by Aaron Hodges
May stared at her, eyes wide, and gave a slow nod. “You’re saying we can bring them back?”
“Maybe,” Eric corrected. “The Magickers in Kalgan could not, but their strongest had already marched north. Perhaps those here can.”
May swallowed, her eyes shining in the light of the fire. “That’s all we needed last time – the Sword and the two Gods,” her eyes shone with hope. “Thank you for coming.”
Enala gave a soft laugh. “Do not get ahead of yourself, May. The Magicker, Christopher, did not think it would be possible. Not without knowledge of the spell first used to summon their spirits.”
The Commander waved a hand. “Even so…” her eyes were drawn to the creeping glow of the Soul Blades. “Could we use their power still, if we cannot free them?”
Pain twisted in Enala’s stomach and she dropped her eyes. May had a sharp mind; she had seen their problem and was already looking for an alternative plan. Enala just wished that plan did not inevitably include her.
“Enala already has,” Eric murmured over the crackling of the fire. “She was able to draw on Antonia’s magic and heal us. But it was too powerful, and she was overwhelmed. We almost lost her.”
“But it is possible,” May mused.
“It is a terrible risk,” Enala said grimly. “To the Magicker and everyone around them.”
“I take it you do not wish to try again?”
Enala’s heart sank as she looked into the Commander’s eyes, but she refused to look away. “I will do anything I can to help my brother,” she looked down at the Soul Blades, her blood curdling at the sight. “I am stronger now. I can control my power. I will try, if it comes to it.”
May nodded. “You are a brave girl.”
“No. The thought terrifies me. But I will do what I must.”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” Eric put an end to the discussion.
“Of course,” May leaned back in her chair. “I shall have our Magickers begin examining them in the morning. But I will also make enquiries for the other blade, in case it does come to that.”
“What about your forces here?” Enala changed the course of the discussion. “How many defenders do you have?”
“Just over a thousand,” May answered. “The standing guard, plus the advance force Lonia sent, and volunteers that have been arriving for the last few weeks.”
“Not enough,” Eric said grimly. “I cannot even guess how many men are waiting to the north.”
“No, but the rest of the Lonian army is close. And word from the Trolans put their army less than a week away.”
“Will it be enough?” Enala asked.
“By ourselves, I do not think the combined might of every man, woman and child in the Three Nations would be enough. But with the Sword, and these Soul Blades… maybe,” she let out a long sigh and seemed to shrink in her chair. “In truth, I was beginning to lose hope. We have suffered terrible losses these last few days. We did not even have the men to hold the outer gates; we were forced to seal them with rubble to prevent the enemy from smashing their way through.”
Standing, the Commander moved to a cupboard and reached inside. Enala smiled when she saw her hand emerge with a wine jar. She stood and retrieved some glasses as May unstopped the jar.
“It’s a Lonian red,” May offered as she poured. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. We might not have won the war yet, but I think your arrival is worthy of the vintage. Cheers,” she offered when their glasses were full.
“Cheers,” they echoed her, joining their glasses to May’s.
Enala took a sip, enjoying its dry touch and fruity richness. “We heard you were on the wall during the first attack?”
May nodded with a shudder. “Our cause was almost lost before it began. Despite our best preparations, the enemy still took us by surprise. If the outer wall had fallen…”
“But you held,” Eric interrupted her. “You’re still here. Fort Fall still stands because of you. The Three Nations owes you a great debt for that.”
Enala frowned as she took another sip of wine. “Why do they call it Fort Fall? I’ve always wondered.”
“From the last war,” there was sadness in May’s eyes. “Archon’s final attack, when he rained fire from the sky, became known as ‘The Fall’. Somehow the name stuck when the fortress was rebuilt.”
Enala stared into the fire, imagining the fear and horror of the defenders as the sky turned to flame. She shuddered. “How can we stop magic like that?”
“I don’t know,” Eric replied. His eyes were fixed on his glass of wine, but she saw them flicker as he glanced at the Sword.
“You will find a way,” May replied, her voice firm.
“What about his army?” Enala asked. “Who are these people, how did he gather so many to him?”
“They live in the wasteland, surviving off what little food and water exists up there,” May swirled her glass of wine, deep in thought. “For centuries we have banished the worst of our criminals to the north. It always seemed a good solution – remove them from our society, wash our hands of their evil,” she paused. “We did not expect them to thrive. They have built a society of sorts, and their numbers have grown. But locked in that wasteland, we have given them no hope of redemption, no reason to change. And so they and their children have grown to hate us. In truth, I cannot truly blame them.”
“There are children up there?” Enala asked, surprised.
“There are entire cities,” May replied. “Though we only know of a few, I am sure there are more hidden in those lands. Many of the families there have survived for generations, scavenging a meagre living from the harsh land,” her eyes shone in the firelight. “But they wish for more, for the plentiful lands to the south. They want our food and water and wood, and will flock to whoever offers it to them.”
Enala’s stomach twisted with guilt as she thought of the struggles of her own people in Chole. But they had at least chosen to stay. Her family could have left for greener lands at any time, but Chole was their home and they would not abandon it. The enemy did not have the same choice.
