Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  Broden walked over, leaned in close, and whispered to Althia, “Come with me to the front. Stick tight and don’t stop.”

  She nodded, wiping away a tear with one hand. Broden turned and approached Subath with Althia and the child not far behind him. Subath had his hand on the lock to the front doors of the cathedral.

  As Broden approached, he unsheathed his sword. “Let’s go.”

  *

  Thaskil wiped his sword and hatchet on the shirt of the raider he had just killed, serving only to dirty his blade further. He looked around the bulwark. There was not a scrap of fabric he saw that was not coated in blood.

  “Even the sun rises in blood this morning,” Sergeant Omree said as he came up beside Thaskil. They stared out across the Field of Storms, watching as the fire in the pit flickered, its tongues of flame dancing smaller now in the red morning light. “Why aren’t they committing everything? It’s been two days of probing and each time we repel them.”

  “I don’t know. They’re toying with us, I fear. Maybe they’re just grinding us down. The real attack could come when we’re at our weakest.”

  Omree looked back down the bulwark as defenders and citizens alike aided the wounded, taking them to makeshift infirmaries in nearby halls while replacing injured troops with armed men, women, and anyone else able to swing a blade and set free an arrow. “Things will get pretty desperate soon.”

  “Aye,” Thaskil grumbled, wiping away a drop of blood that had gathered on his eyebrow.

  “Reinforcements may still come. There is time,” Omree said with a knowing grin.

  “They’ll never get here in time.” Time. Thaskil laughed. It is only a matter of time. “We need to hold on. Dig in. They’ll eventually come. Tell the men reinforcements will come. We just need to hold on until they do.” Time’s run out. We’ll need a miracle. Thaskil turned and clapped Omree on the shoulder. “If you need me, I’ll be in the dungeons.”

  *

  Thaskil didn’t bother to wash himself or change clothes, but he did take time to properly clean his weapons. He sheathed his sword and slid his battle-hatchet into his belt before entering the dungeon, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him. He took two deep breaths. Keep yourself together, man. Keep a hold on your nerve, for Dajda’s sake.

  Having composed himself, Thaskil walked around the corner of the dungeon hall, along the straw lined floors, and past the empty cells until he stopped in front of Bergnon’s.

  The sorry major was sunk on the floor, head buried in his arms, resting on his knees.

  “Wake up,” Thaskil croaked, his voice flat and exhausted as he slumped into the chair before the bars.

  Bergnon raised his head, his face swollen and filthy with caked blood. “No sleep for me.” His voice was hoarse.

  “You know,” Thaskil said, pouring a cup of water and sliding it through the bars towards Bergnon, “I could hear you shouting to me. Despite it all, I could hear you. Amazing that, isn’t it.”

  “Aye, laddie, it is,” Bergnon grumbled, nodding gratefully for the water. “I saw the traps worked. That first assault, they just got sucked right in.”

  “I’m amazed I listened to you about that—” Thaskil broke and began to weep, the flood of emotion pouring out of him. “And it worked.” He lurched from the emotion. “This is not for me. This duty is not for me. I know nothing of tactics. Nothing of leading men.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “Damn you,” Thaskil spluttered through mucus and tears. “Look at me. My very soul is soaked in blood now. It’ll never wash off. I’ll never wash clean.”

  Bergnon rose to his feet and clung to the bars. His sorrowful face pressed out between the metal, tears welling in his puffy red eyes.

  Thaskil shuddered through the sobs as he breathed rapid, shallow breaths. He had never felt more sick in his life. “I may have swung the blade, but you’ve killed them all. You’ve killed me.” He shuddered from the rapid breaths and sobs. “This duty is not for me.”

  “I’m so sorry, lad. I truly am.” Bergnon too broke. “You led them better than almost anyone I’ve seen. You can do this. Let me help you again.”

  Thaskil looked up from his hands.

  “I’m at fault for this all, laddie. Every death is my doing, every sword stoke from my arm. Let me use it truly. Let me help right some of this wrong I’ve wrought. Let me find some redemption, please.”

