by B K Suitter
Prince Hadias nodded his head and smiled at the unfolding events. If he did not gain the ungainable fortress quickly, he and his men would be forced to either fight or retreat farther away from their main objective. All of King Uriah’s plans to attack the North rested on him sacking Eight and controlling the watchtower, and if he failed in his endeavor, his father would be most disappointed.
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“Did you really have to puke?” Tris asked quietly with disgust. “Couldn’t that have been part of your little magic show?” The two sat hiding in the back corner of the dark supply room.
“I was nervous and sometimes the magic makes my head spin and I feel sick. When the soldier stopped me, I just let it go,” and Tanner laughed. Soon, Tris was laughing with him and they both sat back and relaxed. It was not long before Tristania surrendered to exhaustion and fell asleep against a large sack of grain while holding her small yellow flower.
Tanner watched over the girl for a long while, studying her small features and finding her very cute. Of course, not as pretty as the young girl, Mara.
Tanner watched Tris for a moment longer and then stepped back quietly and made his way again through the maze of rooms and hallways. He stayed in the shadows and used his magic sparingly, only when about to be seen and only using enough to stay unseen. He couldn’t become invisible, but he could block the soldiers’ minds and make himself unnoticeable.
Tanner quietly went down the long staircase until he gained the first floor and began searching through each of the supply rooms extensively. In one of the nearby rooms, he overheard several soldiers arguing and accusing another soldier of being drunk and too sick for duty.
In another room, Tanner was interrupted in his search when a soldier came in for supplies and he immediately scoured the man’s mind while he continued to remain unnoticed. After the soldier grabbed two large cans from off a high shelf, he left the room and Tanner walked quickly out behind him and into another supply room. He worked his way to the back corner where he found an entrance that led to an underground escape tunnel.
Tanner quietly opened the portal and climbed down into the passage and then slowly crept through the darkness with his hands stretched out and his eyes closed for better concentration. Mara had shown him how to see in the dark by heightening his other senses with magic. He could feel the rock walls and thick beams of timber that were used to fortify the tunnel and his mind could picture everything as if a string of lights ran the length of the passageway.
Tanner walked through the darkness for some time before coming to the end of the tunnel where a tall iron ladder led back to the surface. The boy climbed his way up the ladder until he came to the top, then he reached out with a strong hand and threw back a locking bar. He then grabbed onto a squeaky iron wheel and turned it for many rotations until it popped, and the portal swung open. Tanner climbed out of the opening and into the dense forest where he found Mara standing with her numerous family members.
“Good boy, Tanner. You really are amazing,” General Kneeamara spoke with true affection as her soldiers began climbing down into the tunnel that would take them inside Eight.
“Thanks,” blushed Tanner as he thought he was looking at the small girl, Mara. He had a growing crush on the girl, and he would do anything for her.
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Prince Hadias stood close to his personel guard as they hid in the trees at the edge of the valley. Eight towered a bow shot away and yet he still held his men back and waited.
“They are here,” said General Dread as he walked up to stand at the prince’s side. “Do we fight or retreat to the east?”
“The general will have the door open, we need to give her more time,” Hadias spoke as he stared at Eight. His faith in the witch began to waver and he felt nauseas as he thought of the back-up plan, which was to run to the east and not engage the enemy. He hated that plan.
“We go for the tower,” declared Prince Hadias. “Give the word. I want shields in front and archers staying back. Give the word, Dread.”
“Yes, Prince,” replied the general, and he went back to inform the men that it was time to kill or be killed.
Prince Hadias waited behind his gaurd while soldiers took the front and readied their shields. The forest came to life as his men prepared for the dash across the vale while the sounds of the advancing Arani army became louder as it closed in from the rear to engage. Shouts could be heard in the distance as both armies prepared their men for war. Prince Hadias’ army would be caught in the open between the Arani force and Eight if Kneeamara did not find her way inside. The result would be high casualties and failure.
“We go!” yelled Prince Hadias and he urged his men forward out of the cover of the trees and into the open expanse of the vale. Eight stood unyielding and dared them to advance.
The small Asarian army moved slowly with shields up as they advanced on the tower. They were fifty yards out when echoes of fighting rang out from the rear guard as it engaged in battle with the Arani force. The clang of steel and the cries of men started slowly and with only a few, but soon the forest behind them erupted into chaos as the prince’s rear guard was under duress and being overrun.
“To the tower!” Prince Hadias yelled out and his men picked up their pace just as bowmen from the top of Eight came out from hiding and began firing down upon them. “Shields!” Hadias cried out as they kept advancing on the tower.
Arrows began to rain down on them and soon Prince Hadias’ men were yelling out as they were struck by the bolts, many staggering on with the army towards Eight while others went down and bled into the grass and died.
Prince Hadias could hear the arrows bouncing off the shields that were over his head and his heart deflated as he realized he would need to call out for a full retreat to the east.
