Awake the Cullers (History of Ondar)

by Amanda Young

  He moved the hammer from hand to hand and adjusted his stance. They let him keep the hammer from his first arena kill. Funny, he always thought he would go for a sword, but the hammer fit his hands like it belonged there. He saw the next man enter and paused. He was not like the others. This man was no fighter. He was a scared, bruised and weak man, probably from some village they raided. What was this? He wanted a fighter to kill. He enjoyed killing these monsters. It felt like he did a service to the world by ending their lives. All the chaos they brought, and he had the power to end them. It was freeing, exciting and he was getting good at it. What good was there in killing this helpless man? So pathetic, he probably hadn’t even killed a single raider. Evan raised his hammer, and the man cringed. He didn’t even move to grab a weapon or defend himself. Evan sneered. What good was there in letting such a useless man live? There was none. This man would die today a coward, for no reason or purpose. His life was for no purpose. The man sobbed, hands covering his face. Evan swung the hammer and ended the man without a moment’s hesitation. Head caved in, hands crushed by the blow, the man fell to the ground. Evan felt nothing. That man, now a broken pile of bones and blood, was nothing to him. They all would die. How or when did not matter. He would die, too, probably with a sword in the gut or with his own skull crushed in. Evan looked down at the unbroken bones and felt the urge to break them all to pieces. Swinging his hammer, he hit anywhere that looked solid, hearing the satisfying crunch and snap of bones detaching and falling apart. He stomped on the flesh until it mixed with the dirt. Huffing, heart pounding, he heard a sound behind him and swung the hammer. The halfling girl did a backbend to avoid his strike and came up on her hands, catching his arm in her strong legs. She twisted and flipped him to his back, coming around to sit on his chest. The sun glinted off orange highlights in her bright blue hair.

  In the distance he heard men cheering and hollering as they headed off to raid another village. Random groups of men went off almost daily to loot and kill whoever happened to be nearby. There was no order to it. Men left and returned on their own, as they felt the need to kill something. Meanwhile, the majority moved with the camp, traveling gradually north. Evan heard their cheers and longed to join them. He was tired of the camp. He wanted new people to kill.

  The woman in the top hat walked up to them. The girl looked up from her perch on his chest. “I’d say he is ready.” She bounded off him and dusted off her pants.

  “Not quiet yet,” the woman answered. Still, she did not move her lips. “But soon.” He felt a thrill run down his spine. Soon.

  * * *

  It was difficult to say how long the fire burned. The sky was gray, the sun hidden behind the smoke and ash. Kern could not tell if it was mid day or later. He sniffed, his nose and throat dry and scratchy. He blew his nose on a handkerchief and came away with black, crusty mucus. Turning the handkerchief inside out, he wrapped it around his face. It only helped a little. His throat cried out for water, but his canteen had been empty a long time. Only drops remained. If any of them had experience with pyres this would be a much easier task. As it was the fire kept going out in spots, requiring them to stoke the smoldering flames, add kindling and shift the bodies to speed up the process. None of them wanted to leave this task half done for someone else to happen upon and witness the terrible truth of what occurred here.

  Kern wiped the sweat from his neck. His shirt was sticky and uncomfortable against his skin. They had all long since removed their heavier armor in favor of the freedom of movement and cooler, looser clothing underneath. Kern stretched his back and cracked his neck, freezing mid stretch. A man stood at the edge of the forest. Clad in weapons and armor, he stood watching them. Kern looked around and realized the man was not alone. Dozens of other figures watched from the forest. They were everywhere, surrounding the village on at least three sides.

  Seeing Kern’s change in posture and attention, Zanden stopped and looked around, taking in their change in situation. They shared a look and nodded. Kern cleared his throat to get Casther’s attention while Zanden took care of letting Rand know. They did not bother going for their armor. The ambushers would be on them before they had time to don anything. Even though their main weapons were also removed from their persons, each man carried secondary, backup weapons. If it came down to a fight, it would be a good one.

  The man Kern saw first raised an arm and motioned to be followed. Three men stepped from their cover of the trees. Together, the men walked toward the pyre. They held their arms at their sides, their swords sheathed, but they were not what one could call unarmed. Protrusions of bone, merged in places with shining spots of metal, snaked around their arms, forming spikes and claws. For two of the men, the spikes continued to their shoulders. The leader had bones growing through his skull to form a natural helmet. Kern knew, even without Casther’s whispered word, who he now faced. “Sublinates.”

  The three men spread out, surveying the bodies and damage to the town. The leader continued forward. “How long? he called back to his men.

  “Four or five days,” one man answered, lifting an unburned arm from one of the bodies.

  “They are traveling north,” another man answered, examining tracks at the edge of the clearing.

  Kern’s heart stuck in his throat. If they went north, that could put them on path to Thomas and Marcy. He thought of that town ravaged and plundered, a hollow shell, devoid of life, death everywhere. The man stopped in front of Kern and Zanden. His gaze shifted between the two men uncertainly. “Which one of you is in charge here?” he asked at last.

  They shared a look, Zanden answering. “We are here separately, representing Suriaxian and Alerian interests in these matters.”