  Thaskil fought the urge to spring to his feet and open the cell door. He couldn’t deny he wanted for someone to take charge and free him of his burden. “No amount of blood can return you to the light, Bergnon. You’ve made sure of that and the knowledge of that is your curse.” The imagined image of Arrlun murdered flashed in Thaskil’s mind. “You saw to it that Arrlun died. You had friends and comrades murdered by assassins while they slept and you’ve cursed the souls of millions by siding with the darkness. All for one person and she’s dead. She’s fucking dead. It was for nothing.” Thaskil wiped his tears away angrily, defiant against the fear lurching in his guts.

  Bergnon slid down the bars of his cell and slumped against them, his forehead leaning against the rust-spotted metal. His blank eyes stared at the blood and filth-spattered boots Thaskil wore. “You’ve not been in love before, have you, lad?”

  “No, not least in ways to draw on madness.”

  “Then you’ve never been in love.” Bergnon looked up and held Thaskil’s gaze. “When it comes to you, Thaskil, when love finally finds you, think of me. Perhaps in that moment, you’ll see some way to forgive me in part for what I’ve done.”

  Thaskil stood up and wiped away the last of his tears, smearing dirt on his cheek. “You’ve taken away any chance I’ve ever had, Major, for I’ll no doubt be dead by the time the sun sets tonight.” Thaskil walked off, stopping after a few paces and turning. “So you know, I’m not keeping you caged out of mercy to spare your life. I want you to be rescued by your people and to live out what days you have remembering what you’ve done.” Thaskil disappeared around the corner of the dungeon hall before opening and slamming the door shut.

  “Thaskil!” Bergnon roared, his voice trailing off in a ragged croak at the end. “Thaskil! Let me fight! Let me fight with you. I can help, please. Please! Dajda, forgive me for what I’ve done…” Bergnon’s roars trailed off into words warped by sobs.

  Thaskil leant against the wall outside the dungeon, listening to the sobs and spluttered words. His mind reeled. Am I doing what’s right for the people out there? Are anger and vengeance more important than sense and trust?

  He smashed his clenched fist into the wall and tore open the door. Pounding down the hallway, he caused Bergnon to leap up from his misery. Barely pausing a moment, Thaskil removed the key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door, shoving it open with a heavy metallic grind. He stood there, face to face with Bergnon. The silence between them was thick.

  “Need I say it?” Thaskil said. What are you doing? Are you mad?

  “I don’t deserve your trust, but believe me, I will give my final breath to you, or you may take it yourself.”

  “If it comes to it, I will,” Thaskil said before walking away, “Come with me. We’ve a city to defend.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Ready the ballistae!” Abbonan roared from the ship’s aftercastle through a horn, amplifying his voice to the engineers on deck.

  He heard his orders being repeated from the ships alongside. No doubt, down to the last of his armada, the orders were being relayed. The ship was approaching the first of the raider vessels as they cut through choppy waves into the bay. The sailors on board scurried to and fro to prime the ballistae, readying to loose the bolt towards the waterline of the enemy ship.

  “Ready the onagers!” Abbonan roared.

  Sailors ran to prepare the onagers. The first volley would be of heavy stone balls, hollowed and filled with embers taken from braziers. The second volley would be made up of the plugged vats of pitch. Abbonan watched as the
fleet of raider ships approached further. His ships outnumbered the raiders, but their vessels were smaller and more manoeuvrable. All he needed was to begin in a blaze of violence and glory and the rest would tuck tail and run, he hoped.

  “Here they come,” Abbonan muttered as the raiders bore down. “Dajda be with us.”

  He heard roars and cries from the enemy and saw men waving weapons. No doubt, they would try to lash the boats together and board the ships, fighting hand to hand. Abbonan had issued his orders and the marine infantry were ready to repel any attempts, but in the squeeze of ships, it was sometimes inevitable. He drew his sword and steadied himself. The stink of unwashed men wafted over him as the wind changed; a repellent scent of those whom he aimed to repel. Fitting, he thought.

