.
Nuriel threw herself into the fray, her sword becoming a whirling flash of black star-metal. Scenes of blood and death coursed before her eyes, but she had little time to consider them. One after another men fell before her. She was aware of the bright streaks and flashes of Caliber energy from the others, and once or twice she caught sight of Lord Tarquin. The Dark Star Knight had seemingly exhausted most of his energy now. Only a sparse disc of snow and debris floated around him, but its aura was not far reaching and didn’t even have the ability to knock the tents or huts down. The man was quick and efficient with his blade, but not nearly as much as any of the Saints. From his armor a broken spear protruded as well as a few arrows, but if they had cut into his flesh he gave no sign that they caused him pain or discomfort. A few times Nuriel felt the muted clank of a spear or arrow upon her own armor, but never did she feel the bite of steel cutting her.
Nuriel’s arms began to burn from the weight of her sword, her legs searing now with every jump and dash. The pain of exhaustion began to awaken her mind, and as she tore her sword from a man’s neck she paused and looked around. She was well within the city proper at this point. Red stained the snow in all directions. Huts and tents lay in scattered ruins. The cries of men and women and children filled the air. From behind came the roar of the army. A thousand lightly armored Durotonian soldiers came rushing across the snowfield. They would be upon them in only a few minutes.
The cry of a babe diverted Nuriel’s attention and she saw Tia dash into a group of women, cutting them down. One had held a baby tightly bundled in furs to her chest, but now that child lay face down in the snow, its cries horrific and muffled, choking. Its dead mother was slumped in a patch of reddening snow.
Nuriel’s mind wobbled. The world seemed to go in and out of focus. She struggled to find the warmth that the Ev had provided, but the baby’s crying chilled her as much as the frigid northern winds. She walked toward the fallen babe. A fire burned in a circle of stones and there were tents nearby, their seal skin doors flapping in the wind. Nuriel rubbed at her eyes as she approached the baby and was suddenly knocked into the snow. Fists rained down upon her. She struggled to her feet as more and more fists pounded her, and she fell back down into the snow. Mostly they struck upon her armor, but a few hit her square in the face or upon an unarmored part of her b
ody.
She turned her head up to face her attackers just as a warm spray of blood slapped across her face. Gamalael’s sword whirled and a woman’s head went flying. There were a dozen of them, all women, though about half of them could only rightly be called girls. They fell to their knees, pleading in a strange tongue, and one of them scooped the baby from the snow. Nuriel realized that they were the ones who had attacked her.
“You ok?” asked Gamalael, helping Nuriel to her feet. She noticed that he had a nasty gash across one cheek. Upon his stomach, the leather of his bodysuit was torn and stained with red. Gamalael wiped at his face and looked down at his stomach. “Yeah, a couple of ‘em got me with a spear. I’ll be fine. You ok?”
She didn’t say anything. Her mind was buzzing. She felt sick. She looked at the fire, its dancing flames hypnotic.
Nuriel was startled by some screams. She looked up and watched as Gamalael stabbed the woman who had picked up the child. The others rushed at him but he flourished his sword and that stayed them. Gamalael spat as he picked up the bundled baby. “The work’s pretty much done.” he said. “Just mop up now.” He paused for a moment, then said in a tone devoid of any emotion, “Best to just get this all over with.”
The women erupted into screams as Gamalael tossed the baby into the fire. It began to wail, its voice being choked out by smoke and flame. One of the women dashed in for it, but as her hands wrapped around it, Gamalael drove his foot into the back of her head, forcing her face deep into the wood and coals, smothering her in fire as she howled horrifically.
“Anyone else want some?” snarled Gamalael as he looked at the frantic, pleading women with a sneer. “Come on, Nuriel. Take ‘em out. Let’s just get this over with.”
Behind her, Nuriel could hear the clash of steel and the roar of men. The soldiers had arrived. There seemed to be chaos everywhere, and Nuriel couldn’t focus. She was frantically searching for the warmth of the Ev. The smell of burnt flesh and hair caught her nose and she looked into that fire. The baby was moving but making no noise. Gamalael removed his foot and the woman’s head remained buried in the coals, her body unmoving.
The baby moved again. Nuriel saw a skeletal hand reach for her. Tiny white fingers came out of the fire, grasping for her. Nuriel took a step forward. She saw the skeletal baby in the fires. It lay there in the burning coals, smiling at her. The flames rose up into a huge column, and from within she now saw the boy and his mother. The boy picked up the skeletal baby and then looked at her.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You’re one of us now, remember?”
Nuriel fell to her knees before the fire and buried her face into her hands.
“Come,” said the mother, reaching out to her. “You must burn with us.”
The boy looked at Nuriel through the fires and held the skeletal baby out to her. “He needs you. He needs you to hold him. You promised us you’d come back.”
“What the fuck is her problem?” Nuriel was vaguely aware of Tia’s voice behind her, but it seemed tinny and muted.
“Nuriel!” she could hear Gamalael yell at her now. She felt him shake her shoulders. “Nuriel!”
Nuriel felt a push on her shoulders. Then another. “Nuriel!” yelled Gamalael. He pushed her again.
Nuriel began rocking on her knees. The rhythmic pushing. The disgusting warmth between her legs. The pain and helplessness. Everything from that night flooded into her at once.
Nuriel looked into the fire. The baby was smiling at her, and the mother was looking at her warmly. The boy held the baby out to her again, and it began to kick and squeal with delight as it smiled at her. “I knew you’d come back,” said the boy.
Nuriel stood up, her grip tightening around the handle of her claymore.