“Sound the horn for a full–” and Hadias stopped his command as the descending arrows dissipated and the archers that were firing down at them disappeared from the high battlements. “Keep going!” Prince Hadias quickly changed his command. “To the tower!” and his men broke into a full run just as the Arani army came out of the trees behind them.
Prince Hadias’ rear guard had been overrun and those that were lagging behind in the run to the tower were cut down by expert bowmen. The Arani army began to form up in the dale and started marching forward, unsure of the other army’s intent since there was no way they could possibly get into Eight with so few men and no siege weapons or towers.
Prince Hadias ran to the front of his small army as it closed on the giant structure and when he was only ten yards away, the massive iron door began to ring out as the grind of giant locking bolts were thrown back and the air pressure was released with a great sigh.
Prince Hadias slowed to a walk as the huge door swung open and Kneeamara stood in the entrance with a large smile. The prince gathered her up in his arms and hugged her tightly as his army rushed into the safety of the watchtower ahead of the Arani army that came rushing across the vale with cries of disbelief. Asarian archers on the top of Eight began to rain arrows down upon the advancing soldiers, killing some and injuring many more, and soon the call for a full retreat was given and the Arani army was forced to withdraw back to the tree line.
“Send word to my father,” Prince Hadias said to Dread after all his men were safe inside the tower and the door was closed and secured. “Tell him Eight is ours.”
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Tanner hid quietly in the corner as he watched soldier after soldier being cut down. When he came out of the tunnel and back into the tower behind Mara, there was fighting and chaos as blood seemed to spray in all directions. He quickly lost sight of Mara and was forced to hide behind a stack of wine barrels in the pandemonium that followed.
Another soldier was cut from shoulder to hip and a spray of blood went across the barrels and Tanner’s peeking face, and he wiped the red out of his eyes and across his cheek. He then remembered Tris hiding upsta
irs and thought her to be terrified, so he used his magic to go unnoticed through the maze of rooms and fighting until he gained the stairway. There was a struggle at the top of the stairs as men fought to break through, pushing the portal open and using small crossbows to kill the men hiding on the other side. Tanner ran up the stairs behind the soldiers and stepped lightly around the dying men that lay on the floor squirming with iron bolts in their chests.
Tanner quickly made the upper level and went to the storage room where he thought Tristania to be, but when he got to the back corner, he found her gone. At first, he thought he made a mistake and was in the wrong room, but then he spied the small yellow flower that she had been holding while asleep on the sack of grain.
Tanner started searching through all the rooms on that level, and when that produced no sign of the girl, he started combing the rest of the large tower in an extensive search. He used his magic often to avoid being noticed and his head began to ache terribly, so he found a secluded dark room in which to hide while he rolled on the floor in a puddle of his own sweat and vomit. Tanner pressed his hands against his head while wincing hard to keep the unbearable pain from crushing his skull.
THE END
YEAR OF THE FROST HORN
Book 2: “Trinity of Blades” saga
CHAPTER 1
First Age of Man 1500 years
The Age of Giants
The great King of the North sat quiet and alone in his empty cold throne room. The passion that had once filled the massive chamber was dead and gone as the last of his kind was soon to expire.
Beoafan, King of the North, thought again to stand from his large, but modest marble throne, but hesitated once more, knowing that once he stood and left the room, he would never return.
He gazed across the chamber to try and lose himself in the sculptures and paintings that adorned the high granite walls. Beautiful depictions of Northern gods and the people that once thrived beneath them hung alongside art that showed tall mountains throwing dark shadows across unsuspecting green valleys.
Gaurmetal, the first Northman, was painted across the wall in magnificent stature. His imposing form was shown holding a huge block of granite that was thrice his size, depicting the well-known truth that Gaurmetal single-handedly built The Temple of Ice with his bare hands.
Two massive snow dragon statues stood as sentinels on each side of a marvelous tapestry that portrayed the wondrous library held inside the castle walls. All the knowledge and history of the land since the very beginning was kept safe in that massive circular chamber, and now, so close to the end, none of it mattered.
The long enduring stories of his people living peacefully with the other races proved that it had been possible. The hill tribes and the stone-men from the south co-existed for over a thousand years without dispute or squabble. Snow dragons and fire wyrms had no hatred for men and they lived in harmony with all the other creatures that spread out across the land. There was no pestilence or plague, and war was unheard of, for none felt the desire to have more than was earned. There was no need for kings or armies – farmers ruled the prosperous lands and they shared their crops with all the goodly races.
For reasons known only to the gods, everything changed three hundred years ago. It started slowly with the hill tribes needing more land for their ever-growing population. And it was gladly given.
The stone-men from the south, seeing that the hill tribes desired more, felt the same desire and took the land they required. Anger and disputes over who had more and what was no longer fair erupted into the first killing.
There was a gathering at the base of the Twin Giants, two mountains that stood tall above the rest in the wide chain. There were men from the north, and hill tribes, and stone-men from the south, all arguing over how the land should be divided. The men from the north debated that a thousand years and more had passed and the land had no need for division. What had changed?