“In truth, we gave Archon this army,” May whispered.
Enala almost laughed at the harsh truth of May’s words. She shook her head. “Maybe so,” she looked around the room. “But if we win, this time things must change. We cannot let this happen again. If we win, we must find a way to put things right.”
Eric nodded. “Agreed. But first, we have to win.”
Eleven
Eric’s chest heaved as he sucked in another breath and stumbled up the last of the stairs. His eyes teared in the salty air as he bent in two and gasped for another lungful of air. His muscles burned from the brief exertion and he cursed himself for making the trek to the outer wall. A single night of sleep had not been close to enough to restore him after the three days of flight, although it had certainly helped.
He felt the pommel of the Sword of Light against his neck and resisted the temptation to draw it. One touch and his weariness would flee, washed away by the fire of the blade’s magic. The aches and pain would fade away to nothing before the thrill of its power.
Shaking his head, Eric straightened, chilled by the compulsion. The magic of the Sword was addicting, but he did his best to fight its temptation. Straightening, he looked across the ramparts of the wall, surprised to see flakes of snow drifting in the air. He shivered, pulling his woollen cloak tighter, glad for the gift Angela had made of it. It was far warmer than anything he’d ever owned.
“Looks like you could use a bit of exercise, sonny,” a ruff voice came from nearby.
Eric scowled as he caught the eyes of the speaker. The man stood nearby, his broad shoulders and massive arms dwarfing Eric’s small frame. Lines stretched across the man’s face as he flashed Eric a smile, humour showing in his amber eyes. A massive war hammer hung across his shoulders and must have weighed at least ten pounds, though he did not appear to notice its weight. He was a monster o
f a man but his greying hair and the speckles of white in his beard suggested he must be at least sixty years of age.
“It was a long journey,” Eric wheezed, walking over to join the man at the battlements. “I’m Eric, I only arrived yesterday.”
“Alan,” the giant offered his hand. “Welcome to Fort Fall, sonny. What brings you here? You look a little young for this business.”
Eric grimaced, thinking of the path that had led him here. “That is a long story,” he glanced at the soldier and grinned. “What about you, you seem a little old for this business.”
To his surprise, the man threw back his head and unleashed a booming laugh. “Ay, ain’t that the truth!” he wiped a tear from his eye. “You’ve got some nerve, sonny. No, I volunteered when I heard the news. Got here a few days before the first attack,” he shook his head. “Sixty-six and still at the business of war. Who would have thought. But what is a man to do when evil knocks on his door?”
Smiling, Eric found himself taking a liking to the old warrior. “Why the hammer?”
Alan chuckled again, the sound ringing across the wall. Reaching up, he lifted the hammer from his shoulders and hefted it as though it weighed no more than a sword. “Old kanker has been with me since the beginning. We’ve won our fair share of fights, she and I. Wouldn’t go to battle without her. And certainly not my last.”
Sadness swelled in Eric’s chest. “You think we’ll lose?”
Alan stared out at the wasteland and then looked back to Eric. “Perhaps, sonny. That will be up to you young folk; whether you have the strength to hold them. As for myself, I know when I’ve come to the end. I can feel it in here,” he patted his chest. “It’s time I left this world, time I surrendered my place to the young. But at least I know my passing will have meaning, that my death might give others the chance to live.”
Eric stood stunned, unable to find the words to answer the man’s honesty. The moment stretched out, the silence punctuated by sadness.
“We will,” Eric said at last. “We will hold them.”
Eric met the amber glow of Alan’s eyes and the old warrior smiled. “Ay, I believe you,” he laughed then, and the sadness left the air, passing like an autumn cloud. “And what of that fancy sword of yours, sonny? You know how to use it?”
Eric’s cheeks flushed. “I’ve won a few fights… Sort of,” he replied. “Truthfully, I’m a Magicker, though I’m still learning that too. I usually use my magic instead of a sword.”
Alan nodded. “That’s all well and good. But from my experience, a Magicker is only as good as his stamina. More than a few rogue Magickers fell to my hammer when I was younger. I would suggest holding back your power until you really need it.”
Eric sighed. “The Commander already mentioned that. We’re to save our strength for the enemy Magickers and the beasts, if they come.”
“Well keep close to me then, sonny,” he reached down and picked up his hammer from where he’d leaned it against the ramparts.
“What?”
Alan nodded out towards the wasteland. “Here they come.”
Eric stared as men began to emerge through the falling snow, their black cloaks staining the white ground below. They slid across the wasteland, silent as death, swords and axes held at the ready. Their eyes flashed as they looked up at the defenders, catching in the light of their torches.
Along the wall, the first blast of the trumpets rang out, sounding the call for the defenders to stand at the ready. The outer wall was already fully manned, but they would need the reserves soon enough.
Glancing to either side, Eric watched as the guards drew their weapons and strapped on their helmets. The red, green and blue cloaks of the Three Nations stood out crisp and clear amidst the snow. Eric felt a surge of pride at the sight, though the Lonian green outnumbered the others two to one. That would soon change once the other armies arrived.
