The sensory deprivation tank had become popular in the last decade as a way for the stressed-out to relieve their tense backs. Users climbed in and lost themselves in the coffin-womb, shutting out their troubles and floating on a sea of gravity-free endorphins. The tanks soon merged with interactive gaming, and now they drew people into entirely new realities. After stepping into the tank and sealing themselves away, they could float away to Victorian Britain, Ancient Rome, or worlds that had never even existed. The electrolytic fluid was thick enough to buoy the person up and actually helped conduct sensory input into the suit. Suspended in the tank, Elizabeth could experience the sights, smells, sounds, and tactile sensations of 3V space. The salty wind on the deck of a sailing ship. The peaty odor of horses in a stable. The cold feel of stone in an old English castle.
But at that sweetest of moments before she entered 3V space, she could still hear her parents’ voices. Elizabeth climbed into the tank and lay on her back in the thick but yielding liquid that had the power to transport her to her favorite fantasy.
(five)
“C-close and connect,” she half whispered to the 3V controls. Her insides were rolling, but her queasiness was soon soothed by the familiar feel of the tank’s electrolytic solution. The doors to the outside world began to close.
(four)
“Where would you like to go today?” asked the too-placating voice of the Web.
(three)
“What did I ever do to deserve this?” came her mom’s shrill voice from the living room.
(two)
“G-game Central,” Elizabeth said, more loudly now, knowing she couldn’t risk a misinterpretation by the Web. If she didn’t get in-game, and soon, hearing her parents’ voices arguing might just cause her insides to explode all over her room.
(one)
“. . . and don’t let the goddamned door hit you on the way . . .”
click
The quiet sound of the overhead doors latching gave her permission to breathe again. The screen above her flickered to life with a set of controls. She was now floating in an egg of electronica. Her entire body began to relax.
“Welcome to Game Central, Elizabeth Jackson. Begin game where previously ended?”
“God, yes,” said Elizabeth as the soundtrack flooded her ears from the cocoon around her. Here, in the world of 3V, Elizabeth could give complete control to her 3V self. Here Elizabeth became another person, reveling in the freedom of the universe she’d created, forgetting everything outside it. When she put on the thin, electrode-laced bodysuit that interacted with the Web through the electrolytic fluid, she entered a reality of her own creation, a fantasy world she loved more dearly than real life.
The 3-D projectors inside the tank flickered into life, opening up a green landscape before her—hilly plains slowly rolling to meet the nearly cloudless blue sky of the horizon. A cool breeze touched her face and she smiled, smelling the scent of spring grass and the familiar, reassuring presence of nearby horses.
“Elsbyth!” shouted a man’s voice. He emphasized the first syllable of the name so it came out ELZ-bith.
She turned toward the man, noting the new weight of the heavy helm on her head. The suit doesn’t miss a trick, she thought for the thousandth time. Whenever her character felt weight, like the helm, Elizabeth experienced it through the pressurized response of the sensors embedded in her Lycra suit. As the suit brought the game to life, she shed her old name like an old skin, becoming Elsbyth, Warrior-Queen of the Kingdom of Rheanna, who took up sword and shield in defense of her kingdom.
She reined her horse, Caomos, around to find the man. She settled down into the saddle, feeling the firm leather and wood beneath her, the broad back of the stallion working between her thighs as he followed her lead. The shield with the seal of Rheanna emblazoned upon it rested heavily on her left arm, and her sword and scabbard bob-bobbed at her side as she faced the captain of the guard riding his own horse toward her, up the slight rise of a green hill. While Elsbyth waited, she adjusted to the weight of her armor and the sudden but delightful giddiness of sitting six feet off the ground.
She looked past the approaching captain to the open plain beneath her, the Land of Rheanna. The hill swept down from her position into the open valley below, with nary a shrub to see till the gray trees of the Stone Forest to the northwest. But here the deep green valley of her home, the Kingdom of Rheanna, stretched from rolling hill to rolling hill. To the east flowed the River Adruwyn, the life’s blood of the land running north and south. To the west lay the smaller River Faud, a tributary of Adruwyn that fed the trees of the Stone Forest and split the Kingdom of Rheanna in two. It was in the Y of the cradle formed by these rivers that she hoped to stop the overwhelming evil flooding from the dreaded kingdom to the south.