The hill tribes argued heatedly with the stone-men, and the Northmen found themselves caught in the middle as they argued for peace. One push led to a wall of shoves in retaliation, and then fists were thrown back and the men broke into fights. Heavy awkward blows began to rain down as the men engaged each other. Trees were crushed as men fought and rolled across the landscape.
Half the day had passed when finally the land stopped shaking as the last of their strength gave out. Moans came from all as no one could be declared winner. Gandular, the voice of the Northman, yelled out with conviction as he cursed all the men that engaged in the melee. He cried out that this was the spoils of war, and that not one side could ever be declared victor without suffering so much defeat.
Hollistata of the hill tribe slowly rose to his feet, his injuries stretched head to toe and were considerable, but his indescribable unrelenting anger and hatred consumed him. Gandular of the North continued to scorn all those that lay beaten around him, and he cried out with contempt at those that lay far about the ruined valley in defeat.
As Hollistata listened to the Northman ridicule, he looked down at a large dagger-shaped rock that had been torn from the earthen ground during the fight. Tiny voices in his head explained the concept as he slowly lowered himself to pick up the boulder in a solid right hand. Hollistata stood and staggered over to the preaching Gandular, whose back was turned and was defenseless.
Hollistata stopped inches from the Northman, and he slowly brought the weapon up as if fighting the urge that had overtaken him. Gandular turned slowly around and stopped speaking as he stared at Hollistata with the sharp boulder up high. Gandular’s look was of confusion as he could not ascertain what was about to happen.
Hollistata brought the stone dagger down with such force, it exploded when it tore through Gandular’s chest. A spray of rock, bone, and blood showered Hollistata’s face as he yelled out while driving the other screaming giant to his knees. Gandular’s stare of incredulity and horror soon turned vacant as he crumpled to the ground dead.
Gandular was buried by his kind and mourned for days while Hollistata declared himself king of the hill tribes and formed an army. Small skirmishes eventually turned to costly battles which resulted in devastating wars. Pestilence cursed the land and sickness spread afar as the dead were left to rot where they fell. Hundreds of years passed while the land ruined and the populace of all the giants withered under the decay of loss and despair.
King Beoafan regrettably stood from his throne, rising slowly from the pain of battle as well as age. He stood near to fifty feet tall with a wide chest and shoulders covered in heavy plate armor. The king had long white hair and a thick beard the color of ice and snow, and his skin held the sparkle of frost with lips and depthless eyes a cold blue.
The mighty king reluctantly crossed the stone floor of his throne room and paused to stand before the two immense iron-plated doors for the last time. His heart was heavy with regret as he took in a large breath of cold air and sighed. He reached out with a shaky hand to grab onto the iron ring that was attached to the door. King Beoafan let his anger build alongside the anticipation of what needed to be done. His powerful hand trembled as he tightened his grip on the iron ring, and with the strength of a giant, he yanked the massive door open and tore it and the bolted hinges from the wall. He tossed it across the chamber with ease, destroying his marble throne in a wave of splintered wood and iron banding. Then, he walked through the doorway on his path to certain doom.
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King Haynsor sat on a throne constructed of massive boulders in a throne room that was inside no castle, but a huge underground cavern deep in the hills he claimed. His army was stretched thin as it prepared for what would most likely be the last battle. King Beoafan had only a handful of Northern survivors left and was outnumbered on the field of battle. King Haynsor had driven the stone-men to near obliteration and now the Northmen were soon to follow.
The depleting snow dragons had abandoned the Northmen and their war and simply vanished from the mountains
and skies. Smaller armor-plated dragons known as Fire Wyrms were close to extinction, as they were all hunted down and killed for their metal-like skins. Their iron hard bones were used in the making of weapons and their poisonous blood dripped from every hill giant’s arrow tip and blade.
There was nothing left to challenge King Haynsor now, save for the small resistance of frost giants that waited patiently at the base of the Twin Giants.
“To war!” the king of the hill tribes roared, sending echoes throughout the cavern that loosened hand-sized chips away from the rocky walls.
The hills shook as the armor-plated giants ran towards the towering mountains and the meager force of frost giants that waited there to die. The hill giants hoisted swords and clubs made from dragon bones as they rimmed the edge of the valley and roared out promises of death. They came down like a rushing avalanche of destruction to swallow the diminutive Northern army that stood waiting on a field of ice and snow.
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“We are ready, Father,” said Galetorn, the youngest of King Beoafan’s children. He was also the largest and fiercest when it came to killing hill giants, and he was a natural leader – although his actions were always considered rash and his men expendable.
“Good,” replied King Beoafan. “They are coming.”
“I pray to split King Haynsor on this field!” cried Gretania, Beoafan’s only surviving daughter, spitting the words out with distaste as if vile in her mouth. Her white hair cascaded down the back of her heavy plate armor and she gripped a long bow and several arrows.
“Then be disappointed, Sister,” Yorathan replied. “It will be my blade that skewers his dark heart!”