  “Engage!” Abbonan shouted as the ships came within several lengths of each other.

  The crash of ballistae rung clear in the air. The roar of raiders redoubled. Abbonan observed some bolts find their mark, punching deep into the waterline of raider ships and causing sea water to rush in, whilst some slid off the bow and into the waves without harm. Others hit their targets, but bristled out of the front of the ship like the spikes of a beast.

  “Reload!” Abbonan roared, his orders again echoed down the line of ships.

  The raiders began sending arrows as their boats approached the defenders’ ships.

  “Hot stones!” Abbonan roared.

  Pairs of sailors wielding heavy metal tongs carefully moved stones filled with red-hot embers into the nests of the onagers. Abbonan heard cries from the neighbouring ship, causing him to turn. One of the hot stones had been dropped and rolled down the deck of the ship, smashing sailors before coming to rest by rope, bursting it into flames and casting embers.

  “Douse that!” Abbonan roared through his horn. “Douse it now!” He turned back to his own ship and roared his command, “Engage!”

  The onagers released their stones with a distinctive thump, sending stones flying towards the raider ships followed by a volley of pitch into the same mark. Raider ships burst into flame, accompanied by the frantic cries from the raiders themselves.

  Abbonan afforded a glance to the neighbouring ship as his sailors battled to put out their own fires.

  Several of the raider ships pulled back, falling lower in the sea as they took on more water, whilst others struggled to contain flames spreading up ropes and sails, consuming masts and deck alike.

  “Ready to engage!” Abbonan roared through his horn as the ships pulled up alongside and began casting ropes. “Come on, you bastards!” Abbonan ran down the steps from the aftercastle, his sword unsheathed and his battle cry loud.

  *

  “Keep running, we’re almost there!” Broden cried out to the group with him as they pounded through the snowy streets of Carte.

  The ragged breath of all those who ran behind him rasped loud in his ears. The little girl clung tight to his chest, with Althia running just behind him. The screams from the rear were increasing with frequency. He saw the walls of the High Command ahead, and the urge to keep powering on redoubled within.

  “Almost there!” roared Subath by his side.

  A blood-curdling scream sounded, sending a shiver down Broden’s neck.

  “Eyes forward!” Broden barked. “There’s nothing you can do for those that fall.” He could hear the sobs of the little girl beginning and his jaw set. I’ll not let them take you, not like this. His feet pounded harder, his legs a blur as he crashed towards the High Command.

  A cry came out from the rear of the group, “There’s so many! Hurry!”

  *

  “What in the dark hells is that?” Kalfinar asked as he peered out Harruld’s window at a knot of bodies charging up the street towards the gates of the High Command.

  “What’s wrong?” Harruld asked, alarmed.

  “Pass me your eyeglass,” Kalfinar said, reaching out for the magnifying piece. He grabbed it from Harruld and placed it to his eye, honing in on the charging people. “Broden and Subath!” Kalfinar yelled. “They have civilians with them. Open the gates!”

  “Issue the order!” Harruld barked to the attendant guard. “Get it there quick.” He stood and approached his son by the window. “What’re they—”

  “The creatures!” Kalfinar shouted, handing the eyeglass to his father and charging out of the room.

  “Wait, Kal!” Harruld shouted as Evelyne leapt to her feet from where she knelt with Olmat. “Where are you going?”

  The governor peered at the street using the eyeglass. Towards the end of the long street, a horde of white-eyed creatures bore down on Broden and Subath’s party as they sprinted towards the High Command gates. Harruld looked up from the street, his eyes scanning the city. Random pockets of flames still burned, sending pillars of smoke skyward. Beyond the city, to the bay, he saw ships clashing and burning.

  “Dajda has abandoned us.”

  *

  “Everyone onto the drawbridge!” Broden roared with all his might.

  “They’re getting closer!”

  “There are so many!”

  “Dajda.”

  “Help us!”

  They were baring down on the High Command, but the gates weren’t opening.