“My Queen!” said the captain as he reined his horse in. “The enemy comes! The Dark Army has secured Caer Adwaer, moved through Higher Plains, and is crossing in force over the Faud.”
“Then our plan has worked perfectly,” said Elsbyth, smiling at her captain.
For his part, Captain Moralir looked dubious. A force of 50,000 Orcs and Goblins, with their war machines and evil magicks, bore down upon them to plow the way for the coming of the Dark King himself, the timeless Mallus. And all that stood to oppose them—and on an open plain, no less, with no battlements to shelter them—were 10,000 Horse Companions of Rheanna under their determined Warrior-Queen, Elsbyth.
Though in a previous chapter of this adventure she had once renounced the ways of the warrior, when Mallus slew her beloved, the mighty Ulaemeth, Elsbyth had picked up his sword from the funeral barge before it floated down the Adruwyn and pledged to cleave the head from the shoulders of his murderer. Elsbyth had defeated Mallus’s forces once before when she had rallied her countrymen after Ulaemeth’s defeat at Caer Adwaer, where he had died in a valiant defense of the old keep against the Dark King’s swarm. Now Elsbyth, longing for revenge upon the enemy, would lead the Horse Companions of Rheanna against Mallus’s army once again.
And her plan had led them all to this moment. She hoped that the open plain would give her cavalry the advantage over the slower-moving Orcs and Goblins, who were on foot. Once they completely crossed over the river, she hoped to trap them against the arms of the Adruwyn and Faud and ride them down, defeating Mallus once and for all. Yet still the Dark King practiced his Black Arts. All the Companions of Rheanna had was courage and—
“Elsbyth,” said the captain more urgently now, “they come! See their advanced scouts? They will be here in force within half a league!”
Elsbyth turned to the captain and drew her beloved’s sword. “Then that is where we shall meet them. Hah!” She kicked her heels into her horse’s flanks and rode toward her 10,000 riders, made up of both men and women. Though the King’s Council, now answering to their widowed queen, had at first balked at the idea, Elsbyth had recruited the women of Rheanna to ride beside their men. Else a mere 4,000 horse would be here to meet the enemy today. She looked now upon those who would follow her to death or victory and saw the courage in their eyes, how they sat upon their steeds with pride, and how each would perish before yielding another inch of Rheanna to Mallus. As she rode in and out of their ranks, her captain of horse struggled to keep up, raising cheers in her name in the memory of all the Warrior-Kings of Rheanna. Elsbyth panted with the glory of the moment, all thoughts of parents and failure and fear gone, forced out by the honor and bravery of her Horse Companions and the nobility of their cause. As she returned to the low hill that looked over the plain where they would fight their final battle against the Dark King, she wheeled her mount around. Caomos reared up.
With Ulaemeth’s sword in the air and the cheers of her Companions in her ears, Elsbyth knew this day would be hers. Mallus would be swept from the land, never to inject its lush, thriving life with his disease ever again. With this battle, Elsbyth, the Warrior-Queen of Rheanna and Widow of Ulaemeth the King, would bulwark the tide of e
vil that cancered its way across Rheanna, ensuring the tranquility of future generations, who would never know the cold loneliness of oppression.
The wind alerted them to the enemy before they showed themselves. It carried the rancid, flea-infested smell of sweat from days on the running march. The first of the creatures came over a low hill two slopes to the south. Running at a loping pace, the lead Orcs spotted her and howled to alert their fellows the enemy was near. But for the moment all they could see was Elsbyth and her captain.
“Moralir, split our forces and circle around the slope to the west. I will meet them here and charge down the hill to slow them down. You will, after our battle has begun, hit their right flank from the west.” It was a plan she had discussed earlier with her captain. If they were lucky, they could use the enemy’s greater numbers against them. If they could box them in against the Y the rivers made where they joined, Elsbyth’s forces could limit the front upon which the enemy could fight. And while each row of Companions might face row after row of Orcs and Goblins, most of the enemy would be bottled up behind those few that could reach the Companions on the front line. This was, at least, the hope of the plan.