  The man nodded. “You should return to your homes.”

  “And ignore what those monsters did?” Rand asked angrily.

  “That is why we are here, to put an end to these activities.”

  “With all due respect,” Kern said, removing the handkerchief from his face, “we have a right to defend our people.”

  “Do you know what it is you face?” he eyed Kern speculatively. “I know you do,” he said, looking to Casther. “This is not your first encounter. As I recall, you were somewhat outmatched on that occasion.”

  Casther stiffened. “That was many years ago.”

  “So it was. And yet, you still have not learned to stay out of these matters.”

  “Why should we trust you to handle things any better?” Kern asked, bringing the man’s attention back to him. “Your guys enjoy war as much as they do. If we leave you to just go after and kill each other, who keeps our people from becoming random casualties in the process? You couldn’t save this town, or any of the others that preceded it. It seems you are five days late and have a pile of dead farmers and merchants to show for your troubles. Do you even care about the men they slaughtered, about the children who will be haunted with these memories for the rest of their lives?”

  “There were survivors?” The surprise was evident in his voice.

  “Not for lack of their trying,” Rand snorted. “A group of women and children hid in the basement of a home.”

  The Sublinates came back together, exchanging looks and a few whispered words. The leader dismissed them, and the two men rejoined the others in the woods. Try as he might, Kern still couldn’t make out any details of the other men. Their leader turned back to face Kern.

  “Do as you like, but don’t get in our way.” He walked back to the woods without a second glance back.

  Chapter 4

  “I think you’re overreacting. They’ve got more important things to worry about than you being a Suriaxian.”

  Marcy shrugged and looked out over the horizon. Thomas was right, of course. As soon as word of Candace and her experiences with the raiders spread through the town, the tone of the village changed. Anxiety turned to real fear. Preparations were made. Contingencies were discussed. There was even talk of evacuating to the Eastern Ridge,
a strip of mountains separating Alerian and Suriaxian lands north of the Southern Plains. And Marcy couldn’t stop looking at the horizon. A sense of real fear lodged itself in her stomach and wouldn’t ease up. That was the real reason she wanted to leave. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel it.

  “Everything will be fine,” Thomas continued. “We’ll just wait here for word from Kern,” Thomas paused and looked down at his hand. “That’s him, now.” Thomas walked back down the hill and turned his ring, initiating contact with Kern’s matching communication ring. Marcy ignored him and leaned against the large tree at the top of the hill. All things considered, this was a peaceful spot, just at the edge of town, resting by the river. The sound of birds singing and water moving was louder than the bustle and conversations going on a few hundred feet away. She could almost quiet her uneasy mind and enjoy the moment. Then the birds went quiet. Marcy tightened her grip on the tree, bark coming off in her hand as the first shadows dotted the horizon. “Thomas,” she said weakly, but he did not hear. “Thomas!” she said louder. He glanced her way but held up a finger and continued speaking through the ring. “THOMAS!” she practically screamed, finally getting his full attention. He turned off the ring and hurried back up the hill.

  “What is it?” he asked before falling silent. The shadows had become hundreds of men, some on foot, some riding animals, all holding weapons aloft as they ran full speed toward the town. After a second look, Marcy could see that some of the weapons were actually attached and coming out of their arms, or in place of arms. “They’re here,” she whispered.

  Thomas snapped out of his shock and pulled her down the hill. “Grab as many people as you can and head to the tavern. It’s the most defensible building here. Go straight there. No detours.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll take the long way, so we can warn as many people as possible. The way they are moving, we don’t have long. Go.”

  And she did. Marcy ran, knocking on doors and calling out warnings to everyone she saw. Some followed. Others ignored her, shrugging off her hands or slamming their door in her face. As others saw the approaching tide of fighters, word spread like a wildfire. The town bell tolled out a warning, and the scene quickly devolved into chaos. She yelled to those running by to head to the tavern, but most ignored her and kept running to their own destination. She heard screams, followed by the clang of metal and the pounding of hooves and knew they were out of time.

  “Help me!” a woman cried frantically. A vegetable cart had tipped over and caught the woman’s leg, pinning her in place. Marcy hesitated. She wasn’t strong, and the raiders could be on them at any moment. She looked longingly at the tavern, just fifty feet away. The woman’s terrified face as she lay ignored, left to die helpless and alone, did Marcy in. She lifted the end of the cart, but she was only able to move it a few inches. She and the woman pushed and lifted. Marcy threw off fruit and vegetables left in the cart, and they tried again. The sound of hooves hitting stone grew louder. It was followed by a snort that made her blood run cold. Standing a mere twenty feet away, staring straight at them, was a man riding a wild drander. The beast bore large tusks, long hair and fangs and a boney armor that made it nearly unstoppable. His rider was no less impressive or terrifying. He wore thickly scaled bracers with spikes that seemed to pin the armor to his skin. Shards of metal poked out from under his fingernails and the gum line around his teeth. Spikes were bolted through the skin above his eyebrows and cheekbones.