“Apollyon below, Nuriel.” crowed Tia. “Get it together.”
Nuriel turned around slowly, her golden eyes flashing in the firelight. Tia and Gamalael were there. The women and girls were huddled together, shaking, scared.
“Come on,” said Gamalael. “Let’s just get this over—”
Gamalael scarcely had time to get his sword up before Tia’s head went flying into the fire. Before he could react Nuriel had already knocked the sword from his hand. Another stroke and his left arm was off; a spin and an upward stroke and his right arm fell to the ground; a quick sweep and his legs were gone at the knees. His limbless torso writhed in the snow, his face pale, horrified as Nuriel looked down at him, her teeth bared in a snarl. He tried to cry out but Nuriel’s sword cut the top of his head off and blood began to spread out in all directions. She took her sword and thrust it up under the armor that covered his waist. She growled and thrust her sword into his crotch again and again until his mangled remains began to wither and crumple horrifically into the armor, consumed by it.
Screams. Nuriel looked up. The huddled women began scooting away from the widening pool of blood, screaming and looking upon Nuriel with sheer terror. Her eyes flashed, and in that moment they scrambled to their feet and tore off.
Nuriel spun. Arric was running up toward her. Nuriel snarled and leapt toward him, her sword a whirlwind of death. Their weapons only cracked together a few times before Nuriel got an upward swing that cut his right leg off at the hip. Arric fell to the snowy ground screaming, clutching at his severed limb. Nuriel smashed her star-metal boot into his face and heard the crunch of bone. She twisted her foot with all her weight on it and Arric squealed in pain as the flesh from his cheek was shredded and torn. She thrust her sword up under the skirted armor around his waist and he screamed out again. She dug the sword deeper, twisting and tearing it as Arric screamed.
Nuriel sensed a powerful Caliber coming quickly toward her. With a quick spin she took Arric’s head off and saw Umbrial streaking toward her, his Caliber flaring a bright gold. She leapt from Arric’s body to meet Umbrial in midair. Their weapons cracked like thunder and Nuriel tumbled to the ground and rolled back to her feet, roaring as she dashed in at him again. The large man spun around, his face twisted with anger as he raised his mace to block Nuriel’s weapon.
“What’s wrong with you?” roared Umbrial. He lashed out with his left hand and Nuriel had to dodge backward. He brought his right hand up, swinging his mace in a high arc. Nuriel rolled to the side and the star-metal mace impacted the earth, causing the ground to shudder as a spray of snow and ice blasted up.
Nuriel came in with a kick to his side that impacted Umbrial’s breastplate with a satisfying solidity. The large man rolled to the ground and narrowly avoided Nuriel’s sword as it came down toward his head. Umbrial shot back up to his feet, swinging his mace in a whirling motion as he parried each of Nuriel’s strikes with frantic but precise motions. Nuriel snarled and her Caliber flared an almost blinding white. A few more cracks as her sword was knocked away but then her blade made purchase and she felt the resistance of bone and sinew. She spun around and felt her blade briefly glance off his star-metal pauldron before it struck his neck, hot blood splattering her face. Umbrial’s body fell to the ground, one arm missing at the elbow, his head somewhere in the distant snow.
Nuriel stood over his body, her breath frantic, icy jets as she panted. Her face turned up in an ugly, blood-splattered snarl and she let loose a terrible roar. She looked around. The world seemed to be spinning. She saw Durotonian soldiers watching her with shocked horror from a distance. She looked at them and roared out again. Her eyes flashed and she was about to dash toward them when she stopped dead and spun, raising her sword just in time to clash with Lord Tarquin’s.
Tarquin snarled at her. His armor was a little worse for wear than when they had left the ship, and from his side stuck the shafts of two arrows. The gray spirals painted up his arms were chipped. Blood stained his face and hands. He moved his sword for another strike and Nuriel moved with him but then stumbled forward as he disappeared. She could sense him directly behind her and she fell to the ground and rolled, leaping back to her feet just in time block his strike. Again he
moved his sword and disappeared. In the blink of an eye Nuriel spun, again narrowly parrying a strike from behind.
“You crazy fucking bitch!” spat Tarquin. He dashed in, his strikes coming quick, precise, determined.
Nuriel kept his pace, blocking each strike in turn, and then seizing a quick opening, flung her blade outward, but Tarquin vanished before it could bite into him. Nuriel tumbled forward and spun on the ground, kicking back to her feet just as Tarquin reappeared and swung. Nuriel’s blade knocked his away and opened up a gash in his breastplate. Tarquin stumbled back, shock widening his eyes. He clutched at his chest and then looked at his hand. There was some blood for sure, but Nuriel could see it was not a fatal wound.
Tarquin looked at her, his dark eyes narrowing. “This isn’t over, Saint.” he snarled. “Look at everything you’ve done…everything you’ve wasted! You have nothing anymore! You’ll get yours. I promise you that! Wait until Celacia finds out what you’ve done!”
Nuriel moved in, but with a wave of his sword he was gone and Nuriel could no longer sense his presence. The soldiers must have detected that he had fled as well. They began to retreat, fleeing back down the icefield toward the ocean. Nuriel stood there for a moment, panting. She screamed with frustration, rage and confusion. She wiped at her eyes and her hand was coated in blood. She looked down at herself. Her armor, her white bodysuit…everything was coated in blood. Nuriel looked around, the world spinning. Her eyes turned up to the gray skies that were quickly darkening with the onset of night. All at once everything seemed to become real to her. She screamed out again and fell to her knees.
The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 38