“Yes, my Queen.”
Moralir rode off, and as Elsbyth looked down the long, slow slope of “the Hill of Hope” as she’d come to call it, she saw half her force turn and begin to gallop to the west.
“Horse Companions of Rheanna!” she called out. “For the glory of our fathers! And the hopes of your children! To me!”
A great cheer erupted from below, and 5,000 Horse Companions galloped up the hill to stand beside her. The lead Orcs topped the hill immediately to their front across the wide valley. When the Orcs saw their lone target joined by so many more, they drew to a jerking halt, daunted by the prospect of facing cavalry in an open field. They began bellowing at each another, cursing one another for cowards, and finally decided to wait until more of their force arrived before attacking. Elsbyth smiled as Moralir’s prediction came true before her eyes, for this would give the good captain and his 5,000 riders time to circle around to the west under the cover of the hillside.
The number of the enemy swelled, their howls increasingly murderous. The Companions had to console their horses, which snorted in fear at the stink and clamor of a foul enemy so near. With their scouts waiting for them on the next hill, the great bulk of the Orcs and Goblins topped the hillcrest two slopes away, a writhing mass of creatures. Glinting from the sharpened edges of their axes, hammers, and maces, the afternoon sun provided the only brightness in their ranks. Covered in black armor, the Orcs and Goblins seemed to eat the sunlight, a mass of huge, black maggots covering the green grass of Rheanna. As their scouts had done moments before, they caught sight of the enemy, but such were the numbers of the Orcs in this lead column that they were undaunted by the Companions on the hill in front of them. The war bosses, their whips cracking on the backs of their Goblin warriors, redoubled their efforts to drive forward and crush the thin line of horse before them.
A blanket of blackness covered the Plain of Rheanna as far as the eye could see, and when the main force of Orcs finally topped the hill immediately in front of her, Elsbyth raised Ulaemeth’s sword high again. Time itself seemed to draw out the sweet agonies of the battle to come as the enemy’s main force began to move down their hill. Long moments of short breaths passed before the creatures reached the valley floor directly below the Companions.
“For Rheanna!” screamed Elsbyth. Sweeping Ulaemeth’s blade around her head, she led her riders down the hill. At first they trotted forward, long-practiced discipline ensuring their line cohered as one. Then the bloodlust kicked in and the Companions thundered down the hill. The great tide of Orcs and Goblins began to slow their advance, a low moan of hesitation coming from the front ranks. Never before in this war had their enemy charged so outnumbered and so boldly. They seemed content to defend old keeps, as Ulaemeth had done at Caer Adwaer.
But now the Companions brought the battle to them, and the front-line Orcs hesitated, turning back upon their fellows, as if the moon had shifted orbit and forced the ocean’s tide to flow back into an insistent sea. The great block that had moved as one now swarmed in confusion and two different directions. Line sergeants cracked their whips and screamed “Shield wall!” at their subordinates, but most ignored the order. Here the enemy’s numbers worked against them, and they stumbled over one another.
Such was the squirming mass engaged by the Horse Companions of Rheanna, led by the Warrior-Queen Elsbyth, Widow of Ulaemeth the Fallen. The riders hit them with the full shock of thundering horse upon disordered foot soldiers. Charging downhill multiplied the impact. Though the Orcs turned away from cursing one another’s clumsiness and swung their weapons lustily, the blades of the Companions found their marks much more often. On the hill behind the battle, the Goblin archers had begun to assemble to fire their volleys at the Companions, but the jammed chaos below had finally made its way back to the hillcrest, where the archers had taken position. No sooner had they hastily drawn into line and begun to nock their arrows than the forces behind, still unaware of the battle, and those ahead—half turning back in fear, and the other half cursing those who turned back—beset their own archers from two sides. Goblins squealed as they were trampled underfoot by their heavier Orc brethren. Those arrows that were loosed flew in all directions, including straight up, and most found marks not in the Horse Companions, but in their own kind.