  Broden waved as he ran. “Open up! Let us in!” He cried loud and clear, but it was no use. Don’t be stupid. They won’t open the gate unless there’s a direct order from Harruld. He won’t have seen you. You’ll have to make a stand.

  He glanced at Althia and the child. Both were crying now, though Althia strode on, getting closer to the gate all the while.

  “I have to leave you now,” Broden said. “Once you make it to the gate, stay at the back on the drawbridge, but try to stay out of the press and scramble, you hear?”

  “Yes,” she said amidst gasping breaths.

  “Good. The gates will open. In the meantime, we’ll hold them off as best we can. The drawbridge gives us a pinch point. They can’t come all at once.” He smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Have hope and I’ll see you inside.”

  “Be careful!” Althia cried as Broden broke away.

  Subath followed, edging down the outside of the knot of people and taking the remaining troops with them to the rear.

  Dajda, help us. As Broden caught sight of their pursuers, his heart felt like it had frozen to ice in his chest. The group of creatures closed quickly. So many. Broden glanced at Subath. Uncertainty etched across his face also.

  “Men, fall back! Let the people get onto the drawbridge!” Broden shouted. He looked at the remaining elements of their platoons. Less than twenty-four men against hundreds.

  “Here they come! Get ready,” Subath roared beside Broden.

  The troops backed up to create a wall of swords and spears between the people and the creatures. Broden heard some of the men muttering prayers; some blubbering. He didn’t blame them.

  Arrows shot into the creatures from the walls. Those that found their mark mostly met bodies, but some hit heads and dropped creatures. Broden felt some relief at the support from the walls, but the numbers were still too great. The creatures closed the distance.

  “Ready!”

  *

  “Open the gate! Open the fucking gate!” Kalfinar screamed with all of his might, his voice rising to a comical pitch as he pounded across the courtyard towards the main gate of the High Command. Hold tight. Just hold them back a little longer.

  The screams and the hammering on the huge gate brought intense panic to the air. Bows fired from the gatehouses above.

  “On the orders of the chief marshal,” Kalfinar roared, “open the fucking gate now!”

  The metallic grind of the gate-wheel turning and chains rolling came to his ears like a bird’s song in spring.

  “Come help me,” Kalfinar ordered the gathering soldiers, a mass of which now stood behind him as the gate peeked open. Desperate fingertips poked through. Hurry, damn it. Come on.

  The doors of the gate spread furth
er and a flood of terrified people spewed in, some collapsing over each other in a rush to escape the mob of claws and teeth on the other side.

  I’m coming, Broden. Hold on. “Help them!” Kalfinar roared as he ran forward. “With me!” He squeezed past the onrushing people, fighting hard not to be swept with. “Let me through!”

  He used his strength to pull people past him and make his way onto the drawbridge. Before him, through the remaining civilians, he saw the frantic defence of the troops. Kalfinar felt the surge of blood and he charged forward, troops following behind.

  He burst into the fray. His sword chopped and stabbed, dismembering limbs and hacking once, twice, three times before finally dropping creatures. The first sight of the wild, white-eyed creatures chilled him and he suddenly felt very conscious of the amulet around his neck. Spirits in them.

  “Kal! Aim for their heads!”

  Kalfinar recognised the voice. “Broden, fall back. We’ve you covered. Get back!” He stabbed and kicked, but the press of creatures seemed relentless, with more seeming to join the fight all the time. The force of amassed creatures appeared almost capable of pushing them back through the gates. “Fall back!”

  “Come on! Get clear, for fuck’s sake!” Broden shouted from the rear of the drawbridge.

  The exhausted troops broke away, dragging the rest back with them, swords slashing as they went. Kalfinar heard the snap of the bows before arrows to the head sent creatures tumbling. He kicked and shoved, hurling many of the monsters into the moat where they floundered without hope of re-joining the fight.

  “Get clear!” Broden shouted to Kalfinar and the remaining troops on the last length of drawbridge.

  Kalfinar and the final few troops stabbed at the pulsating mob of creatures with spears and swords, holding them off.

  “Break away, men!” Kalfinar shouted.