Together they stood atop the wall and waited for the horde to descend.
Swallowing his fear, Eric reached up and drew the Sword of Light. Its fire flared at his touch and its power surged down his arm, but he pressed it back, fighting the rush of desire that came with it. He knew its power could decimate the enemy below, but May had warned him against using its magic too soon. If Archon sensed the Sword he might be provoked to attack with his own power, and they were not ready for that. Not yet.
The flames died away, though there was no stopping the white glow seeping from the blade.
“So, the rumours are true. The Sword of Light has returned,” Alan grinned and winked at Eric. “Well, it’s no kanker, but extra swords are always welcome up here.”
“I’ll do my best,” Eric replied, heart thudding in his chest. His legs shook and a voice in his mind shouted for him to run, that he had no place amongst these warriors. Gritting his teeth, he stood his ground.
Alan laughed. “Like I said, stay close to me, sonny. I’ll keep you safe,” he eyed the men below. “Don’t worry how many of them are down there. It’s the ones who make it up here that matter,” he hefted his hammer. “I’ll try to save some for you.”
Eric grinned. “Hope I can keep up with an old fella like you.”
“Don’t you worry about that, sonny,” Alan replied. “You just focus on whoever is trying to cut ya.”
Eric swallowed, the big man’s words slicing through his bravado. Beneath them the men were closing on the wall, and now their shouts and curses carried up to them. He spotted a dozen ladders amongst their ranks and cast a nervous glance at Alan.
Along the wall the first volley of arrows rose into the sky and plunged down into the enemy. Dozens fell but the rest came on, fresh men quickly taking the place of the fallen.
Alan pulled him back as the enemy returned fire. Their arrows clanged on stone as they retreated below the crenulations. A few seconds later there came a crash as the first ladder struck the wall. Eric made to grab for it but the larger man held him back.
“Don’t bother. There’s already enough weight on that thing that neither you nor I have the strength to push it back,” he reached down and removed a length of rope from his belt.
Before Eric could ask its purpose he tossed the looped end over the top of the ladder and moved to the side. Flashing Eric another grin, he gave two massive heaves on the rope. On the third pull the ladder shifted, the wood scraping on the rock as it slid across the battlements. Then suddenly it was gone, disappearing sideways as it toppled back to the ground. Screams carried up to them as the climbers fell.
Puffing slightly, Alan returned to his station. “That’s how you do it,” he answered the unspoken question. “Though soon they’ll be coming too quick and fast to have time for that.”
Even so, Alan managed to dislodge two more ladders before the first of the enemy reached them. Eric shuddered as he imagined the slaughter below as the enemy waited to gain a foothold atop the wall. The walls of the fortress curved in towards the keep, leaving the men below exposed on all sides to the defenders’ arrows.
But then there was no more time to think of those below. Summoning his courage, he leapt to aid the aging warrior as the first of the enemy reached the battlements. Not that Alan showed any sign of his years.
As the first man leapt from a ladder and sprang across the crenulations, Alan surged forwards. Their foe hardly had time to raise his sword before kanker struck, smashing in his chest with a sickening crunch. The man collapsed to the cold stone, blood bubbling from his mouth to stain the snow.
Eric shuddered at his fate, but there was little time to spare the man a second thought. Another ladder crashed onto the stone beside him and he forced himself to focus on the battle. Crouching low in the forward stance Caelin had shown him so long ago, he waited, the Sword of Light poised to strike.
His first opponent surged into view, rolling across the stone to land on his feet in a single movement. His sword was already in motion as Eric stepped up to meet him, arcing towards his head. Instinct alone saved him, the Sword sweep
ing up to deflect the blow as though directed by a mind of its own. Then he was moving, stepping sideways to avoid the next attack and slicing out with the Sword in a clumsy strike.
The warrior laughed as he deflected the blow, then his eyes widened. Eric stumbled back as the man crumpled, the back of his helmet caved in by a casual sweep of Alan’s hammer. The big man nodded in Eric’s direction and then turned back to his ladder.
Returning to his position, Eric took a deep breath, then threw himself at the next enemy to appear. This time he was prepared, and his blade caught the attacker in the chest before he could even raise his weapon.
As he fell, Eric caught the sound of a boot on stone and spun, deflecting the sword of another attacker. The defender to Eric’s left lay dead, the ladder beside him unguarded. A second attacker was already clambering onto the ramparts, but Eric had no time to act. The warrior facing him growled and surged toward him.
Eric slid backwards, using a forward stance to maintain his balance, and caught the blow on the hilt of the Sword. Teeth gritted, he pushed forward so their blades locked together, leaving them face to face, each straining to overpower the other. Despite his small size, Eric remembered Caelin’s training and came in low, using his lower centre to push the man off balance.
The man cursed and retreated back a step, then cried out as he tripped against the edge of the crenulations. The man’s arms windmilled as he fought to regain his balance. Seeing his chance, Eric quickly stepped up and kicked him in the chest. The man toppled backwards off the wall and vanished from view.
Taking a breath, Eric stepped back and turned where the man had forced his way through their defences, but reinforcements had already plugged the gap.