  Marcy felt her palms burn and let go of the cart gently. Once free, her hands burst into bright blue flames. It only seemed to excite the man more. The drander, however, was another matter. He eyed her nervously, pounding his hooves against the stone. They were at a standstill for what felt like minutes, although she knew only a second or two passed before she saw his muscles twitch. Feeding her fire, she pushed it out, bringing a wall of flames between them. The man would have continued, but the beast was too afraid to run through the fire. He yelled at the animal, but it would not budge. Angered, he stabbed a sword into the throat of the drander and dismounted, leaving the animal to his painful death. The man grinned at her and walked toward the flames.

  Calling forth more blue fire, Marcy threw the small fireballs at his head and clothes, hoping to catch them on fire. Though not much compared to a wizard’s fireball, they were nothing to scoff at. He dodged a few but took most head on. His clothes burned at the shoulder and chest. He absentmindedly patted his clothes and walked directly into the flames, emerging a burning behemoth of muscle and might. He raised the morning star from his back. The sword was still embedded in the throat of the now dead drander.

  Lifting his weapon to swing, he did not expect the kick that caught him square in the head. Thomas, jumping from the roof of a nearby shed, landed his shot and followed with a sword to the gut. The man laughed. Thomas took a hard punch to the face and reeled back. Undaunted, he fought off the monster, blocking weapon swings and cutting his opponent whenever possible. Knowing he would not be able to outlast the monster, Thomas aimed for the face and head. An injured arm or gut wound would not slow him down. That left decapitation or a severe enough head injury. Ducking under the swing of the morning star, Thomas jumped off the side of a wall and struck down with his blade, cutting straight through to come out the man’s throat. He dropped the morning star and fell to the ground. Thomas pulled his sword and came to Marcy’s side, lifting the vegetable cart off the woman. Marcy helped her up, and the three of them ran to the tavern. The door slammed and bolted behind them. No one else would be let inside.

  Raiders filled the streets, cutting down people at every corner. The scene in the tavern was not much better. People ran around, screaming and yelling questions, cries of fear and loss, wails of hopelessness and despair. Thomas grabbed Marcy’s hand and ran upstairs, attempting to instruct people to fire from the windows. No one could hear him. Marcy held on tight, but the crowd pushed in around her and soon their hands slipped apart. She felt herself moved by the crowd, further and further away from him. Thomas turned and looked for her, frantically pushing his way through the mass of people, but they would not cooperate. Marcy felt the railing at her back. There were more jabs and pushes, bodies bumping and pressing against her. She struggled in vain to move away from the edge. She didn’t hear the wood break, but she felt the moment its support was gone. For a moment, she felt relief at being away from the crowd. Then she remembered she was falling and heard herself scream.

  The room fell into silence, a moment frozen in time. She felt her body supported, as if by a pillow of air. She thought she would be crashing into the floor. Instead her body slowly floated to the ground. Through the surprised stares and still people, she saw Thomas pushing his way down the stairs to the spot where her feet softly touched down.

  “Are you hurt?” His hands ran over her arms and face, checking for injury.

  “I’m fine,” she answered him, uncomfortable with being the center of so much attention. Over the silent tavern, the sounds of screams from outside began to bring back the severity of their situation and take precedence over everyone’s shock at her fall without injury.

  “Everyone,” Thomas called, taking advantage of their attention while he held it. “I know this situation is bleak, but we are not without ability to defend ourselves.”

  “How?” someone yelled.

  “They cannot die,” another called. Others murmured their agreements.

  “They can, and the stranger has proven so,” the woman from the vegetable cart said. “I saw him kill one of them. These two people saved my life at the risk of their own.”

  Bolstered by her support, Thomas continued. “We can defend this building. Support will come. We just need to hold on until it can get here. Anyone with a bow, get to the second floor windows and start picking them off. Aim for the heads and eyes. Either you’ll kill them or blind them.

  Everyone else, gather what weapons and supplies we have. We need to kn
ow what our resources are so we can see where we stand. If you have experience fighting, meet me by the bar.”

  Thomas began organizing the people. Marcy couldn’t help staring at the broken banister. How had she survived? Her hand fell on her broach, and Marcy stopped, suddenly understanding what happened. She wore a butterfly broach made of sapphire and onyx. It was a birthday gift a few months back from Lynnalin. Lynn said there were enchantments on it, though even she did not know which ones. It was a test object from her academy training. The metal setting and gems were cool to the touch, but she could still feel the power pulsing under her fingertips. What other surprises did this broach hold?

  She didn’t have time to wonder about that for long. The walls shook with the force of men and weapons crashing into it. Thomas ran to the door with several men. Together, they kept the door from coming loose from its hinges. They yelled out commands to other men nearby. Those not involved in protecting the door either stood back in fear or quietly prayed for help. Marcy felt apart from the crowd. Her fear from before was gone. A new energy surged through her blood. Out of nowhere, a song came to her, and Marcy began to sing.

  They fought the fight,

  Fought for what is right,

  Defended kin and neighbor,

  Survived the night,

  Oh, what a sight,

  The men of Valenkeeper.

  The dark descent,

  Of evil men,

  None thought could be repelled.

  How could they stand

  Against such odds

  And not be themselves felled?

  Five hundred foe

  Against but ten

  Stood no match, in the end.

  For when you fight

  On side of light