But now the enemy below, spurred on by the whips of the war bosses, had begun to assemble into something more than a rabble and fought back with determination against the Companions. Having spent the shock of their attack, Elsbyth’s troopers found themselves in the heart of every rider’s fear—surrounded on all sides, and with the enemy aiming its blows at their horses, soon to be grounded and overwhelmed by hungry blades.
Now the screams of the horses drowned out the confusion of the enemy as the Orcs turned their axes to the task of grounding the riders. Companions raised their mounts from colts, breeding them not simply as warhorses but as beloved members of the family, always feeding and stabling their horses before caring for themselves. The riders fought to keep their mounts safe, shielding them as best they could. But with the fighting so close, many Companions began to fall. Holes in their line opened up, opportunities the enemy was quick to exploit.
Elsbyth’s eyes filled with tears as she realized the price they were paying for a victory she was still sure was theirs. In ones and twos, she saw her Companions—once stirrup to stirrup, a wall of horses mounted by Rheanna’s finest warriors—begin to disintegrate under the sheer weight of the Dark Army’s numbers. She swung Ulaemeth’s sword against that surging wave as the Orcs’ initial confusion was beaten into murderous rage by the whips of their war bosses.
(how could you have believed it possible to triumph)
“No!”
Elsbyth swung her sword, cleaving the head of an Orc in two.
(give up now, the odds are too great, you’ll only lose in the end anyway)
“No!”
Caomos screamed as an iron axe bit into his shoulder, and Elsbyth felt him shudder beneath her.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be . . .”
(this is how it is, just give up now)
“No!” With Ulaemeth’s sword, Elsbyth, the Warrior-Queen of Rheanna, struck down the Orc that had sliced Caomos with its axe, and its black blood spurted to the ground as another stepped up from the horde to take its place.
But in the face of the flood, as the Dark Army plugged the gap in its line with another of Mallus’s minions, the doubt left Elsbyth’s mind and she refocused on her faith in the day’s victory. Though she and her Horse Companions were being forced backward, up the hill, they fought on to keep the Orcs from completely surrounding them. Defending their horses first, they forced great cost upon the enemy that strove to hew them down. Though in truth she knew not how their dwindling numbers could defeat the resurging tide o
f the enemy, Elsbyth’s faith that it could be done seemed to inspire her Companions, who fought on beside her with renewed vigor.
The great warhorn of Rheanna sounded and, almost as one, Companion and enemy alike turned their eyes toward the west. Two great foes stood intermingled, weapons raised to destroy one another, motionless for a single moment. And in the next, the hooves of 5,000 Horse Companions of Rheanna thundered from the west, riding stirrup to stirrup across the broad width of the valley, threatening the open flank of the stinking horde pressing itself against the riders on the hill.
A wail of yellow fear erupted from the Orcs, spreading eastward across the whole of the Dark Army as its soldiers realized they were boxed in by riders to the front and right flank. Still dealing with the confusion of meeting open battle before expected, the Orcs on the hill to the rear and the forces behind them began to panic. Almost as one body they turned away from the battle and began pushing their fellows back, screaming about the tens of thousands of Rheannan Companions falling upon them.
A grateful cheer went up from Elsbyth and her riders, and they found renewed strength in the enemy’s rout. Even Caomos, though bleeding heavily, snorted his enthusiasm. The Orcs, their certainty in numbers draining from them, ran in mad flight from the pursuing horse lords.
The Dark Army disintegrated. If ever foot soldiers could outrace horses, it seemed today would be the day for it. As she rallied her Companions to pursue the fleeing enemy, Elsbyth knew this was the precise moment they could crush Mallus’s forces against the rivers to the south.
“Victory!” Elsbyth shouted in elation, knowing in the space of a single second the Land of Rheanna was saved and that Mallus himself, the Dark King, the Enemy of the Ages, would be pushed from this world forever. She pulled Caomos up short and looked beyond the Hill of Hope, now stained wine-red with blood, and watched as her Companions drove the evil from the field.
Shadows Burned In Page 7
